Mafially Yours

14

I groaned and held my head. I felt like every bone in my body was broken.

"About time you wake up!" A deep voice made me gasp and open my eyes. I wasn't in my room; I was on a couch downstairs. "I wasn't going to pick you up to your room," Huncho said as he opened the curtains of the windows in the living room. I wasn't even sure it was a living room. All I knew was that there were three couches around the fireplace with nothing else, and at the other end of the room, right in front of the door, there was the big island of the open kitchen.

"What happened?" I cleared my throat as soon as I heard my voice.

"You fell asleep in the car," he said, sitting on the other couch, crossing his legs. He took a glass filled with golden liquid and started sipping on it.

"You could have woken me up, by the way," I coldly said, fixing my hair.

He stared at me, with no words pronounced and no moves taken. He watched me brush my hair with my fingers and then put it in a bun before moving back to sit properly on the couch.

"I need to shower."

"The bathroom is upstairs on our floor. Help yourself," his eyes were still fixed on me while taking another sip of his drink.

"I don't have clothes, though I need to–"

"Your closet is filled with clothes."

"But I will need–"

"Elena," his voice deepened, warning me, knowing what I was aiming for, "Everything you will need is in the room. You're not leaving here."

I took a deep breath as I watched him, biting my bottom lip to not lash out at him, but I couldn't contain myself. "It looks like you care about me so much that you treat me like a prisoner."

"If that's what you want to call it," he made it clear that he didn't want to have this conversation again.

"And it is because of my father, right?" I tried to push his buttons, but he was cold, patient, sipping on his drink.

"Yeah," he simply said.

"How ironic that a criminal can care about someone's daughter when this someone is dead!"

He slammed his glass on the table in front of him and tightened his grip. His free hand turned into a fist, his nostrils flared like a mad horse, and he moved forward in his chair, "It is not my problem if your little head cannot comprehend how much I admired your father and respected his words. Neither is it my problem for you not to know the value of keeping a promise to a dead man. But I do. Yes, I won't deny that I let you choose whether you wanted to stay or leave but I didn't consider your little moron brain that doesn't think twice before making a death decision with such lightness," he hissed with his body leaning forward, his hand was still around his glass and his stare was sharper than a knife with his irises were locked to the top of his eyes.

I was taken aback by his words; my heart was beating loudly and fast, not from fear but from anger. I was speechless because I wanted to say so many things, but my tongue wasn't able to choose which thought to let out first.

"You have – no right – using that tone when you're talking to me," I used my index to emphasize my words.

"If you were old enough to care about your safety like your father did, maybe I would have treated you like an adult."

"You think I am safe here? Where everyone is holding guns, and where do people never sleep? Do you think I'm safe with a bunch of criminals? Do you think I am safe in the house of the lion? In the pit of the fire? I would be stupid if I continued to live here!"

"Well, you will, whether you like it or not, Elena. Not because of you but because of my word to your father."

"I don't care about my father!"

"You don't deserve how much he cared for you!"

"You're blaming me for being mad at him, but you don't know how I feel. All of a sudden, my father died, killed in front of my eyes. And I end up alone. In danger. And right after, I keep finding things that make me realize that the father I loved dearly is not who he really was. I don't even have time to be sad over his death!" I broke down, not sure anymore if I was hurt, angry, or just exhausted.

"I do know how you feel," he softly said, taking another sip of his glass.

"No, no you don't." My voice was low, way too low, so I wasn't sure if he heard me.

"I do," he nodded, "I know because your father was also a father to me."

I scoffed and shook my head, "No matter how much you loved him, you will never love him more than me. You will never miss him as much as I do," my voice cracked.

I sobbed, surprising myself. I didn't know I was crying. I broke the contact we both had and shook my head with a smile. He let out a loud sigh and moved to the same couch I was sitting on. Maybe he was trying to comfort me but wasn't able to or didn't know how because he didn't do anything more than share a couch with me.

"So now tell me, even after all the times I wanted to leave, you still ran after me and brought me back just because of my father?" I hysterically shook my head and sobbed more, "I find that hard to believe."