Conquered by the Mafia Boss

I play it.

“Elena, where the fuck are you? Your psycho boyfriend has been over here three times-he’s completely out of his mind. What the fuck were you thinking, just leaving like this? You can’t just-”

I end the message, breathing hard as I stare at my whitened face in the mirror. My hands grip the edge of the sink and blood pounds in my ears. I never meant anything like this to happen. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

My phone rings on the hard counter, and I watch it like a bomb. Even though I deleted his name from my contact list, the numbers don’t lie. It’s him.

I need to talk to him-to explain to him that it’s over. Maybe then he’ll leave me alone. A stab of fear clenches my heart painfully, and I pick up the phone gingerly. It’s going to explode in my hands. I accept the call, cringing as I press it to my ear.

“I just got out of jail. Your cunt of a sister called the cops on me-Where the fuck have you been?”

So that explains his silence over the last few days. Fuck.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

“Raf, it’s over. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“So this is how you do it, you dumb fucking bitch? You just get up and leave in the middle of the night like some coward?”

Fuck him.

“Right, I’m the coward. You’re the one beating on a defenseless woman. Go fuck yourself!”

“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch? I’ll cut your fucking tongue out!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

The phone trembles in my hand. His voice strikes me to my very marrow, infecting me with fear. It’s as though he’s standing right outside my bathroom.

“Did you really think you could hide from me in Montreal? Did you really think that would work, that I wouldn’t fucking find out? I’m on my way right now, and when I get there you better have my fucking money-”

“I’m not giving you anything-it’s my money, so you can go fuck off and find some other bitch to beat up on!”

“FUCK YOU! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU-!”

I rip the phone away from my ear and end the call, tossing the phone away from me as though it’s a live snake. The bathroom echoes with my gulping breaths, which sound unnaturally loud.

Don’t fucking cry.

The room spins and I stumble to the toilet, sitting down hard as blood rushes to my face. It’s over-it’s all fucking over. He’s going to go straight to Johnny, who will tell him exactly where I am, and there’s no defending against him. I’m fucked. Fucked!

The loud, buzzing sound of my phone vibrates in my ears as if it’s inside my head. On silent, the phone rattles against the sink and finally falls to the floor. I have the strangest impulse to smash it-to kill it.

I can’t spend the night here. That’s an easy enough problem to fix, isn’t it? I could find a hotel or something easily.

But if he finds you there, you’re just as fucked as you are here.

I slowly deflate, thinking hard. It shames me to admit it, but I need someone to protect me. For tonight, that’ll be easy enough, right? Just find someone at the bar-and-

You’re that fucking desperate?

The pale shadow of a bruise stretches down my white face.

Yeah, I am.

It takes me three minutes to remove my boots and put my heels on until I realize I’m trying to put them on the wrong foot. Rafael is coming for me. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out exactly where I am. I need to be in another place, but more than that, I need to be protected.

Basically, I need to go home with a guy.

My face burns as I stare at myself in the mirror, imagining my sister’s voice.

Typical Elena. Always relying on someone else to fix your problems.

This plan is so fucking pathetic. One night isn’t enough.

The horrible, clenching feeling inside me trembles and almost breaks. A sob rises in my throat and I stamp it down.

No. Do not do this. Do not give up yet.

I want to give up.

You can do this.

But that voice sounds weak.

I’m wearing a lovely blouse I picked up with a diving neckline and leggings tight enough so that they won’t miss a curve. High heels. Hair teased into a dark, messy mane.

It’s a funny thing. When your life is in danger, you really stop giving a shit about everything else. Pride. Ego. Decency. Whatever. All you care about is making it through the next day.

The panic pulses inside me, fighting to claw its way out of the clenched muscles around my stomach. I shouldn’t be here. I should be miles away, running for my life.

Fuck’s sake-just go to work.

With a shaky sigh, I turn the knob and leave the bathroom, passing by the office on the way to the bar. Tommy does a double take from his desk and gives me a friendly smile. It warms me for a moment and then I feel a swooping, guilty sensation.

“You’ll get nice tips tonight.”

“Tommy,” I say in a heavy voice. “We might have trouble.”

He frowns and sits up straighter. Before he can say anything else, I head out into the bar, limbs shaking.

It isn’t packed, but it’s getting there. Men in business suits hang out near the counter, talking in rapid French. Young guys dressed in casual clothes leer at me as I walk by.

A different sort of fear makes me grin a little too widely. Growing up, I never had this kind of attention from men. It’s intimidating and flattering at the same time.

“Ey, Pitoune! Viens ici’t!”

A voice calls out from my left, and I’ve learned enough French to realize that this probably means: Hey, baby. C’mere!

Or something like that.