Oops, I Accidentally Adopted A Mafia Boss

WARNING: This story contains mature, sensitive, and explicit content. Reader discretion is advised.

SASHA ROSARIO'S POINT OF VIEW

A year ago, a man with no name and no memory knocked at my door. I called him Angelo, gave him my spare room, watched him fold himself into the narrow gaps of my life until there was no space left he hadn't filled. We loved like divers surfacing for breath-each touch a current pulling us closer, each word a gasp we'd been holding too long.

Then he was gone.

One morning the sheets were cold as river stone, his things wiped clean from every shelf and hook, and I've waited since. Ache lives in my bones now. Love does too.

So why am I curled in the back of a van, blindfold tight enough to press shadows into my eyes, my shoulder grinding against metal as we bound over potholes wide enough to swallow a jeepney whole? I've spent thirty-two years trying to tend to the world around me-feeding strays from my own plate, slipping money under my neighbor's door when her water bill is late, saying my prayers even when the words taste like dust.

Why did I have to be the one pulled from the crowd on Market Street?

"Please-just let me go. I'll pray for your souls to the Lord Himself. Rosario's my name-you know what that means? I'll hold my rosary up to the sky and He'll hear me clear as church bells on feast day." My voice wavers while my mouth stretches into a grin, shoulders pressed flat against the cold wall.

Laughter rumbles through the van's metal frame, deep and rough as unpolished wood. I bite my lip until copper coats my tongue. Alright. The holy card routine isn't moving them.

God above. I've been good. Am I really about to end up in some back-alley room, carved apart for parts?

"You need to shut your mouth, Miss. I don't like noise."

His voice settles low in my chest-smooth as melted chocolate, gritty as gravel under bare feet. "Wow. You could narrate romance films for a living. You're way too pretty to be snatching people off sidewalks." I force a chuckle, though sweat is already slicking my palms against my jeans. "Want me to pray for you to get a screen test instead? Hehe."

A fist slams against the wall beside my head. Metal rings out sharp enough to make my teeth throb. I flinch so hard my shoulders climb to my ears. "Jesus Christ! Don't touch me-you'll answer for this when we stand before Him!" My threat is thin as broken porcelain. More laughter follows.

"Then shut it. You talk too much. Wanna die right now?"

I shake my head until hair tangles in my mouth, the taste of coconut shampoo and raw fear thick on my tongue. Who wants to die young? I curl into the corner, knees tucked to my chest, and strain to make out words between the men up front.