Page 31 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

My chin quivers, but I swallow my emotions.

“I begged him to watch the woman I love for me. To keep her safe. Oh, Peach…” He rests his forehead on mine and breathes deeply. “I just had no idea he loved you before I did.”

“Jax.”

He silences me with a kiss. “You have no idea how much our whole fucking world revolves around you, baby. Just talk to him. Please? For me?”

He cradles my face with one hand, the other clutching my tights, pulling me tightly into him. I whimper, wanting him to devour me, to make all of this go away.

“I can only tell you my side of the story, Peach. They have to tell you theirs.”

I close my eyes, nodding. Jax exhales in relief and kisses my forehead. “Good girl.”

His lips brush against mine, and I feel him smile, knowing he’s about to lighten the mood with a teasing jab.

“What?” I grumble, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to say.

“Just leave the attitude next time, little cum-dumpster.”

I snort. It’s loud, unflattering, but it escapes me anyway. And just like that, Jax does what he does best—he breaks the tension.

I take a step back, one eyebrow cocked. I grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head, and drop it to the floor. “You know the best way to make me drop my attitude is to fuck it out of me.”

My feet barely touch the ground as I walk through the dark, a chill creeping into my bones. The world around me is blurry, distorted, as if my mind is struggling to hold onto pieces of a memory I’ve locked away for so long.

I find myself looking into the reflection of the tall windows in the hallway, staring at that same little girl who waits at a table for a cup of hot chocolate—eyes wide and scared, breaths shallow, like the air has been sucked out of the room.

But the reflection isn’t exactly right. The little girl isn’t just looking at herself. She’s walking, watching herself move toward something, her tiny legs unsteady, her body tense.

I know this is the same night. Something in me, deep down, knows it.

It’s as if I’m aware of it in the dream. The little girl knows if she moves too quickly or makes noise, the dream will end, and we won’t know what happens. It’s as though she knows that I’ll wake up, and she’ll be left there alone—and that is the one thing she doesn’t want.

I don’t look away from the reflection as sound begins to fill the dream. Where there was silence before, yelling splits the stillness—sharp and guttural. A woman’s voice. I don’t recognize it at first, but I try to listen, try to lock onto it like a beacon in the darkness.

But the more I focus, the more muffled and distant it becomes, slipping away from me as if it doesn’t want to be heard.

And then there is a second voice. One I know so well, one that has haunted me since childhood—it rings out. My father.

“You made me do this. You always make me do this,” his voice thunders, harsh and cold, like a storm rolling in. He’s not angry like he used to be, but his words are laced with venom. I flinch, feeling the sting of every word, every breath he takes.

Then a sharp crack against skin—too real, too close. I flinch again, the sound landing on my cheek as if the slap was for me. The little ghost in the reflection—me—stops walking. Stops breathing. Just keeps looking at herself.

It’s like I’m not alone and scared. It almost feels as if someone is here with me, and it feels safer. But in truth, that little girl in the reflection was all alone that night—and she was terrified.

Another slap.

A cry out.

And I flinch again, my small hand rising to my cheek like it’s my face being struck. With each blow, my heart races, my throat tightens. The world is spinning faster now. I can’t look away from the little girl I once was—her wide, terrified eyes locked on a reflection that doesn’t answer her.

Around me, the air seems to ripple, like the still surface of a lake disturbed. I’m waking up.

She breathes faster, tears welling in her large, round eyes. The fear is about to win, and she’s about to cry out. She’s scared to. She knows what happens when she does.

Just as she opens her mouth to scream, everything fades into the background, and the memory blurs into nothing. My hands reach for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing left to catch. My eyes pop open, and I release a breath as if I’ve held it this entire time.

The room is dark. I blink, disoriented, my chest heaving with the remnants of the dream. My hands are shaking, and I’m sweating despite the cool air in the room.

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