LOGINMia woke before dawn.Not with panic this time. Not with the echo of gunfire in her ears.Just… awareness.The kind that settled slowly, uncomfortably, until she realized exactly where she was — and who was beside her.Mark sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, his jacket folded neatly over the chair. A gun rested within reach on the nightstand. He hadn’t slept. She could tell by the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed as if they still expected violence to break through the walls.She watched him quietly.For the first time, she noticed how tired he looked when he thought no one was looking.“You’re staring,” he said without turning.She startled slightly. “You weren’t asleep.”“No.” He glanced back at her. “You were.”She pushed herself up against the pillows. “For how long?”“Long enough to know you talk in your sleep.”Her heart jumped. “I do not.”A corner of his mouth lifted. “You told someone to stop lying.”Heat crept up her neck. “Did I say who?”“No.” Hi
The night shattered without warning.Mia had just begun to drift into uneasy sleep when the first gunshot cracked through the estate—sharp, violent, unmistakable. Her eyes flew open as the second followed, closer this time. Screams echoed from the lower floors, boots pounding marble, alarms screaming to life.Her door burst open.“Up. Now.”Mark’s voice was steel, all hesitation stripped away.She barely had time to throw on a coat before his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her into the hallway. The mansion—usually polished and controlled—had turned into chaos. Guards shouted orders, gunfire rang out, glass shattered.“Who is it?” she gasped as they ran.“Doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “They knew where you were.”That chilled her more than the night air slicing across her skin.They took a back staircase, Mark shielding her body with his own, his gun drawn, eyes lethal and alert. A bullet ricocheted off the wall inches from her head. She cried out.Mark didn’t slow. He cursed once—
The mansion had never felt so quiet—or so empty. Mia lingered in the grand hallway, glancing from the polished doors on either side. One led to her bedroom, the other to Mark’s. She hated the thought of crossing the threshold, of being that close and yet apart. “Separate rooms,” she said, voice firmer than she felt. Mark’s gaze met hers across the hallway. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t protest. “As you wish,” he said simply. The ease of it made her stomach twist. Not relief, not comfort—hurt. Like a knife pressed gently against the soft center of her chest. “Too easy,” she muttered, almost to herself. He raised an eyebrow. “Too easy?” “Yes. You don’t even argue. You just…” She gestured vaguely, frustrated. “…accept it. Like this distance doesn’t bother you at all.” Mark’s expression didn’t change. Calm. Controlled. But she could sense the subtle tension in his shoulders, the line of his jaw. The quiet restraint. “I’m not the one leaving,” he said simply. Her eyes narrowed. “That
The mansion was quieter than usual when they returned.Mia tried to tell herself it was relief, not dread, that made her chest tighten. But the tension in the air between her and Mark felt like a living thing, coiling and twisting as soon as the door shut behind them.Mark dropped his coat silently over the rack by the hallway. He didn’t look at her immediately, which only made her nerves jangle louder.“I saw the way you looked at her tonight,” he said finally, voice low. Not accusatory. Not harsh. Just… precise. Like a blade sliding through silk.Mia froze mid-step, hand on the railing leading upstairs. “I… what?”“You,” he repeated, stepping closer. “When Isabella praised me during dinner… the way you tensed, the way your jaw stiffened… don’t try to tell me you didn’t notice it yourself.”Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. She shook her head. “I… I wasn’t…”“Wasn’t what?” His dark eyes bored into hers. “Jealous?”“I’m not jealous,” she said firmly, and perhaps a little too qui
Mia noticed it halfway through the evening.Not at first—because she’d been too busy pretending she hadn’t just been pulled into something dangerous on the dance floor. Too busy pretending her pulse hadn’t been racing long after Mark’s hand left her waist.But once she calmed enough to breathe again, she felt it.The look.Isabella stood near the edge of the room, champagne untouched in her hand, gaze fixed on Mark with a familiarity that made Mia’s skin prickle. Not longing exactly. Not envy.Recognition.Like she was looking at something she used to know intimately—and wasn’t sure if she still did.Mia’s jaw tightened.She leaned slightly toward Mark. “She’s staring.”Mark didn’t turn. “I know.”That surprised her. “Then why aren’t you looking back?”His voice was low, steady. “Because my attention isn’t on her.”Her heart skipped before she could stop it.They stood close—too close for comfort, too far to touch—surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses and power dressed up as ele
The next day all Mafia's families where invited to a gala, and gala was everything Mia hated.Gold. Crystal. Music so smooth it felt like a lie.The Santori Ballroom glowed beneath cascading chandeliers, polished marble reflecting power and wealth in equal measure. Mafia families filled the space with tailored suits, jeweled gowns, and smiles sharp enough to cut. Alliances were whispered between sips of champagne. Threats were hidden behind laughter.And Mia stood in the middle of it all—on Mark’s arm.She hated how natural it felt.“Stand tall,” Mark murmured beside her, his hand firm at her lower back. “Eyes forward.”“I know how to walk,” she muttered.A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re doing fine.”She glanced up at him, irritated by the calm in his voice—and by the way her pulse quickened anyway.The dress Don Romano had chosen for her was deep red, silk clinging just enough to be dangerous. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Every step she took drew attention.Mark notic







