Miguel O'Hara x Reader [one-shots]

INNOCENCE [M/W] (P.IV)

I AM A GOOD LIAR.

I have the decency to admit that. It's not often I have to tell the truth anyway, considering who I am. It doesn't phase me, in all honesty, but when it comes to my father— my nerves act up.

It's not like my father hasn't fallen for any of my lies before. But it's also not like he has. It's incredibly unpredictable with him, and especially now that I am committing the ultimate betrayal against him— I'm deeply afraid that somehow he would find out.

Thankfully, when I arrived home, he was too busy sorting out weapons deals and whatnot. I spent the rest of the night in my room, pacing around in complete anxiety.

When, finally, I had calmed down a bit, my nerves were frayed once again when my father knocked three times before entering.

He gave me a gentle smile as he noticed me atop my bed with a book open. He barely gave the large room a glance since he had seen it so many times, but I saw the glint of pride in his eyes when they rested on the one-of-a-kind gun atop my nightstand.

He sighed heavily as he sat down at the edge of the bed. In times like these, he wasn't so scary. He was like any father protecting his daughter.

"Estás bien?" He asks if I'm okay, and I nod with a tight smile.

I pull my pink sweater close to me and stifle a yawn as he nods.

"I have to talk to you," he continues in Spanish, raising his hand and running it over his jaw. His eyebrows were drawn together, a crease in the middle of them.

"What about?" I resist the fidgeting that ignites at the tip of my fingers.

His eyes meet mine, and I see the trouble in them. Worry swirls in the depths of them, and he makes no effort to conceal it. It boggles me that such a feared crime boss could be so saccharine and caring.

"There are... people coming after me," he speaks with a heavy sigh. He clenches his jaw and swallows before continuing. "They're not like the others. They're better— Military. Probably Americans."

"Americans?" I question, though I already knew that.

"Mm," he hums, nodding. "I just... I need you to lay low for a little while. I don't want you to get hurt."

The sentence makes me confused. This time, genuine and truthful curiosity surges through me.

I straighten and tilt my head. "What do you mean?"

"These people— they'll do anything, Y/N," he says, shaking his head. He lifts his hand again but runs his fingers through his hair now. "If they got to you, it would be war. You know I have no problem with severing a few heads, but I fear that if I do, instead of two, five more will grow back in its place."

My back stiffens. I remember that I am strong, but in this moment, I am fearful. Unlike the Mafia Princess I'm supposed to be. Just like how he's being unlike the Mafia King he is.

When he glances away from my face, I turn to look at the gun at my nightstand. One bullet in its round stood, and I'm reminded of the events that happened today with that strange man.

I have been taught and trained to not be fearful, even of men triple my size— but something about him made me uneasy.

Perhaps it was the looming threat of going to prison in America. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

I take a deep breath. I turn back at my father who is already looking at me. Something else clouds his eyes now.

I put the question of what is worrying him on the back burner as I inhale to tell him the truth. I should. I must. "Dad, I—"