Impure Love (Dark Mafia Duet #2)

2. Aliyah

2

ALIYAH

I pull the curtains tighter, the faintest sliver of light slicing through the darkness like a knife. It's been a week since I saw him—the man with the gun, the dead body. Since then, I've barely left my apartment. The walls seem to close in on me, the air thick with fear and uncertainty. Every noise makes me jump; every shadow seems to move.

Sophia's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Aliyah, you can't keep doing this."

I huddle deeper into the couch, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't have a choice, Sophia."

She stands in front of me, hands on her hips, frustration etched across her face. "You can't just quit your job and hide here forever. Tell me what happened?"

"I can't," I say, my voice trembling. "I can't tell you."

Her eyes soften, but her tone stays firm. "You know you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."

I shake my head, the memory of the blood and the man's piercing gaze flashing in my mind. But I have to tell her something.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "There was this customer," I begin, remembering the creep with the blue eyes, forcing myself to meet Sophia's eyes. "He was... really creepy. Kept following me around, saying things that made me uncomfortable." My fingers fidget with the edge of the couch cushion.

Her eyebrows knit together in concern. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've done something to help."

I shrug, wrapping my arms around myself for some semblance of comfort. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "And honestly, I don't know. The parties, the people... it never felt right. It wasn’t my scene."

Sophia sits down next to me, her expression softening as she reaches for my hand. "You know you can talk to me, right? We've been through worse together, and I've got your back no matter what." Her voice is gentle but firm, a lifeline I desperately need right now.

I nod, feeling a pang of guilt twist in my stomach. She's right. Sophia's been my rock, the one person I can count on. And now I'm lying to her. "I know," I say quietly. "I just... needed some time to figure things out."

She reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Well, whatever it is, we'll deal with it. Maybe we can even look for a new job for you. Something you'd actually enjoy."

I force a smile, grateful for her support but unable to shake the memory of that night. "Yeah, maybe," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. The image of the lifeless body and those cold eyes haunt me, making it hard to breathe

Sophia's hand is warm on my shoulder, a stark contrast to the icy dread that has settled deep in my bones. I want to tell her everything, to unload the heavy burden I've been carrying, but the words stick in my throat, tangled with fear and shame.

Sophia's eyes narrow slightly, as if she's searching for something in my face. "Are you sure that's all it is? You seemed really shaken up."

I look away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. "It's just... everything's been so overwhelming. Maybe I'm just overreacting." I want to believe that I am, that the man I witnessed has forgotten all about me. But the question still stands. Why did he let me live? Why didn't he chase after me when I ran? He could have killed me at any point, and he didn’t even follow me.

I wish I could let it go, but something about the danger I witnessed leads me to believe that I’m still not safe. Is this what shock feels like?

Sophia sighs, leaning back against the couch, her voice interrupting my thoughts, expression softening. "Alright. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. You know that, right?"

I nod again, my throat tight with unspoken words. The weight of the secrets I'm carrying feels like it's crushing me. "Thanks, Sophia. I appreciate it."

She reaches out and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll get through this, whatever it is. Together."

We sit in silence for a moment, the tension hanging in the air like a heavy fog. I want to tell her the truth, to share the burden of what I've seen, but the fear of dragging her into this mess keeps my mouth shut.

She finally stands up, stretching her arms above her head as if trying to shake off the tension. "How about we order some takeout? Maybe some Chinese or pizza? We can binge-watch something mindless on Netflix and try to forget about all this, at least for a little while before I go to work." Her suggestion, simple and comforting, is calming in the storm of my thoughts.

I manage a genuine smile this time, grateful for the distraction. "Sounds perfect."

As Sophia heads to the kitchen, I lean back against the couch, my mind racing. I can't hide forever.

My mind is a tangled mess of fear and confusion as the idea of going to the police flits in and out of my thoughts. But, it’s the sheer terror of what that man might do if he found out that is keeping me paralyzed. Danger rolled off him so aggressively that I can still feel the weight of it pressing down on me, wrapping around my chest like a vice.

I’m just being paranoid, I try to reason with myself and not for the first time since that night. The man doesn’t even know who I am, let alone my name. I'm nobody to him. But whatever comfort that last thought might have offered me is shattered when I realize that everyone at the penthouse had money. Money and power go hand in hand when you’re one of the city’s elite. How hard would it be for him to find me on the list of caterers that night? Surely these people keep tabs on everything.

