MAFIA’s OBSESSION

Chapter Eleven

The room was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind, the kind that pressed against your ears until every breath sounded too loud. I perched on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in my lap, eyes fixed on the door as if staring hard enough could make it open.

Kimberly and Vee were somewhere else in the villa. Separate rooms. Separate wings, probably. They didn’t want us talking, didn’t want us thinking together. I forced myself to hope they were okay, though hope felt fragile.

The lock clicked.

I straightened instinctively, pulse spiking before my mind had a chance to catch up. The door opened, and Marcus Donovan stepped inside like he owned the air itself. No guards. He closed the door behind him, and the soft click felt like the first hammer striking in a trap.

“Sit,” he said.

I was already sitting.

His gaze flicked to the chair across from me. “There.”

I rose slowly, moving to it with exaggerated deliberation, aware of every step, every breath. He didn’t rush. He waited until I sat again before taking the bed opposite me, elbows resting loosely on his knees, posture relaxed yet predatory.

Up close, his gray eyes caught mine, precise and unyielding. Jaw sharp enough to be a weapon. Damn, he was good looking. Too good to be safe. I clenched my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting. Focus Cleo. Don’t make it obvious you’re terrified.

“Do you know why you’re here, Cleo Harrison?”

“Because you don’t trust witnesses?” I said carefully.

A corner of his mouth lifted not a smile, more like a hint of amusement .

“I trust witnesses,” he corrected. “I don’t trust loose ones.”

“Charming. Where are my friends?”

“Safe.”

One word. No room for questions. My stomach tightened. Safe doesn’t mean free. Safe doesn’t mean unharmed. Safe is a word designed to make me comply.

“I want to see them”. I demanded. Every nerve in my body screaming at me to shut up and stay alive, but I didn’t care.

He leaned back slightly, ignoring my demands. “Tell me what happened at the gallery.”

I met his gaze. My first instinct was to deny everything, to feign ignorance. But before I could speak, he interrupted:

“Don’t even try lying to me.”

I swallowed. “An argument. Men arguing about a briefcase. One of them pulled a gun. Someone got hurt.”

“How many?”

“I didn’t count.”

A pause stretched, long enough that I could hear my pulse in my ears.

“What kind of gun?”

“I don’t know. A handgun.” I kept my voice steady, measured. Keep it short. Keep it true. Anything else is dangerous.

He didn’t blink. He watched me like he was analyzing micro-expressions instead of words.

“Did you see who fired?”

“No.”

“Did you hear names?”

“No.”

“What else did you see?”

“I’ve said it all.”

“You’re lying.”

The accusation landed hard, catching me off guard. My hands itched to twist in my lap, but I held still. Don’t give him a reaction.

“Do you understand what you and your friends walked into?” he asked.

I took a slow breath. “I understand you don’t want us dead. Which means we’re useful.”

A flicker of amusement passed in his eyes. “Temporary things can still be useful.”

“So can honest ones,” I retorted. I had to make him see us as valuable, not disposable.

He leaned forward just slightly, voice lowering. “I know you’re not telling me everything, Ms. Harrison. For your sake, I hope you cooperate. I wouldn’t want to have to resort to other means.”

His eyes darkened, and I felt it in my chest before I registered fear.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Lie. Bloody lie. I was close to wetting my pants. But I didn’t let him see it.

For a moment, the room sharpened. Every shadow seemed to lean toward him. Then he stepped back.

“You’re staying,” he said. “All of you.”

“You can’t just keep us against our will,” I shot out, rising in protest.

“Watch me.”

The door closed behind him, and the lock slid into place. I sank back onto the bed, hands gripping the edge. My pulse was still racing, my chest tight, but one thing was certain: I wasn’t broken yet. I wasn’t going to let him make me a prisoner in my own mind.

And as I sat there, letting the silence fill the room, I couldn’t help but remember his hands, long and controlled, faint tattoos along the edges of his wrists peeking from under the rolled sleeves.I can’t begin to imagine how many lives it has taken but I won’t be one of them.