Mafia's Angel

sabela

nce after Quino called my name. Papa wants to see you. Now. The impatience in his voice, the sharp, final s

back into place – click – just as Quino b

ced my wobbly legs to push me up and towards the door. I caught my reflection in the big mirror-pale face, eyes too wide, t

. He wouldn't even look at me. He just flicked his head towards th

my gut. The air in this house always felt thick, heavy with secrets and old violence. But today it felt crushing, pressing in on me.

ing of a brother helping his sister. He was Papa's heir, the enforcer Papa was training. His loyalty was only t

ino knocked once, sharply, on the wood. Then he pushed the door open without waiting. He stepped aside just enough for me to go in. He fol

nt but were mostly just dusty decorations. Old maps showing lands and shipping routes hung next to strange, modern paintings Papa liked. His desk was huge, dark polished wood, kept perfectly clean except fo

ne instantly-dark, sharp, intense. Felt like he looked right through me. Shadows from the curtains deepened the hollows of his face, showing the bones beneath thin skin, sharp and gaunt. Like looking at a skull. But even though illness had clearly wasted him

Like walking to be executed. I sank onto the cold leather. I locked my shaking hands together in my

is eyes stayed on me, steady, judging me. I met his gaze, forcing myself not to look away, hop

ed, letting the soft word hang heavy in the air. "Alliances change. Old enemies see weakness as a chance to attack." His eyes flickered briefly, maybe a

ade for safety and power. Daughters were tools, things to be traded to make alliances, seal deals, end fights. I had

al, "an agreement has been made. A necessary one. It will make our position strong and scare off our

lood, standing in the middle of all the death, making that vow with terrifying calm. The memory rushed back, sharp and too real: the shine of the gun, the sharp smell of gunpowder mixed with warm blood, the awful neatness of the

creamed no while ice flooded my veins. I

oked whisper. I saw annoyanc

st. It is a decision. Final." He waved a shaky hand dismissively. "The Castillo connection is essential. Mateo is young, ruthless, ambitious. He controls the southern routes now. He's gaining power faste

past the fear. The sick taste of panic bu

ctually think you have a choice in this? Do you think your childish dreams matter when our survival is at stake?" His words hit me like stones. He was talking about the university brochures. He must know about them, know I hid them.

I was still a child. Show weakness. I risked a quick look at Quino, hoping for... something. Anything. His face was blank, like a mask. His eyes were fixed hard on the opposite wall. His jaw w

tables during a storm. Papa was scary even then, but Mama was alive, a softer feeling beside him. He had listened to my breathless reasons about taking care of it, about being lonely. His face was serious but... he seemed to be thinking about it. He fin

't Isabela Montoya, the person who dreamed of libraries and fall leaves. I was a thing. A bridge between two powerful, dangerous families. Handed over to a man whose name brought thoughts of death and cold co

g will follow quickly. Plans are already being made. Quino will handle the security." He looked from me to my brother. His eyes stayed on me a m

manded more than just understanding

ldn't force any words out. But the small, tiny n

harply. "That is

t each foot, making the short walk to the door feel agonizingly long. My fingers wrapped around the cold knob, then pulled-the heavy door swinging reluctantly open. Crossing the threshold felt like finally breaking the surface after being submerged too long; the stale hallway air suddenly tasted impossibly fresh, sweet, like life itself. But the hallway air felt just as thick and heavy as the silence inside Pap