The Russian Mafia Queen

. Another day at work. My bed felt so warm and inviting, but I had responsibilities to meet. With a sigh, I pushed myself up, my body reluctantly foll

He sat down by the window, quietly sipping his coffee, not looking at anyone. Mysterious. The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. The crowd shifted from professionals to schoolchildren and families. We had introduced milkshakes and mocktails recently, and they were a huge hit with the students. My tip jar was steadily filling up, and I carried it to the break room to sort the money. I was just about to take a breather when Macy suddenly popped into the back, holding a wedding magazine in her hands. "What do you think about this gown?" she asked, holding it up excitedly. I glanced at the magazine, gasping. "I love it! This is the one!" Macy's face lit up. "I thought so too! I'm calling Nathaniel and Trisha right now. They'll be thrilled!" I chuckled as she dashed off to make the call. Nathaniel, her fiancé, was wealthy, but Macy had always stayed grounded. She was simple and real, which made her so lovable. I admired her for it. Their relationship felt so genuine-Nathaniel could have married anyone, but he chose Macy, a humble café owner. It was a kind of love I wanted for myself, one that didn't feel forced or transactional. By 4 p.m., my shift was over. I had asked to leave early because I had a friend's birthday party to attend. "Bye, Macy!" I called as I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. "Take care, Chloe!" she called after me with a wave. I made a quick stop at the supermarket to grab a makeup kit and a gift box. It wasn't much, but I knew Tracy would appreciate it. Then, I caught the bus home, my mind still occupied by the day's events. That evening, I spent some time wrapping Tracy's gift before heading for a quick shower. I dressed in a blue gown, the fabric soft against my skin. As I finished my makeup, the quiet of the evening felt almost too calm. Suddenly-Bang! Bang! Bang! Three gunshots rang out in the distance, so loud that my heart skipped a beat. My body went rigid as I rushed to the window, my hands trembling. Outside, I saw four men standing over a lifeless body on the street. The image froze in my mind. My pulse raced as I took in the scene, my breath caught in my throat. The sunlight was beginning to fade, but there was enough light to make out their figures clearly. And then, one of them-he turned and looked directly at my window. Panic flooded me. I ducked behind the curtains, my heart hammering in my chest. I could barely breathe as I slowly peeked through a small crack in the curtains. The men were gone. But the body was still there. I rushed to my purse and fumbled for my phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers. "911, what's your emergency?" a calm voice answered. "I... I just w-witnessed a murder," I stammered, my voice barely audible. "Four men... they... they killed someone near my house!" "Please stay calm, ma'am. What's your address?" "15 Willow Grove," I whispered, feeling like my world was crashing down. "Please, hurry." "Stay indoors, ma'am. Officers are on their way." Within minutes, five police cars arrived outside my building. I heard a knock on my door. I rushed to open it, still shaking. "Good evening, ma'am," one of the officers said, his tone professional but soft. "May we come in?" I nodded, stepping aside. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I had to help. I described everything I saw, detailing the men's features as best as I could. The sketch artist worked quickly, turning their faces into rough drawings. "That's them!" I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. The officers exchanged looks. "Thank you for your help," one of them said. "For now, we'll take it from here. We'll keep in touch." I nodded, feeling numb. I had to cancel my plans with Tracy. I couldn't bring myself to celebrate after what I had just witnessed. My phone rang non-stop with messages from friends. I couldn't bring myself to respond. The images of the men, the murder, played in my head over and over again. One Week Later The days blended together, each one passing like a foggy, monotonous blur. I had been holed up in my apartment, barely leaving. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a heavy sense of dread that hung over me like a storm cloud. My groceries were running low, but I couldn't bring myself to go outside. Every time I thought about stepping out, my mind raced back to the images of that night-the gunshots, the lifeless body, the chilling gaze of the man in the suit. My apartment had become my sanctuary and my prison, all at once. The loneliness weighed heavily on me, the silence pressing in. I hadn't answered my friends' calls or texts. I had shut everyone out. Guilt gnawed at me-Macy, my boss, had texted several times, asking if