Page 10 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
I grab a discarded mask from a table—black lace, delicate, and pull it on with shaking hands. It covers the top half of my face, hiding my identity.
Now I’m just another body in the crowd. Well, another body wearing torn scrubs, with blood all over but, drunk party people shouldn’t notice, right?
I push deeper into the club, past dancing people who are drunk and high and oblivious to the fact that I just watched a man die. That I’m covered in his blood. That I barely escaped with my life.
The music is too loud and the lights are too dim. Everything is too much, but it’s also perfect because it means no one is really looking at me.
I find the bathroom, my hands shaking as I do my best to wash the blood off my skin. It browns the soapy water, making me gag as I watch it drain down sink. It’s awkward and painful, but Iget the job done and my body trembles as I stumble out of the bathroom.
Next, I find a dark corner and press my back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Trying to process what just happened.
Antonio is dead. The other girls are gone. And a killer let me live.
None of it makes sense.
My hands won’t stop shaking. The body tremors are only getting worse, from the adrenaline crash, shock, terror and exhaustion. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.
Breathe. Just breathe. You’re alive. You survived.
But for how long?
That man—the killer with the grey eyes—he let me go. But why? Men like that don’t show mercy. They don’t let witnesses walk away. There has to be a reason.
Maybe he’s hunting me right now. Maybe letting me run was part of the game. Maybe he’s waiting for me to feel safe before he strikes.
No. Stop. Don’t be paranoid. Think.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The way they taught us in nursing school for dealing with trauma.
You’re alive. You survived. That’s all that matters right now.
But what do I do now? I can’t go home. What if they know where I live? No hospital and no police.
I’m trapped and alone. With nowhere to go and no one to help me.
The music pounds through my body and I close my eyes, trying to think. Trying to come up with some kind of plan that doesn’t end with me dead in a ditch somewhere.
When I open my eyes again, I scan the crowd. Looking for threats. Looking for anyone who might be hunting me.
And that’s when I see him.
A man standing across the room. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a black mask that covers the upper half of his face.
He’s staring directly at me and my heart stops.
Something about the way he stands makes my skin prickle. The way he’s watching me with so much intensity and focus. Like a predator spotting prey.
No. You’re just being paranoid. You’re safe here. No one followed you.
But I can’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine. The masked man doesn’t move or approach. He just watches me from across the room with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
It’s not him. It can’t be him. He’s back at the mansion. He let you go.
But what if it is him? What if he sent his men after me to finish me off? What if this was his plan all along?
I should run. Should get up and leave right now. Find somewhere else to hide.
But my legs won’t cooperate. I’m frozen, pinned in place by his gaze, unable to look away.
