Under His Protection: A Dark Mafia Romance

9. The Return

It’s Michelle,alright, but not precisely the Michelle I know from pictures. Her eyes are wide with a desperate, haunted look. Her hair is a tangled mess, and a black feather, caught in the hallway light, sits nestled in the strands. An icy finger traces a path across my skin. That feather makes cold fear grip my gut.

”Michelle? What are you doing here?” I gasp, urging her inside. My hand instinctively reaches for the knife on the counter, but I quickly shove it under a crumpled newspaper. Don”t be stupid, Ava. I gesture for her to enter and quickly check the hallway for intruders.

She stumbles into my apartment, her clothes tattered and stained, her skin pale and clammy. The air around her is heavy with the scent of fear and something vaguely metallic. It reminds me of the warehouse down at the docks, Alexander’s world.

“How did you find me? Do you know who I am?”

I follow her as she walks into my apartment, and I can’t help but scrunch up my nose. She smells like a potent blend of dirt, sweat, and stale cigarettes. It’s a harsh, almost overwhelming scent.

“Alexander’s emergency contact: Ava Parker,” she rasps, her voice hoarse and strained. “It was all through the files back at Rockford. He’ll fuckin’ kill me if he knew I used it.”

Her language is—unfiltered. This is nothing like the carefully constructed image of Alexander’s sister I’ve built in my mind.

This woman seems raw, vulnerable, and desperate. It’s a glimpse of the truth I’ve always sensed—Alexander’s world is brutal. And here I am, in the middle of it.

This world is all about survival.

My fingers instinctively reach out, hesitantly touching the black feather nestled in her hair. It feels oddly warm beneath my fingertips.

“What the hell are you doin’?” She says and swats my hand away.

I pull my hand back like I’ve been burnt on the fire. “Sorry – it’s just that— What’s that?”

She chuckles a hollow, brittle sound that echoes in my apartment. “Oh, some rundown guy on the street gave me a feather,” she says, her eyes flickering towards the door. “It was hilarious.”

Who gave her a black feather? Who the hell gives black feathers? I know the answer, but I don’t want to face it.

Michelle doesn’t wait for permission, just walks deeper into my apartment, a fragile ghost in the low light. I watch her. What have I gotten myself into? Bile rises in my throat as I try to coax her to my sofa, quickly shoving an old blanket onto it before she slumps down, her frame collapsing onto the cushions.

“You — you look like you just wrestled a bear and lost,” I say, trying to inject humor into whatever this situation is. “Sit down. I’ll make you some tea. Chamomile. It’s supposed to be good for calming the nerves.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay there, Ava Parker, tea-mo-mile,” she smiles, her eyes are distant, empty.

I head toward the kitchen, the movement a clumsy attempt to regain some semblance of control. I can hear Michelle sink deeper into the couch, her body shuddering with a silent tremor.

“I couldn’t find Alex,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know where else to go. It’s not like I planned to come to bother you. Sorry ’bout that.”

Well, I’m not going to send her away.

I return with a steaming mug of Sarah’s homemade tea and another blanket. The scent of chamomile and lavender lingers in the air, helping to calm me down just a fraction.

“Here, drink this,” I say, placing the mug in her trembling hands and draping the blanket around her shoulders.

“How many blankets do you have in the place exactly?”

Michelle takes a tentative sip, her intense blue eyes flickering around the room, taking in the blankets and pillows. They must look out of place in the world she’s been living in. Her long dark hair, a tangled mess, frames her face. She does have a point. My place is very—fluffy.

“Thanks, Ava Parker,” she says. “This place—makes me feel like a fuckin’ princess.”

We sit in silence for a while. My eyelids feel heavy, the city lights outside my window blurring into a mess.

”I called and texted Alexander, but he”s not answering,” I say, watching her get up and pace. ”I hope he”ll be here soon.”

”Fuckin” great, here I am, and he”s gone,” Michelle mutters.

”He went out looking for you,” I say.

”Oh, shit,” she snaps, stopping abruptly. ”You know, I slipped up. I started using again.” She glances at me, a flicker of something in her eyes— defiance? A plea for understanding?

”Guess Alex has told you I”m a bit of a mess? Or does he prefer to keep that part of me out of the charm-your-lover equation?”

I see the darkness in her eyes, the vulnerability lurking beneath her sharp exterior. She’s battling demons, a fight I know nothing about.

I inch closer, but not too close, careful not to spook her. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” I ask with a gentle nudge.

Michelle lets out a heavy sigh, the sound like a deflating balloon, sitting down again. “I’ve been clean for a while, but things got tough,” she says, her voice cracking. Her eyes dart around the room, a touch of fear in their depths. Her fingers, trembling, clutch the mug of tea. She shifts on the couch, her body rigid, as if bracing against a phantom punch.

“Tough, how?”

