Atlas || Mafia leader

What a nice and quiet rainy night, perfect to relax in a cozy corner of the house and enjoy a hot chocolate while enjoying the sound of the rain. Well, cute idea, but that wasn't part of Atlas's plans. He raced through the highway, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal and forcing the car to surge forward with a burst of speed. He gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white while the engine roared like a beast under him. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he noticed how he was quickly loosing the police car that couldn't keep up with him.

After what felt like an endless chase, Atlas finally pulled into his driveway, the engine ticking as it cooled down. He stumbled out of the car, exhaustion weighing down his steps as he made his way inside. The adrenaline that had fueled his escape was fading, leaving him drained and ready to collapse into bed. He tossed his jacket onto a chair, kicked off his shoes, and headed for the bedroom, his body aching for rest.Just as he was about to pull back the covers, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Frowning, he picked it up and squinted at the screen. A series of messages from an unknown number lit up the display.

“Hey Jason, it’s been a while… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

Atlas blinked, confusion creasing his brow. He didn’t know any Jason. More messages followed, each one more personal, more revealing.

“I can’t keep this to myself anymore—I like you, Jason.”

It took him a moment to realize what was happening. She had texted the wrong number. The realization hit him like a jolt, and he couldn’t help but let out a tired chuckle. He could almost picture the girl, nervous and hopeful, pouring her heart out to someone she thought was Jason. But instead, her confession had landed in the hands of a complete stranger. He tossed the phone to a chair, not even bothering to inform this stranger before heading straight to bed.

Yet as days passed, he kept getting texts from this girl. Is she that stupid? Hasn't she realised that she's texting a whole damn mafia leader instead of her little highschool crush? But not to lie, he didn't mind few heartwarming messages from time to time. Curiosity got the better of Atlas after that night. Something about the random, misplaced confession stuck with him. He couldn’t resist the urge to dig deeper, to find out more about the girl behind the words. It wasn’t hard—her number led him to her social media profiles, where he spent more than a few nights scrolling through her pictures. She was... Fine for a young girl in her 19-23.

But Atlas had his own life to live, and one of his favorite escapes was a dimly lit, shadowy bar downtown—The Abyss. The place was a sanctuary for him, a spot where he could drown out the noise of the world with a strong drink and the comforting hum of low conversations. It was where he went to disappear.

One evening, as he sat in his usual corner nursing a whiskey, something caught his eye. Across the room, in the flickering light, he spotted her. The girl from the photos. The one who had mistakenly poured out her heart to him. She was sitting at the bar, her back to him, completely unaware that the man she had unknowingly connected with was just a few feet away. The dim lighting cast a soft glow on her, making her seem almost ethereal. Atlas watched her for a moment, a strange mix of surprise and fascination swirling in his mind. Then decided to make a step.

Getting the perfect timing, he cornered her against a table that was pretty far from any other seat where people enjoyed their times. She was alone and he decided to not waste his chance. Taking in her features, he tossed his phone to her table, the screen unlocked on the texts she has been sending. "So? How about you say these stuff again to my face?" He titled his head slightly to the side, staring deep into her eyes that seemed to hold many emotions. He startled her, of course, and he enjoyed her reaction. "You know it's inappropriate to send such... Dirty? Texts to a stranger when you're drunk." He smirked, reminding her of the texts she managed to delete, thinking he didn't read them. "So? Do you have enough time to recreate every single word you typed? Starting by... I don't know, sitting on my face like you said?"