I WANT A MAFIA HUSBAND

The night I decided I wanted a mafia husband, it was raining hard. It was not just normal rain. It was the kind of hard rain that makes the whole street empty. The kind of rain that makes the city lights look blurry and far away. I was holding roses outside a hotel. The city lights looked blurry because of the rain. My shoes were wet, my hair was wet, and I was tired from work. I had been standing outside for hours, and no one was buying. My arms were hurting from holding the bucket of roses. Then a man came out of the hotel. The automatic doors opened, and everyone near the entrance moved. He was tall, wearing a black suit. No umbrella. The rain was falling hard, but he did not seem to care. He walked like the rain would stop for him. Two women walked behind him, not too close. They were wearing nice dresses and high heels, but they kept their distance. They looked afraid to walk too near him. The guard at the door stood straight. Even straighter than before. Even the taxi in front stopped and waited. The driver did not honk. He just waited. I didn't know his name. I just knew that everyone made way for him. When he walked, people stepped aside. Not because someone told them to. They just did. It was like an invisible line followed him, and no one wanted to cross it. He looked at me. Just for one second. Through the rain. I was standing there with my cheap roses, wet hair sticking to my face, my shoes full of water. I must have looked so small and messy. But he looked at me. His eyes met mine through the rain and the blurry lights of the hotel. His eyes weren't kind. But they weren't cruel either. They were just tired and lonely. Like mine. I know that look. I see that look in the mirror when I come home late from work, when my feet hurt and my mother is already asleep. It was the same look. Tired. Lonely. Like someone who works too much and sleeps too little. Like someone who has no one waiting at home. Then he got into his black car and left. The car was big and black and shiny, even in the rain. It left so fast, and the water splashed on the road. Then he was gone, and the street was normal again. The guard relaxed. The taxi moved. I laughed at myself. I was holding cheap roses, dreaming about a mafia husband. I didn't really want guns or danger. I was standing in the rain, with five roses that no one wanted to buy, and I was dreaming about a man in a black suit who everyone was afraid of. It was so stupid. So silly. What I really wanted was someone loyal. Someone who keeps his promise. Someone who would stay beside me when life gets hard. When the rain is hard, when the shoes are wet, when work is tiring. I don't need someone who will buy me a big house. I just need someone who will not leave when the lights get blurry and the street gets empty. In my mind, that man wore a black suit and everyone was afraid to disappoint him. Not because he shouts. But because when he says something, he means it. When he makes a promise, he keeps it. I thought, if a man like that says "I will stay," he will really stay. No one would dare to make him break his promise. Three weeks later, I learned his name was Dante Moretti. I heard it from the other flower sellers near the hotel. They whispered it. "Moretti was there last night." "Moretti's car." I asked who he was, and they looked at me like I was crazy for not knowing. They said he owns hotels, buildings, and other things they don't talk about out loud. They said his name is enough to make the taxi stop and wait. And the first thing he ever said to me was, "You should be more careful about who you wish for." He said it three weeks later, when he saw me again outside the same hotel, holding the same cheap roses, in the same rain.