She runs a hand through her hair, tangling the strands further. “I slipped, okay? It’s none of your business,” she snaps, her gaze flitting towards the window.

She’s right. It’s none of my business.

“I tried to find Alex, but he’s gone,” she continues. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

I know that look. Her words are carefully chosen, each one a shield against her vulnerability. I can’t help but suspect there’s more to this story.

She falls silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. The silence stretches between us, taut like a rubber band. I watch her. I know she’s struggling.

“I’m here,” I say, “if you want to talk.” It’s a pathetic offer, a flimsy lifeline, but it’s all I can muster.

I have a gut feeling that she’s lying. My eyes dart to the black feather tucked in her hair as it catches the light. I stare at it, my mind filled with images of the Raven’s message: ‘I’ll come for what’s yours, Alexander.’

An icy determination settles in my gut. I need to protect Michelle, to shield her from harm. It’s like a primal instinct, an oath of loyalty to Alexander, a promise I can’t break, even though we’re not together anymore.

“You can stay here tonight,” I say. “But first, you need a shower. I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

Michelle nods. There’s a flicker of light in her tired eyes. I lead her to the bathroom, laying out a fresh towel and some of my clothes. We’re about the same size, although she’s skinnier. As the sound of running water fills the apartment, I take a moment to compose myself. Michelle is safe for now. But for how long?

The feather, now lying on the table, catches my eye. I stroke it. It feels cold and alien. This is going to be a long night.

I take a moment to gather myself.

Once Michelle is clean and dressed, she looks slightly better, but the fragility beneath the surface is still evident. I prepare the couch, adding pillows and a warm blanket. “You can sleep here,” I say, helping her get comfortable.

I sitin the kitchen staring at my phone, trying to stay awake but finding it hard. The phone buzzes, and a message from an unknown number flashes on the screen. I stare at it and swallow hard.

‘I’m watching you, and I must say, you look exquisite tonight. Both of you.’

The message hits me like a cold shower. The Raven? Can he see us? My fingers fly to the curtains, yanking them shut. The city lights outside suddenly feel like a million accusing eyes. My hand instinctively checks the locks on the door. Each click is a small victory against whatever is out there.

A thousand scenarios flash through my mind, each more terrifying than the last. I try to force myself to breathe, to calm down, but I’m feeling suffocated, closed in.

Michelle stirs in her sleep, her eyes darting open and shut, her face contorted in a silent scream.

“Don’t let him get me,” she whispers a panicked plea that jolts me. Her body, a tangle of limbs and shadows, twitches with a desperate energy. It’s not just the fear of an addict trying to stay clean. There’s something else, something deeper, that haunts her. It’s a primal fear that’s been etched into her soul.

Her face is pale, and her breath is shallow. I notice something lying near her hand: a faded photograph. I gently pick it up. It”s a picture of a younger Michelle and Alexander. Their faces are beaming, but there”s a hollowness in the scene that makes me ache. I can see a hint of the pain in Michelle”s eyes, the same pain that is in her eyes now.

Michelle suddenly stirs, “Oh, shit,” she mutters, looking at me. Then she turns around and lies still.

That was close.

I put the picture back in her hand. With a final glance at the locked door, I settle into a chair nearby, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The night stretches out before me, a vast, dark ocean, and I’m adrift, clinging desperately to a tiny raft. The knife in my hand is glinting in the dim light. Don’t fall asleep, Ava.

The following day,the air in my place still smells like chamomile from the two mugs on the wooden coffee table. Sarah”s homemade tea stash, gifted to me for my birthday, lingers in the air. I can hear Michelle”s soft breaths from the living room. I pull on a pair of dark wash jeans, the fabric a comfortable contrast against my skin. I quickly tuck in a crisp white blouse, hoping the outfit will provide a little more security.

A note sits on the coffee table, a message scribbled in my neat handwriting: “You’re safe here. I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the apartment.”

The note on the coffee table feels like a flimsy excuse, a betrayal of my promise to protect her. Cole”s campaign is due today—the Maverick watch we”ve been working on for weeks. It”s Spectrum Design Studio, our little world of color and light, a world I need to escape into, if only for a few hours. Besides, the Raven isn”t likely to attack in broad daylight in a locked apartment.

Nevertheless, I leave the knife in clear sight for Michelle and check my phone. Why is Alexander not answering? Damn it.

I pull the door shut, the click of the lock a hollow echo in the city’s oppressive heat. A shiver runs down my spine, not from the heat but from the feeling that I’m being watched. My hair prickles on the back of my neck, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

My eyes dart to the fire escape, a skeletal ladder clinging to the side of my building. It’s always been there, but now, it looks like a sinister gateway, a route for a predator to slip inside. I glance at the cracked window hinges in the hallway, the rusted metal making my stomach clench. A sense of vulnerability I hadn’t felt before washes over me. I push it away, calling paranoia on my impractical feelings, and run down the stairs. I’m late.

