TRAPPED BY THE MAFIA
She hums softly, her lips pressing into a straight line, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.
"Hmm," she says, taking her time. "That's a tough question, but I'll say. . .you're my yellow."
Yellow. . .
I can’t help but smile at that.
“Yellow?” I repeat, leaning a little closer. "Why?"
She shifts, sitting up slightly, her fingers still locked with mine, but now her gaze is thoughtful. “Yellow,” she says slowly, as if the words need to be wrapped in the right kind of care. “It’s warm, and bright. Like sunshine, but not too hot. It’s the color of things that make you feel. . .light. Like you’re safe and everything’s okay.”
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