Deflowered

Reminder: This is Antonio Lombardi, age 32, 6 feet tall. Only works in the mafia under Mattia Giovanni. He is a dangerous criminal and a very good shooter. Mattia, Marco and him are very good friends.

Dahlia

My heart was still racing from the weight of his words, the quiet way Mattia had admitted what I already knew deep down but had been too afraid to name: Mafia. No euphemisms, no polite dodges, just the truth, laid bare between us.

Flora was curled up on the couch in her pajamas, knees tucked to her chest, her hair tied back messily. She looked so small, so breakable, and for a moment I wished I could keep it all to myself, pretend that nothing had changed. But when her eyes met mine, I knew I couldn't.

"You're late," she said softly, more worried than accusing. "I almost called."

I walked over and dropped beside her, sinking into the cushions. My hands wouldn't stay still. I kept twisting my fingers together. "Flora... there's something I need to tell you."

Her brows pinched. "What is it? Did something happen?!"

I took a deep breath. "It's about Mattia."

Her body stiffened instantly, like she was bracing for bad news. "Dahlia, don't tell me-!"

"No, it's not like that," I cut in quickly, shaking my head. "He's not... he's not dangerous to us. But he's dangerous. To other people. That whole world he comes from, the cars, the men always watching, the way he moves like everything belongs to him, it isn't just money or power. It's... it's mafia, Flora. He told me."

The words hung heavy in the space between us. Flora blinked, her lips parting slightly, but she didn't speak right away. I could see her replaying every moment she'd seen him, his intensity, his control, the way he had looked at her that night in my apartment.

"So, he really..." she trailed off, shaking her head slowly. "And you, what does that mean for you?"

I swallowed hard, a bitter knot forming in my throat. "I don't know. Part of me feels safer than I've ever felt. Like nothing could touch us now, not with him there. But another part..." My voice cracked. "Another part of me feels like I'm drowning in something I can't escape. Like I'm not just with him, but inside of his world now. Whether I want to be or not."

Flora reached out her warm hand to cover mine, grounding me. Her eyes softened, and I saw the girl who used to share secrets with me under blankets when we were kids, not just the survivor sitting in front of me.

"You've always been stronger than you think," she whispered. "And maybe... maybe he really does care about you. But you don't owe him your soul, D. You hear me? Not even if he protects us. Not even if he kills the monsters."

That broke me a little. I leaned into her, resting my forehead on her shoulder, and for a moment it felt like the years we'd lost hadn't happened. Just two girls holding each other together in the middle of too much truth.