STUCK WITH THE MAFIA BOSS.

FEAR

Kai's pov

(Two years ago...)

I had to take over my father's throne, and I didn't want to. I had never wanted this life, yet somehow, it had wrapped its claws around me before I even had a chance to resist. People imagine power, money, and respect when they hear the word "mafia," but no one tells you about the blood, the endless paranoia, the nightmares.

"Throne? Are you a prince?" she asked, her eyes wide, filled with care and something dangerously close to love. It stunned me. I'd barely known her barely exchanged more than a few words yet she was already so open, so warm. Her tone was like sunlight hitting a cracked wall, and I didn't know whether to run or stay.

I chuckled softly, a sound I hadn't made in a long time. "No. I'm not a prince." I hesitated, my eyes fixed on hers. "I'm mafia."

She tilted her head. "Oh... that thing people still like do it?" she asked, skeptical, like she was trying to convince herself it was a joke.

I nodded once, slowly.

"So, what don't you like about being in the mafia?"

I stared at the coffee cup in my hands, steam rising like ghosts. "It's crazy. People kill each other. We have to kill. And I don't want that anymore."

"Anymore?" Her voice softened. "So you've... killed before?"

Another nod. My throat was too tight to speak.

Most people usually recoiled when I said that. They'd step back, their eyes darting around for an exit, already rewriting me as a monster in their heads. But she didn't. She stayed there. She didn't flinch or stare or whisper. She just... looked at me. Like a human being. Like I wasn't a lost cause.

"Oh. Now I get why you wear a mask," she murmured.

I stayed silent.

"Erm... kiddo," she began, her voice tentative but steady. "I don't know what you're going through or how long you've been in this stuff. But listen suicide is never an option. I can't even believe I helped you pay for those items to... kill yourself. Thank God I noticed."

She paused and sipped her coffee, her fingers trembling just slightly.

Her hair was black, sleek, running down to her shoulders like a waterfall, but no matter how hard she tried to hide the bruises under makeup, I saw the faint green shadows on her skin. I noticed everything. That was my curse, or maybe I had picked so much interest in this woman.

She reached across the table and held my hands firmly, as though she could anchor me to life by touch alone. Then she dug into her purse. "Take this gift card. Go back to Russia. I'm sure your dad's looking for you especially your mom. She must be worried sick. Talk to them about it. Maybe they'll listen."

If only she knew. My mom was dead. She pictured my parents as good people, as worried guardians, but they weren't. My father was a crazy, sick mafia king a bloody killer and my mom had died long before I'd had the courage to run.

"Can I have your num—"

She stopped. Her phone rang. She answered, and in an instant, all color drained from her face.

"My son is dead?" she whispered.

With that, she fled the café without looking back.

*******************************

I held onto the gift card like my life depended on it not because of its use, but because of the person who gave it. If I ever wanted to go back to Russia, a call to my father and the whole of Russia would come running to L.A. to bring me home. But that wasn't what I wanted. I just wanted to see her again. The woman who had given me a reason to live.

I had come to America thinking I could find my sister, stay far from my father, and hide under the law's protection here. But from the look of the threatening messages my father sent, he was going to find me soon. That day, when I'd wanted to end my life, that woman had given me a reason not to. And now, I wanted her. She was different from the others so genuine.

Two weeks had passed since I met her. Two weeks of almost impossible attempts to locate her. I would wait at the store and the café every day, but she never came. And I knew I was running out of time. The only reason my father had not found me yet was because our kind of work was illegal in the States, and that had been another reason I'd chosen to run here.

Then, one evening, luck or fate tipped its hand. I saw her walking down the street, looking weary and weighed down. Before I could call her, she took a taxi. Instinct kicked in. I followed behind in another.

She got to a place I guessed was her home.

I stayed out for a while, watching from a distance. Then I heard it a heated argument, her voice breaking under the weight of someone else's rage. A man's voice. Her husband, maybe. And then I saw him hit her.

I rushed in without thinking. One blow from me sent him stumbling, cursing, clutching his face.

She screamed my name no, not my name. She recognized me but not enough to call me out loud. She just said "Stop" in a voice that broke my heart. She drew me out of the room quickly, glancing at my mask, her eyes flicking between relief and fear.

"Why... how are you here?" she asked quickly, tension in every word.

I said nothing, just scanning her for injuries, making sure she was okay.

"Why do you let him hit you?" I blurted, my voice shaking with anger I didn't fully understand.

She stood still. Silent.

Minutes later, the police arrived he had called them, her good-for-nothing husband. I was arrested. My father was called. And yeah... the rest is history.

There was only one reason I agreed to become a mafia lord and that is to go back to L.A. and find the woman who gave me purpose. The woman who became my first love without even trying. But digging through her private life, I was caught in something I couldn't even fathom. Her greatest enemy is my own sister, Emillia.

And for the first time in my life, I sought people's opinions. I wasn't used to asking for help, but now I had to. "If you are reading this what do I do?"