The Mafia Man Wants My Heart

light, illuminating the busy sidewalks where businessmen hurried past, laughter spilled from a nearby bar, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts lingered in the air.

h. And... lock your windows." That last part made me pause. "Excuse me?" Her expression remained pleasant, but there was a warning beneath it. "Some folks don't respect boundaries in this city." A chill ran through me. "Right. Thanks." Taking the key, I made my way down the narrow hallway to my room. The old wooden floor creaked beneath my boots. My door was at the very end of the hall, next to a dusty painting of a woman in Victorian clothing. Her painted eyes followed me as I unlocked the door. Inside, the room was small but cozy. The faded yellow walls gave it an aged charm, and the scent of rosewater was stronger here. A ceiling fan hummed softly overhead, its blades slightly loose, creating an almost rhythmic tap... tap... tap. I set my bag down and walked toward the window. The moment I pulled back the curtain, a gust of cold wind slipped through a slight gap in the glass. The window latch was broken. I frowned. Did the old woman forget to mention that? I glanced outside. Nothing but empty trees swaying against the darkening sky. No streetlights. No signs of life. Just an unsettling, endless stretch of black. Shaking off the unease, I turned back to my phone. One hour

ok club was hosted at a small event hall lined with posters of famous authors and upcoming literary festivals. A crowd of about twenty people gathered, chatting excitedly over wine and hors d'oeuvres. I kept to

o focus, but the nagging unease wouldn't leave. When the meeting finally ended, I was the first to slip out the door. I hailed a cab, keeping my head down, avoiding unnecessary glances. The night air felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, but I pushed the paranoia away. It was just my mind playing tricks on me. Big cities had that effect-their energy lingering

on it. The hallway felt eerily silent as I walked to my room. Each step creaked against the old wooden floor, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and something else-something musty, like forgotten corners of an attic. The

ucet, hot water rushing from the showerhead in lazy streams. I stood beneath the heat, letting the tension slip from my body. My mother would probably call in the morning to ask how the meeting went. I'd tell her it was fine, that I met some of her old friends, t

hitched in my throat. I forced myself to stay still, to keep my breathing steady. My fingers curled around the blanket, knuckles tight. Don't look. But I couldn't help it. Slowly, I shifted onto my back, eyes trailing toward the window. The darkness outside pressed against the glass like a living thing, thick and impenetrable. Nothing there. And yet... A shadow moved. It was barely noticeable, a shift in the

ound of my own breathing filling the silence. Finally, I reached for my phone, fingers trembling. I turned on the flashlight, aiming it toward the window. Nothing. Just the swaying trees. I let out a sha