Indebted to the Mafia King

*Heidi*

Organizing books has always been one of my favorite things to do in the bookstore ever since I started working with my grandparents. This is where I feel most comfortable, pretending life doesn't exist outside of these walls.

This store has been in my family for decades-generations. My grandfather passed his passion for books, and his love for this store, onto me. And as soon as I was old enough to work, I started helping him.

I'm a very lonely person, but I don't say that in a negative way. I have my grandparents, but other than that, books have always been my only friends. I've never made real friends in school or college, so I spend most of my time with fictional characters instead.

The best time of my day is when the shop closes and the customers leave, so I have the place all to myself. I always put on some classical music so I can hum to it while I gather the books spread across the store and put them back on their respective shelves.

Tonight is an exceedingly cold Christmas Eve in New York City, and I'm glad I decided to put on a fluffy sweater before I left home this morning. It's already dark, and even though this is my favorite place in the entire world to be, there always seems to be something trying to steal my peace.

This happens practically every night because of the stupid bar across the street. It's always noisy, their customers and workers often deciding to go out on the sidewalk to drink, smoke, and chat loudly as if the whole city doesn't mind hearing them.

That would be the only thing I would change in my daily life if I could change anything at all. I know New York City is not exactly what anyone would call a calm and peaceful place, especially not during Christmastime, but still, inside my store I manage to get the peace I need... if it wasn't for those sulky, sullen drunks across the street.

I don't even understand why anyone would choose to go to that particular bar in the first place. It's not like there's anything special about it. In fact, every single person I've ever seen over there is scary. And suspicious. I would never exchange a night surrounded by my books and a good cup of hot chocolate to hang out in that kind of establishment.

Tonight, in particular, they are unbelievably loud.

What the hell is going on over there?

I peek through the front window, a pile of books in my hands, and narrow my eyes at the dimly lit sidewalk. There seems to be a commotion happening on the other side of the street, or maybe the group of men standing around are just having an exciting night. I can't really tell from here.

That's when I notice that one of them seems to be staring at the store, or better yet, at me.

I don't recall seeing him before, or maybe I have. They all look the same to me from a distance, always wearing dark clothes and sunglasses during the day, as if they're celebrities. At night, there's not enough light to tell them apart from here, even without their sunglasses.

I've never really paid much attention to them, if I'm being honest. I do my best to ignore their presence and focus only on my store, hoping they won't disturb my clients, or me. If we stay out of each other's ways, I can pretend they are nothing more than a rock in my shoe.

There seems to be something different about this guy, though. His gaze is so intense, even from across the street, his build so masculine, suddenly my thoughts go somewhere they shouldn't.

I'm probably just reading too many steamy romances lately.

I shake my head, shoving away those thoughts, adjusting my glasses, and preparing to go back to my task. But something catches my attention before I get back to work.

A car comes flying down the street, its tires screeching on the asphalt as it comes to a halt in front of the bar. Everything happens so fast that I can't even make sense of what's going on until it's all over.

I hear noises-gunshots-then another car shows up. A man's hand shoots out of the tinted window and drops something, then a loud blast shakes the entire block.

Broken glass explodes around me. I hit the ground, throwing the books I'm holding onto the floor and using my arms to protect my head. My ears ring, and I smell something burning, but it takes me several seconds to react. When I look up, my eyes widen with terror as I see the shelves close to what used to be the front window entirely on fire.

"No, no, no!" I gasp, my voice barely audible over the screams from the people outside.

I'm shocked, paralyzed, unable to make myself move. I have no idea who caused this, or whether my store was the target or the bar,, but I can't think of what to do next. My brain yells at me to run away, to get out of this place before it crashes down on me, but my heart is aching for the books, the memories, the history about to be lost....

This is my family's life's work. It will shatter my grandfather to know it was destroyed in the blink of an eye.

How can I do nothing and leave it all behind to burn to the ground?

But then, what can I possibly do to stop it?

I look around, watching as the fire licks the pages of hundreds of stories. My favorite novels begin to be swallowed up by flames. I see the children's book section catching next and imagine all those colorful illustrations melting on the pages.

A loud crash close to the front door pulls me out of my spiraling moment, and I snap my head in that direction, wondering if something hit us again. But then I notice that part of the ceiling has fallen in, blocking my closest exit. "This can't be happening," I cry to myself, my heart beating so fast that I feel it against my rib cage.

What do I do now?

I head for the backdoor, forcing my legs to obey my commands, and when I get there, I realize that it is also blocked by a toppled shelf that must've fallen over when the ground shook from the explosion.

"Shit," I mumble, frantically looking around for a way to escape this nightmare. Frantically, I run back to the main part of the store.

My eyes land on the broken window. It might be the only way for me to save myself, but there's so much smoke and fire that I can't be sure if it is safe.novelbin

What if I try to escape that way and catch myself on fire?

Panicking, I stop in the middle of the store, tears pricking my eyes. It's getting harder and harder to breathe by the second, and my throat feels like I just swallowed a handful of glass. I cough, pulling my elbow up to block my nose from inhaling the thick smoke.

But it' alreadys too late. I can feel it.

My vision is starting to blur, and my hearing is fading away as if I'm drowning in a deep, gray ocean.

All by myself.

There's no one to save me.

I'm all alone.

This is how I'm going to die? Not even knowing who killed me? At twenty-five years old?

I have so many things I still wanted to do! I have no friends, no boyfriend, nothing to call my own.

What kind of life is that?

What about my grandparents? Who will take care of them if I'm not around anymore? I'm the only family they have left. Will they be able to move on without me?

My knees buckle under me, and I fall to the floor, falling into the abyss...

Then, I catch a quick movement out of the corner of my eye. A large form appears through the smoke. At first, I think it must be an angel, even though he looks nothing like the ones I've read about in books. Am I dead already?

Or maybe this is nothing more than a nightmare. It's nice to think I might actually be safe at home in my bed.

But everything feels so real right now....

The silhouette of the man rushes in my direction, and even though I can't see his face, I know now that he is not an angel. Not in the literal sense of the word.

Could it be a firefighter? Maybe someone on the street saw the store burning down and called for help?

Strong arms pull me up like I weigh nothing. I barely understand what's happening, my eyes and body are too heavy for me to think clearly, but I do manage to murmur something that I hope sounds like "Thank you." I know I'm being carried out, or maybe this really is an angel taking me to whatever afterlife awaits me, but at this point, the smoke won't allow my eyes to focus, and I'm falling in and out of consciousness.

The only thing I'm aware of before blacking out completely is a deep, hoarse voice saying, "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart."

And then everything goes pitch black.