I lean back with a sigh and try to calm down while Sophia rummages through the kitchen drawers, looking for the takeout menus. Her movements are purposeful, but I can tell she's still worried. I whisper a soft, "Fuck," under my breath, the word barely escaping my lips.

Sophia glances over her shoulder. "Did you say something?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, was just... thinking out loud."

She narrows her eyes, then goes back to her search. "Well, think about what you want to eat instead. Chinese, pizza, or that new Thai place."

I force myself to focus. "Chinese, I guess."

She pulls out the menu and waves it at me. "Good choice. I'll order your usual."

As she dials the number, my mind drifts back to the memory of his eyes. Expressionless, yet somehow filled with a power that makes my skin crawl. It's like he could see right through me, into my very soul. I shiver, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

The memory of him is so vividly haunting, I can still recall with perfect clarity the way he stared into me. It's why I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more to the situation, something more that allowed me to escape with my life. It’ almost too much to process.

"Hey," Sophia calls from the kitchen. "You want extra dumplings?"

"Sure," I reply, my voice hollow.

She finishes the call and walks back over, plopping down beside me.

Sophia doesn't press me further, but I can see the doubt lingering in her eyes. She knows me too well to buy the half-baked story I fed her. I sit on the couch, clutching my phone, scrolling through news reports, desperately searching for any mention of the man I saw murdered. But there's nothing. No headlines, no police reports, no whispers in the crime section. It's like the man never existed.

My fingers fly across the screen, opening article after article, my mind a whirlwind of panic. "Come on, come on," I mutter under my breath, my heart racing. Each second that passes without a clue feels like another step closer to losing my grip on reality.

The truth is the silence in the news only makes me feel more manic. If no one's talking about it, does that mean no one knows? Or worse, does it mean someone is making sure no one finds out? The questions swirl in my head, each one more terrifying than the last. I stare at my phone, the screen now dark, my reflection staring back at me. I can't let Sophia think I'm losing my mind. I need to keep it together, for both our sakes.

A few hours later, Sophia stands by the door, slipping into a jacket. "Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it."

I nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. "I will. Don’t worry about me."

She pauses, searching my face. "You sure you’re gonna be alright?"

"Yeah," I lie. "I'll be fine,” I say, still smiling.

“Alright.” She nods as she steps outside.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the smile crumbles. The apartment plunges into an uncomfortable silence, each tick of the clock magnified in the stillness. I sit there, staring at the door, my mind replaying the events of that night on a relentless loop.

A creak from the hallway makes me jump, my heart pounding in my chest. I tell myself it’s just the building settling, but the paranoia tightens its grip. Every sound, every shadow seems to morph into the man from the penthouse. His cold eyes, the lifeless body at his feet—it all feels too real, too close.

I know I should go to the police, but the thought of it sends a wave of dread through me. What if he finds out? What if he comes after me? I shake my head, trying to dispel the fear, but it clings to me like a second skin. No matter how many times I try to rationalize the situation, I keep ending up right back where I started. It's becoming repetitive and even as I’m aware of how insane it sounds, I can't help the uncertainty that weaves with the fear that's lingered.

As the evening progresses, the sky outside darkens, and the city’s neon lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. I move through the apartment, checking the locks, peeking out the windows. Nothing. Just the usual bustle of the city. But it doesn’t ease the tension in my chest.

I crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The silence is deafening, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. My eyes dart around the room, but there’s nothing there. Just my imagination playing tricks on me.

Sleep comes in fits and starts, each time I drift off, the nightmare pulls me under. I’m in that penthouse again, the man’s sharp jaw and unsettling gaze fixed on me. But this time, he’s pointing the gun at me. My heart races, my breath catches in my throat. I can’t move, can’t scream.

"Please," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He steps closer, his expression unreadable. The gun feels like a lead weight, the barrel cold against my skin. I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

I wake with a start, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my ears. The room is dark, the only light a faint glow from the streetlamp outside. I sit up, clutching the blankets, trying to steady my breathing. It was just a dream, I think to myself, but it felt so real.