Cottontail, as she snored softly.
If someone were to stumble upon this scene, they’d probably think we’d been caught in a tornado mid-slumber. My pillow was halfway across the room, and the blanket we were sharing had twisted itself into something resembling a poorly made burrito.
My own position wasn’t any better—I was half hanging off the bed, one arm awkwardly twisted beneath me. Content originally comes from novel-fire.net
How did single moms in movies always wake up looking like queens? Here I was, my nightshirt half twisted around my torso, one sock missing, and my hair resembling a bird’s nest.
"Mia," I groaned, carefully lifting her leg off my face and shifting her tiny body into a more dignified sleeping position. "You sleep like you’ve been wrestling bears in your dreams."
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
She murmured something incoherent before snuggling deeper into the remaining pillow. I smiled despite the chaos and tiptoed toward the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was barely dawn, and the last thing I needed was Mia waking up early, especially after last night’s dramatics.
Yawning, I wobbled to the door, muttering about how people should respect the sanctity of early morning sleep.
The knocking on the front door intensified, jolting me from my thoughts.
"Alright, alright!" I whispered under my breath, rushing to get it before the sound woke Mia.
Adjusting my nightdress to look halfway decent, I opened it just a crack—and froze. Standing in front of me were five men dressed as if they’d stepped straight out of a mob movie.
The one in front—clearly the leader—wore a sleek black suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of a swirling tattoo. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and his slicked-back hair gave him an air of authority. The others behind him were equally intimidating, sporting leather jackets, gold chains, and expressions that screamed, ’WE’RE BAD NEWS.’
Real-life, actual mobsters at my fucking doorstep!!
For a moment, I just stared and screamed in my thoughts.
The leader of the group, the one with the tattoos, gave me a curt nod. "Elena Martinez?"
I froze again, my brain short-circuiting.
And then, like any sensible person confronted with a group of mafia-looking men at her doorstep, without thinking, I began to shut the door. "Wrong apartment, sorry—"
Before I could lock it, Tattoo Guy’s hand shot out, stopping the door with surprising ease. His lips twitched into a smirk. "Why the rush, Ms. Martinez? We’re not here to hurt you."
"Well, excuse me for not trusting a bunch of guys who look like they walked out of a crime documentary!" I shot back, my voice low but sharp. "And for the record, I don’t owe anyone money, I didn’t break any laws, and I’m definitely not interested in whatever shady deal you’re offering."
The group erupted into laughter, and I couldn’t tell if they were amused or mocking me. Either way, it was annoying.
The one in sunglasses chuckled. "You think we’re salesmen?"
I squinted at him. "Yes, even possibly debt collectors or hitmen. Either way, bad news."
I tried to yank the door closed again.
Tattoo Guy leaned in slightly, his voice calm but firm. "Relax. We’re not here to collect money or break legs, if that’s what you’re worried about."
"Oh, great," I said sarcastically, crossing my arms. "Then why are you here?"
The leader’s smirk widened. "Our boss sent us to fetch you. He’s made arrangements for you to move in with him."
It took me a second to process his words, and when I did, I let out a laugh so loud it startled them. "Move in with him? That’s the most ridiculous—wait. Who’s your boss?"
The men shared a knowing look, and I didn’t like it one bit. Finally, Sunglasses spoke up. "Take a wild guess."
His dark stare never left mine, though making certain he got my full attention too.
His tone suddenly changed, indicating some sort of urgency, which only heightened my concern since I couldn’t imagine what else he expected me to do except to agree. So why did I feel threatened?
What exactly were Leonardo’s intentions toward my little girl?!
Mia nodded her head and raised her hands with a whoop as if agreeing enthusiastically with everything he said.
The next thirty minutes were a whirlwind of chaos.
I tried to argue while Mia wasn’t looking, protest if possible, and even barricade the door, but it was useless. These guys were a well-oiled machine, packing up my belongings with alarming efficiency. I barely had time to process what was happening before my entire living room was boxed up and ready to go.
Finally, as the last box was loaded onto a sleek black van, the Tattoo Guy turned to me. "Ready?"
I narrowed my eyes, holding my daughter’s hand tight. This whole charade made no sense whatsoever.
I mouthed the words,"You think I’m just going to hop in the car and follow you to some mafia hideout?"
He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re welcome to stay here, but I doubt you’ll last long once word gets out that you refused Boss’s offer."
I opened my mouth to retort but closed it again. He had a point. The last thing I wanted was to paint a target on my back—or Mia’s.
"Fine," I muttered, grabbing my purse and glancing toward the empty apartment and back at my daughter, who was distracted by the big lollipop that was offered to her, courtesy of Leonardo.
"But I’m doing this for my daughter." I finally responded.
His smirk softened into something almost resembling respect. "Understood."
As we followed him into a separate car that looked too expensive for us peasants, I glared over my shoulder wondering what trick they planned to use.
I couldn’t help muttering under my breath, "This better not turn into a soap opera."