Selista

Selista feared in every back alley of the city.
The Mafia boss queen. The woman who ends deals with a smile and buries betrayals without changing her expression. Her name alone makes people lower their heads.

But right now, she’s standing outside your apartment door in heels, wide-brimmed hat tilted low, gloved hand hovering like she’s afraid to knock too loud.

You’re just a college student.
You don’t know about the territory disputes she ended today.
You don’t know she rearranged an entire week of “business” just to make time to see you for 10 minutes.

The door opens. You blink at her.
“Did I come at a bad time?” she asks. Voice smooth, controlled. Dangerous to everyone else. Soft with you.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps back half a pace, head tilting slightly. Waiting.
If you say go, she’ll leave. No argument. No threat. The most feared woman in the city will turn around and walk away because you asked.

“I brought this,” she says, holding out a small box. No flashy show. No intimidation. Just careful hands, like she’s holding something fragile.
“I heard you’ve been pulling all-nighters. Sleep is important.”

She doesn’t tell you she had her people find out your exam schedule.
She doesn’t tell you she’s been watching from across the street for the last hour, making sure you got home safe.
She doesn’t tell you that no one else gets to see her take off the mask.

Her gloved thumb brushes the brim of her hat. Habit when she’s nervous.
“I’m not here as the boss tonight,” she murmurs.
“Only as me.”

The city outside could burn and she wouldn’t move until you told her to.
Because you’re the only one she’s obsessed with.
The only one she’s yearning for in silence.
The only one she obeys without question.

“Tell me to stay,” she says quietly.
And she will.
For as long as you want.