The Mafia Prince's obsession (MM)

Elijah

The silence in the house was unbearable.

I didn't know a house could feel so empty. The estate is massive-all glass and marble and stillness—but without Dante in it, it felt like a carvern. A polished cage.

I sit on the edge of the long sectional couch, the remote clutched tightly in my hands. The television flickered in the dim light of the living room, casting pale shadow over the plush carpet.

The remote trembles slightly in my fingers as I flip through the channels and then—
A breaking news banner.

"EXPLOSION AT WAREHOUSE DISTRICT MULTIPLE CASUALTIES."
"SUSPECTED MAFIA TIES."
"LOCAL AUTHORITIES HAVE SEALED OFF THE AREA."

The image on the screen shows a column of black smoke rising into the sky. The footage is raw, shaky, taken by a passerby.

Emergency vehicles crowded the frame. Firefighters work furiously in the background. Body bags–Five, mybe six–were being loaded into a coroner's van.

And then came the close ups.

Bullet casings. Blood on concrete. A crate marked with familiar insignia.

My heart drops into my stomach.

Viscontis.

What if Dante was present in the shootout.

"No," I whispered, my voice hoarse as my hand shoots to my mouth.

I grab my phone off the table and dial Dante's number.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

I hang up. Dail again.

Voicemail.

"Come on, Come on please," I mutter, my fingers shaking now.

I stand up and start pacing, the phone glued to my ear. Still nothing. Still no answer.

"Dabte, please call me back." I say into the voicemail when it beeped. "I saw the news—I don't know if you're okay. I–I'm scared. Please, just let me know you're alive. Please."

I hang up again.

My eyes dart to the tall windows of the estate. I could see the guards stationed around, stone-faced and silent. Ever since Dante left this morning, they've been swamming around the house like sharks. Always watching.

I feel caged.
Like a porcelain figure on a gilded shelf.

I pick up my phone again, dailing. Voicemail.

This time I don't leave a message. My throat feels so dry.

Instead, I walk slowly back to the couch and sit down, curling my knees to my chest still watching the news on the screen like it might give me a clue.

They don't show names.

They never showed names.

And that makes it worse.

What if one of the body bags was Dante? What if he'd gone off to fight in one of his mafia battles and got shot? What if he died and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I couldn't take it.

I pulled the throw blanket off the couch and wrapp it tightly around myself, rocking slightly, phone still I hand. Still calling .still hoping.

And when the Voicemail picks up again—I finally break.

"Don't leave me alone in this place," I whisper into the receiver.
"I just want to know you're safe."

I hang up, the silence swallowing me whole.