Relations With La Mafia [on hold]

20. Knife's Out the Bag

I woke up to the faint sound of pacing footsteps. My head was pounding.

I groaned as I pulled my covers over myself, trying to fall asleep again. As I got more settled into my bed, I noticed how much softer my sheets were today. I pulled them off, puzzled.

Suddenly, the last few hours flashed through my brain. I gasped as I quickly sat up in bed.

My eyes strained to focus as I scanned the room I was currently in. It was basically pitch black but the moonlight shined for me to see it was a bedroom. I gulped as I started to panic. My eyes scattered the room, hoping to find an exit.

As I searched, a tall figure stepped forward, revealing themselves in the reflection of the moon's light,

"Sebastian?" I gasped.

His eyes flickered with relief before they turned back into stone. He hesitated as he started to come towards me,

"Naomi, I-" he started before he saw me flinch away from him.

My memories flooded in, all at once. He shot that man in the alleyway.

My eyes widened at the realization that I was alone with him in this room. He shot a bullet into a man's skull, only a couple hours ago.

"You..you killed...Oh my god..." I spluttered in disbelief.

He cautiously lifted his palm as he slowly walked towards the end of the bed,

"Naomi, let me explain." He spoke earnestly.

I placed my hand over my heart, trying to stop it from beating out of my chest. The logical part of my brain was yelling at me to run for the hills. Yet a part of me for some reason, wanted to believe he was a good person. A part of me wanted to trust him.

I took a deep, shaky breath as I came to a realization,

"The rumors... about you...t-they're true, aren't they?" My voice quivered.

He stared at me for a long moment before his jaw clenched, slightly nodding his head once.

I gripped onto the sheets to stop my head from spinning off my neck.

Sebastian Salgadó was in the Mafia.

I closed my eyes as I took a deep breaths to get air back into my lungs. After a few exhales, I opened my eyes,

"Tell me everything." I ordered.

I watched as he carefully made his way to my side of the bed. He sat on the edge whilst still giving me space as he faced the wall in front of him,

"When I was 16, I began my training as "El próximo Jefe de Los Cazadores de Cuchillos, the most ruthless Mafia located in North America." He spoke lowly.

I gulped as he turned to face me, I tried to put on a poker face as I prompted him to continue. He peered at me, hoping to gauge my reaction. He sighed,