The city feelsdifferent this morning. The air crackles with raw energy. But it’s not the city, it’s me. The Raven’s message, the feather, Michelle’s fear— I should go to Harvey, but what will I tell him? That a feather freaked me out?

That a weirdo sent me a text? Will he just chalk it up to some city creep who got my number off a website? Or dismiss me as a target of online harassment?

The coffee I grab from the corner cafe near work is barely lukewarm when I spill it all over a man walking past me on the street, his angry glare making my heart race.

“Watch where you’re going, lady!” he yells, his voice thick with rage. The glint in his eye makes me flinch.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, my hands shaking. “I’m so nervous, I just—”

The guy doesn’t even let me finish. He steps closer, his face flushing crimson, his nostrils flaring. “You think you can just walk around like you own the place?” he growls.

My breath catches in my throat. The man moves even closer, his hand clenching into a fist, hovering near my face. “You—young people,” he grunts. He gestures wildly, and I instinctively take a step back.

“Hey!”

A hand slams into the guy’s shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. It’s Cole. His eyes blaze, a warning shot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he says. He’s standing between me and the guy, a wall of protection.

“Just talking to this—” he spits the word “lady” like a curse, “about her manners.”

Cole squares his shoulders, facing the guy. “She didn’t mean to. Get lost!” The guy scurries off, no match for Cole’s steely gaze.

I get it. I’d avoid a fight with him, too.

Cole turns to me, his expression softening slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just— rattled,” I say, my voice shaky. I stumble, spilling more coffee, this time landing on Cole’s shirt. “Shit!”

I can’t meethis gaze. “Sorry about your shirt,” I whisper, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“It’s just coffee,” he says, his voice nonchalant. He gives a slight shrug, then turns back to the man, who’s still backing away, his anger fading.

I stand there, frozen, my hands still shaking. Cole steps closer, his touch gentle as he places a hand on my arm. He adjusts his tie, smoothing it down with a practiced movement. ”Everything needs to be in order,” he says, a hint of amusement in his eyes, his gaze lingering on me. “Hey, I’ve got you, Ava,” he says, his words supposed to be calming, but I’m too rattled to register them. My mind is still replaying the scene, how he pushed back the man, the raw power in his stance.

”Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask, my voice a bit breathless.

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. ”Oh, that? It wasn’t really a fight. That being said, I grew up with a brother. He taught me a few things.” His gaze drops for a moment, then flickers back to me, ”It”s funny. He would”ve hated seeing me do this for you—helping someone. Maybe that”s why he”s gone. But it”s good to be able to—” He trails off, his voice a low murmur.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a brother,” I say, catching my breath. “Are you close?”

“He passed away some years ago,” he says. The sadness in his eyes differs from the coolness I’ve seen before.

“I’m sorry,” I say, offering a strained smile, but the words feel hollow. It’s hard to imagine Cole, with his sharp edges and his confident facade, ever being vulnerable.

“It was a long time ago,” he says, his gaze settling on the building across the street.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, a tiny tremor that sets my nerves on edge. I yank it from my pocket, my fingers fumbling with the lock. It’s a message from an unknown number. I stare at it, my hackles raised, as I read the words:

“Soon, you’ll be mine, bound and naked for me to play with. And no one will save you.”

The message burns into my vision, searing a trail of fear across my mind. The words are a cruel, twisted promise, a chilling echo of the Raven’s shadow. I look up, searching the crowd for the message’s source. You’re stupid, Ava. There’s no one here.

My eyes dart around. There’s just the empty street and people going to work in the murky morning weather.

Cole steps closer, and I glance up at him. He meets my gaze, his eyes holding mine. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I swallow, my throat dry. “N-nothing,” I say, biting my lip. “I’m just a little—dizzy.”

I try to tuck my phone away, my fingers trembling. The words on the screen are seared into my memory, the fear a sharp, persistent ache.

“Come on,” he says, his lips curving upward in a reassuring smile. “Let’s get to work. The campaign presentation will take your mind off things. And after that maybe you should take some time off? You know you could use a break. You seem— overwhelmed lately.”

“Yeah?” I say, my skepticism palpable.

“You know my therapist suggested I volunteer,” he says. “I’m at a farm once a week, on Sundays.”

My eyes narrow. “A farm? Really?”

“I’ve done a lot of shit, Ava,” he says, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. “And she’s helped me a lot.”

I tilt my head, considering his words. ”Alright,” I say, nodding. I”m not sure if I believe him, but the thought of Cole working on a farm on weekends is a calming picture in my mind. A comforting distraction.

But as we walk, a chilling image flashes before my eyes—me, bound, naked, at the mercy of the Raven”s twisted desires. It”s a scene I can”t escape, a horrifying picture painted with the strokes of a nightmare. I clutch my purse tight, a flimsy shield against the fear that claws its way back.