SILENT SINNERS, a mafia romance.

005

ONE EVENING, BLAKE INSISTED ON PICKING ME UP FROM THE STUDIO. THE CAR RIDE WAS ENVELOPED IN AN uncomfortable silence. I was exhausted, and it was evident that he wasn't in the mood to argue either. The tension between us was palpable, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

As I stared out the window, my phone buzzed with a message. Glancing down, I saw it was from "MOM"—Katie's contact name in my phone for situations just like this. I stole a quick glance at Blake, who seemed too absorbed in his own world to notice, before hastily replying to her message.

KATIE SOKOLOV.

How are you holding up?

PAISLEY WEST PRESCOTT.

Im fine, tired though. And you?

KATIE SOKOLOV.

Worried about you. Be careful, okay?

I sighed, feeling the tension build in my chest as I pocketed my phone. Just as I was about to turn away, Blake's voice cut through the silence.

"Who are you texting?" His tone was sharp, suspicious. My heart sank, and the irritation I had been trying to suppress all morning bubbled over.

Out of nowhere, I snapped. "My mom! Give me a break, Blake! Can I live? Stop asking me questions! You're supposed to be my boyfriend, not my parent." Fuck. I shouldn't have said that.

Blake's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and before I could react, he lunged forward, grabbing my phone from my pocket. Panic surged through me, a wave of fear and anger crashing down.

"Give it back!" I screamed, my voice breaking. "Blake, give me my phone!"

He ignored me, his eyes scanning the screen. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Desperation took over, and without thinking, I reached out and slapped him across the face.

For a moment, there was silence. Time seemed to freeze as we stared at each other, the reality of what I had just done sinking in.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Blake's expression twisted into a mask of fury. "You fucking bitch," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. With a vicious sneer, he threw my phone out the window with all his strength. It hit the pavement with a sickening crack, shattering into pieces.

"Blake, no!" I cried, lunging towards the door, but it was too late. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the car sped off, leaving my phone—and any hope of calling for help—behind.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched the distance between me and my phone grow. I was stuck, trapped in this car with him, with no way to call for help, no way to find my way back.

"Blake, please," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "I need my phone. I need it."

He laughed, a cruel, heartless sound. "You need to learn to respect me, Paisley. Maybe this will teach you a lesson."

The car sped down the road, the scenery blurring past. I was lost, both literally and figuratively, with no sense of where we were going or what would happen next. The fear and helplessness were overwhelming, suffocating me.

I looked out the window, trying to focus on the passing trees and buildings, anything to keep from breaking down completely. But the tears kept coming, and the panic clawed at my insides. I was alone, utterly and completely, with no way out.

The road stretched out before us, endless and unforgiving, and I had never felt more trapped in my entire life. My mind raced, frantically searching for a way to escape, but every option seemed impossible, every path blocked.