Mafia's Angel

(POV: Isabela Montoya, Age 11)

The sunbeam felt like warm honey on the page. It was a thick, lazy stripe of golden light, filled with tiny dancing dust specks. It cut right through the picture of the knight fighting the dragon. Isabela gently traced the edge of the sunlight with her finger. The paper felt smooth and warm under her skin. The whole estate outside the library window seemed stunned silent by the afternoon heat. Inside, the silence was thick, only underscored by two small sounds: the drowsy drone of faraway bees near the garden, and the soft rustle of the heavy velvet curtains as a draft moved them slightly from the hall. Safe. The way it always felt.

She was lost deep in the storybook's magic forest, somewhere between the whisper of imaginary leaves and the shine of the knight's armor, when the first sound ripped through the quiet world.

CRACK!

Not thunder. Sharper. Louder. A horrible breaking sound that punched through the sleepy peace. It bounced off the high ceilings, ugly and harsh.

Isabela jumped violently. Her book tumbled from her lap-a soft thud on the rug. Breath hitched-sharp! Her heart did that awful flip, then started hammering, like a panicked bird caught deep inside her chest, desperate to escape. What was that sound? It sounded jagged, wrong. Like the whole world was tearing apart.

CRACK-POP-POP!

More sounds, closer this time. Then a shout – quick, scared. A man's voice, but too far away, muffled by walls, impossible to know who. Not Papa's deep voice. Not Quino's rough orders. Panic, cold and slick like ice water, rushed through her body. This wasn't a car making noise. Not leftover fireworks. This was different. Dangerous.

Mama.

The thought was sharp, like a sudden pain behind her eyes. Mama was in her study, down the west hall. Was she okay? Did she hear it too?

Isabela scrambled up. Her legs felt wobbly, like jelly. Mama! Run to Mama! That was her first thought, a desperate pull. But then – CRASH! From the main hall – the terrible, loud scream of shattering glass, like a giant dropping a whole tray of crystal. The sound vibrated through the floor right under her feet. It froze her right where she stood.

Hide. The word wasn't a real thought, just a gut feeling screaming louder than the crash. Forget Mama. Survive. Her eyes darted wildly around the library she knew so well, searching, desperate. Where? The tall bookshelves were no good – long open rows, no cover. The comfy window seat? Too open, too easy to see.

Then she saw it – the huge, dark wood table where Papa sometimes laid out his big maps. The heavy velvet cloth covering it, the one with gold threads shining faintly, hung low. It almost touched the floor on two sides. There. Dark under there. Deep. Maybe safe.

Heart slamming hard against her ribs, each beat painful, Isabela dropped fast, hitting the floor on hands and knees before she even registered the sound. The cool wood floor felt shocking against her warm skin. She scrambled forward – too fast! Thump! Pain exploded as her head hit the hard underside of the table. She ignored the sharp throb. Deeper. She pulled her knees in tight, scrambling deeper into the blackest shadows she could find beneath the table. She jammed herself hard against one of the thick, carved legs-making herself as small as possible. Her hand darted out, fingers trembling as they snagged the edge of the heavy velvet runner, tugging it down just enough to shrink the opening, desperate to hide better. Making her own small, dark cave. Hidden.

Here, the loud world outside muffled just a little. But the sounds were still sharp, horribly clear. Maybe even louder now in the small space, louder because she was listening so hard.

Pop-pop-pop! Closer. Definitely gunfire now. She remembered hearing it once before, when Papa took Quino hunting. But this sounded different. Faster. Angrier. Violent.

A man yelled, very close now. His voice tight with pain, maybe fury. Then another voice shouting orders – rough, mean, cold. A voice she didn't know. The sounds came from the main hall, but they seemed to be moving deeper into the house. Towards Mama's study? Towards her?

Her stomach twisted hard. A sudden sickening heat washed up her throat, vile and burning. Eyes clamped shut tight, she dug her forehead hard against her knees, desperately wishing-smaller, smaller, just vanish. The sharp, familiar tang of lemon polish suddenly warred with something else-a thin, stinging acridness seeping low under the door. Smoke? Was something burning? That smell scraped raw at the back of her throat, making her gag down a cough. Ears straining, desperate, she listened hard-trying to catch anything familiar, anything safe in the middle of the chaos.

