The Mafia Boss

Ch. 11: I'm right here, baby.

The room spins as I process the information being fed to me. Olivia is limp in my arms, blissfully unaware of the chaos taking place all around her. Tears stain her cheeks where she was previously crying, eyelids red raw. Men and women spring into action, aimlessly pacing the front foyer, waiting for instructions. Tilly—distraught—comes barrelling up the stairs, waving her arms in a bid to gain our attention. She yanks on Torin's arm and points at me, struggling to articulate her point through the mass panic taking place.

"Tilly, what is it? What's wrong?"

She frantically gestures towards Torin and I, growing increasingly frustrated.

"Tilly, slow down," encourages Torin, eyes following her every move.

She releases a rush of air before picking up Maeve's stuffed unicorn. She must've dropped it when trying to get inside the bag. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that Tilly is bringing it to our attention, something inside me stirs.

"Oh my God, Torin!"

He looks to me, concerned.

"Maeve! They've drugged Maeve!"

I quickly transfer Oliva into Reaper's arms and sprint towards my bedroom, heart pounding. I enter to find Maeve's exhausted body in Torin's arms.

"Fuck!"

"We need to make her sick," he informs, calmly taking her towards the bathroom.

I follow behind, taking hold of Maeve's hand when she weakly asks for me.

"I'm right here, baby."

Torin fills a glass with water and orders one of his men to bring us some salt. He arrives moments later with large pot, on standby should Torin need anything else.

"Maeve, baby, drink this," he soothes, holding the glass to her lips.

My ears ring as her tiny lips latch onto the glass, hands trembling. I have no idea what drugs are currently working their way through her system, but I pray to God she's going to be okay.

"That's it, keep going. It'll make you feel better," encourages Torin, positioning her tiny body closer to the toilet.

He holds her up and caresses her back as the saltwater concoction begins to work. I cry as the sound of her pain reaches me ears and Torin—seeing this—takes hold of my hand. His touch is comforting. Nice. It's everything I need in this moment and more. He continues to squeeze my fingers as Maeve vomits a further three times, eventually stopping. She collapses into Torin's chest, hands fisting his shirt.

"You did so good," he soothes, gently stroking her hair. "You'll feel better soon, I promise."

Maeve curls into his body like a cat, face burrowed between his neck and shoulder.

"Torin, Reaper sent me up." A doctor enters the bathroom, carrying his medical supplies. "Is she conscious?"

"Yes."

"How old is the child?" he asks.

"Four," I inform.

"Let's move her to the bed," suggests the doctor, following Torin and I out of the bathroom. "What's her name?"

"Maeve," replies Torin, laying her on the bed.

He positions himself on the matress next to her, begrudging the fact he's no longer touching her.

"Hi, Maeve," greets the doctor, smile reassuring.

He's an older man with white, fuzzy hair and rosy cheeks.