The Mafia Kings Plaything

Katarina’s POV, Liam’s House

The knife in my hand shook so badly I nearly dropped it, but instead I put it into the pockets of Liam’s trousers I had managed to get from him.

I pressed my back against the cold kitchen counter, the blade slipping dangerously in my sweaty laps. Every breath I took felt too loud and too reckless. The old wooden floor creaked under my bare feet with every tiny shift of my weight.

I couldn't fucking move in this place I couldn't fucking breathe.

Liam was still pacing the living room, talking to himself in that weird, jittery, nerdy voice. The "sweet" side of him. The side that offered me burnt toast and mint tea after almost snapping my wrist against the door just an hour ago.

The house smelled like old soap, dust, and something sickly sweet, almost like rotting fruit. My Hair clung damply to my body, sweat sticking to my ribs and thighs. Every hair on my arms stood and was on edge.

I didn’t trust Liam anymore. The Liam who came to the bookstore and always encouraged me

Not even the soft version of him. Especially not him.

"Kat?" Liam's voice drifted into the kitchen. High, uncertain. "I found... something for you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the knife tighter against my lap to stop it from slipping.

His Footsteps shuffled closer, and I braced myself.

When I finally opened my eyes, Liam was standing there in the doorway, smiling too widely, his eyes were glassy, and in his hands... a tiny pink baby dress.

A goddamn baby dress.

"I thought... maybe you'd need this," he mumbled, cradling it like it was some sacred offering. "You’re small. It could fit. Pretty on you."

My heart beat so fast I thought it would crack my ribs open.

I didn't move. I didn't speak.

I just nodded slowly, praying he wouldn't notice how close I was to bolting.

His smile faltered, like he wasn't sure if he was happy or furious.

"And this too," he whispered, pulling a gleaming razor blade from his back pocket. "In case you need to cut... something."

The razor glinted under the flickering kitchen light.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to drive the knife into the wall and run barefoot into the dark.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

I forced a tiny smile. "Thank you, Liam. That's... very sweet of you."

He beamed. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Then he shuffled back toward the living room, humming some broken, tuneless song.

I gripped the counter until my knuckles went white. I had to get out. Tonight.

I looked around and found his medicine by accident, rattling around under the sink.

Pill bottles with names I could barely pronounce. Antipsychotics. Mood stabilizers. Heavy stuff.

I stared at them, heart pounding so hard it blurred my vision, and A wicked idea slithered into my head.

If I could grind them up. If I could get him to drink it.

Maybe, just maybe, I could knock him out long enough to run.

Thirty seconds. That’s all I needed. Thirty seconds to run.

I moved fast, very Silent. Crushing two pills between the edge of a spoon and the counter, the powder was fine and bitter under my nails.

The whole time, my heart slammed against my ribs.

I stirred the dust into a glass of orange juice so hard my hand shook the glass nearly over.

I grabbed it and forced myself to breathe. To smile. To pretend.

"Liam?" I called sweetly.

He turned from the couch, blinking at me with his glassy eyes.

"You must be thirsty," I said, stepping closer, holding out the cup. His eyes narrowed. Suspicion flickered there for a second. My skin prickled with sweat.

"Drink with me," he said instead, his voice low and weirdly serious. Panic bolted through me.

"Of course," I forced a giggle, grabbing a second empty cup and pretending to pour myself a drink.

I lifted my empty glass and smiled. "Cheers." He hesitated.

One second. Two.

Then, slowly, Liam brought the cup to his lips. I held my breath so hard my lungs screamed.

He drank. Half the glass in one gulp. I almost dropped to my knees from the relief.

But I didn’t move. Not yet.

Liam blinked, confusion clouding his face.

He stumbled back onto the couch, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor.

I watched, frozen, as he swayed, muttering to himself.

"No... don't leave... don't leave..." he slurred.

His body sagged into the chair. His head fell back. Still. Silent.

I stood there, fists clenched, my whole body trembling. Had I given him too much? Was he dead?

I rushed over, pressing two fingers against his neck.

Pulse. Faint. But there. I let out a shuddering breath. I didn't have time to think.

I tore his phone from his jeans pocket and fumbled with it, my hands slick with sweat.

My hands shook so bad I could barely punch in Mateo’s number from memory, my smart brain was finally saving me.

Mateo. Mateo. Mateo.

I called him, but it went to voicemail

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Come on. Pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up!

No answer.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I left a voicemail, frantic, whispered, messy.

"Mateo, it's me, it's Kat. Meet me at our spot at the bus station. Please. Please. I need you."

I dropped the phone and hugged myself, fighting the sob rising in my chest. Why wasn't he answering? Why wasn’t he coming?

Maybe the cartel already got him. Maybe it was already too late.

A flash of memory slammed into me, the last time I saw him before jumping out the window, leaving him in the hands of those men.

I couldn’t hide anymore. I couldn’t sit here and rot while they tore my brother apart.

I had to move. I had to run.

I crept toward the front door, barefoot, bruised, heart jackhammering in my chest.

My towel was long gone. I wore one of Liam’s oversized shirts and trousers, drowning in the fabric, and a pair of his old sneakers two sizes too big.

I didn't care. I just needed to move.

I slipped out into the night, the air slapping my face with cold fury.

The streets were half-empty, silent except for the occasional rumble of a car passing far away.

Every step on the cracked pavement was agony, my blistered feet bleeding, my thighs burning from the bruises from running.

I headed for the bus station. The secret spot Mateo had told me to find if anything ever went wrong.

I waited there, shivering under a broken streetlamp. Five minutes.Ten.Nothing.

I hugged myself tighter, my body trembling from fear and cold.

And then, A rumble, A black van. Speeding toward me.

Its headlights are like twin knives stabbing through the darkness.

My heart stopped. My whole body locked up.

Where was Mateo? Why the hell was this van driving straight at me?

The tires screeched as it pulled to the curb. The passenger door swung open, creaking.

Men in black jackets. Hard faces. Hungry eyes. Not Mateo.Definitely not Mateo.

I froze, breath caught in my lungs, and my blood ran cold..

I didn’t know it yet... but the streets I was running on were already soaked in blood.