MAFIA'S THORN

CHAPTER FIVE

FLARIE’S — POV

The gray-eyed man's arms support my back and shoulders while the other hooks under my knees.

My arms wrap tightly around his neck, pulling me closer to him. I’m painfully aware of everything, the firmness of his grip, the unfaltering pattern of his stride and the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of my clothes.

My fingers curl into the collar of his shirt as he carries me forward. I'm so afraid, making my heart beat faster. But being close to this stranger, I begin to calm down. His presence is comforting even though his aura oozes danger.

His breathing is calm and even, completely different from the chaos still swirling inside my head. The steadiness of it starts pulling my own breathing into rhythm.

My eyes scan the dark corners around us as he carries me toward the exit. There, I spot something.

A shadow, moving. My grip tightens around his neck. But when I look again, there’s nothing there, just darkness.

We reach the exit, and the night air hits me. The change in temperature sends a small shiver down my spine.

The further he carries me away from the building, the more I begin to loosen a little.

A black car waits at the curb, its engine already running, headlights glowing against the pavement.

A man immediately steps out from the driver’s seat without a word and opens the door to the back seat as we approach.

The gray-eyed man lowers me gently onto the back seat. The leather is cool beneath my hands as I steady myself. Leaning in, he fastens the seat belt across my chest. He shuts the door, walks around the car, and slides into the seat beside me. The driver gets back in and pulls away.

We don't speak to each other. Only the hum of the engine and the faint sound of tires moving across the road fills this silence.

I stare straight ahead, my hands resting in my lap. My body still trembles slightly, even though I keep repeating the same words in my head. 'You’re safe, you’re safe.' It doesn’t seem to convince the rest of me.

Beside me, gray eyes sit perfectly still.

His gaze is directed forward, his expression unreadable in the dim glow from passing streetlights. Occasionally, I see him stealing glances at me. Then his gaze moves away again.

I know that my decision to follow a total stranger in his car is foolishness, but an instinct tells me to trust him.

***

The only time I spoke was when he asked for my apartment address. I told him. Maybe my sense of security precaution was out the window.

Finally, we pull up in front of my apartment building, the driver slows to a stop and parks, shutting the engine.

For a brief moment, he stays in the car. Gray eyes give the smallest nod. Without saying anything, the driver steps out of the car and closes the door behind him.

It’s just me and him. Alone in the back seat. I keep staring forward, my breathing shallow.

He doesn’t move either.

Then I feel his attention shift toward me. I don’t even need to look to know he’s watching me, it's unsettling how aware I am of him, of the space he occupies and the way the air seems to change around him.

"What's your name?" I ask him in a barely audible voice.

He does the usual and answers with silence.

“Seems like you have a knack for getting into trouble.” He speaks finally after a short while.

His voice is calm.

I stiffen slightly. "I don’t mean to," I mumble.

Another stretch of silence settles between us. He keeps looking at me. “This isn’t worth it,” he says. I know exactly what he means. Longer than the first time, he doesn't say anything and when he finally does, “quit.” That's what he could come up with.

The word lands hard, something sharp snaps inside me. I turn toward him, unable to control myself.

“You don’t get to tell me that.” My voice shakes slightly, but the anger pushing its way out is stronger than my nerves.

His expression doesn’t change. That only fuels the frustration bubbling inside me.

“Oh. What, because we’ve met a few times, now you get to judge my life?” My voice rises. “Do you have any idea what it takes just to survive when nothing has ever been handed to you?”

He doesn’t react.

“You think I don’t know the risks?” I continue. “I live them. Every single day.”

"I don’t have options. I don’t have backup plans or safety nets or people waiting to catch me if I fall,” I snarl.

The frustration in my chest finally spills out. “Some of us don’t get smooth roads. Some of us grow up dodging potholes and broken glass just to keep moving. I’ve always had it hard. Always. And if I stop now, I don’t just lose a job, I will lose everything.”

My breathing grows heavier. “So don’t sit there and tell me to quit like survival is a choice. I pull through because I have to. Because no one else is going to do it for me.”

By the time I finish speaking, my chest is rising and falling quickly. Neither of us moves or speaks.

Finally, he speaks calmly, “Now you run your mouth at me?"

My confidence collapses, like I have been poured a bucket of cold water. The reality of who I’m talking to sink in.

My back presses into the seat. “I—I didn’t mean—”

He shifts closer. The movement purposefully compresses the gap between us. Lifting his right hand, he cups my head, his fingers sliding gently into my hair.

The grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough to let me know I couldn’t easily pull away if I tried. His thumb rests near my temple.

My breath stutters.

“Why do you look scared now?” he asks. His eyes study my face intently, “You didn’t seem scared when you were yelling at me.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I try to say something, but no words come out. All I can do is stare at him.

He leans closer. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest, then his forehead touches mine. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, everything else in the world fizzle out. There’s only his breath and my slamming heart, I’m sure he can feel it through my skull.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Gratitude, anger, fear or something else entirely. Then he pulls away.

He knocks once on the car window. The driver immediately opens my door, cold air rushes inside the car.

He looks back at me, “Goodnight, Flarie.” Just those two words, nothing else.

Wait, I never told him my name, how does he know it?

I slowly gather myself and step out of the car. “Goodnight,” I say.

"And Flarie, I'm Alton," he says.

His driver shuts the door, not giving me an opportunity to respond.

I head toward the entrance of my apartment building, taking the stairs one at a time until I reach my floor, which is the second floor.

I walk toward my door and unlock it. Stepping inside, I flip the light switch, soft yellow light fills the room.

I walk straight toward the window and pull back the curtain. Looking outside, I watch Alton’s car drive away, its taillights glow red as it disappears down the street.

I let the curtain fall back into place, then I turn around and I freeze.