Papa was away on a long trip. But Mama was here. And Quino, head of security, always watching, always near Mama. Antonio, Ricardo – the guards who always smiled at her. Where were their voices? Why weren't they stopping this?

THUD! Heavy. Right outside the library door in the hall. Followed by a short grunt of pain – then silence. Sharp, sudden silence where the grunt had been.

Isabela's hand shot up, clamping hard over her mouth, smothering the whimper before it fully formed. A quake started deep inside her, vibrating out, rattling her down to the bone. Tears instantly sprang, hot and stinging, but she jammed her eyes shut tight, refusing to let a single one escape. Not one tear. Crying made noise. Noise meant danger.

Think. The word yelled inside her head. Think like Mama always tells you. Calm down. Like during thunderstorms... think! Stay quiet. Stay hidden.

But the terrible sounds kept coming. More gunfire, fast and sharp. A loud crash, like a big table turning over. Shouting, muffled by distance but angry. And under it all, a cold feeling grew in her stomach, heavy like a stone. Dread. Pure dread. Then, closer. So close, almost right outside the library door, she heard it.

"Let go of me!"

Mama.

Relief crashed into terror, making her feel dizzy. Mama was alive! But her voice... it wasn't the soft voice Isabela knew. It was sharp, tight, brittle like thin glass. Defiance burned in it.

"Where is Montoya?" A hard, unfamiliar man's voice demanded. Deep. Rough. Like rocks grinding together.

"He's not here," Mama's voice snapped back. Still strong, but Isabela heard the tiny shake underneath the anger. "Leave us. Take what you want and go!"

"We want more than your silver, signora," the rough voice snarled back. There was a muffled sound, a quick struggle.

Then Mama's voice changed. The hardness cracked. It splintered into pure fear. "Please... Please, don't. My daughter... Isabela..."

Mama's voice-terrified, screaming her name? Ice rammed straight through Isabela's chest, sharp and stealing her breath away. They knew she was here. Or knew about her. Were they looking for her too? Should she run? But where? The library door handle rattled slightly, then the door itself shuddered, like someone heavy leaned against it.

Isabela froze completely, stiff as stone, not even breathing. Don't open the door. Any second now, the heavy wood would swing inwards... They'd see her. Small. Huddled in the shadows.

Then – Mama! A sharp cry – cut off halfway through. Choked off. Followed by a small gasp, wet and final.

Silence.

It hit Isabela like being punched hard in the chest. The shouting stopped. The gunfire stopped. The sounds of fighting vanished. There was only a sudden, total, terrifying emptiness of sound. The silence pressed down hard, heavy against her eardrums. Suffocating. It felt louder, somehow, than the crashes, the shouts, even Mama's last choked cry. That sharp smell of smoke... seemed stronger now? Or maybe it was just that there was nothing else to hear or smell.

Listen. Ears straining, desperate for anything. A footstep? A breath? Mama's voice saying it was okay...? Even the rough voice of the bad man...?

Nothing. Only the wild thump-thump-thump of her own heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. Blood roared in her ears like a storm.

The silence stretched on. Heavy. Waiting. Seconds dragged by like long, slow hours. Had they left? Was it over? Or was this silence something worse? Waiting for what?

Frozen still. Cramped under the dark table, shaking. Her hand still pressed hard over her mouth, hurting now.

She held her breath – held it, held it – until her lungs burned, screaming for air. Finally, she had to let it go. A slow, shaking gasp, completely silent. Her mouth tasted like dust and pure terror.

Mama? The name was a silent scream inside her head.

No answer came back. Just the horrifying, empty silence.

Tears finally escaped. Hot and silent, they rolled down her cheeks, making clean tracks through the dust. She didn't dare wipe them away. She didn't dare move a muscle. She just huddled in her dark, cramped cave, small and completely alone. Listening to the terrible, heavy silence where her mother's voice used to be. The safe world had cracked wide open, swallowed the warm sunbeam whole, and left only suffocating darkness and a quiet that felt cold, absolute, like the very end of everything.