LOGINThe Romano estate was quiet again that night, but Mia could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her chest. The corridors, normally elegant and orderly, felt like a labyrinth designed to trap her. Every polished surface reflected her conflicted expression, every flickering candle seemed to whisper that she had no escape.
And then, in the shadowed corner of the library, she saw him. Ethan. “Ethan…” Her voice was a mixture of relief and apprehension. She had hoped for news from him, maybe even an explanation for the message he had left earlier. But now, standing so close, so unexpectedly, the calm she had been clinging to began to fracture. “You need to come with me,” he said immediately, his voice urgent, almost desperate. His dark eyes blazed as he stepped toward her. “Right now, Mia. Pack your things. Run. We can’t stay here a minute longer.” Mia’s stomach churned, a mix of fear and frustration twisting inside her. “Run? Ethan… you know what’s at stake. My father—he’s not just any man. And Mark…” Her voice faltered as she spoke the name. She hadn’t realized until now how heavy it was on her tongue. “…he’s here. He’ll… he’ll come after us.” Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. “I don’t care. I don’t care about him. I don’t care about your father. I only care about you. They can’t control you, Mia. Not if we run. Not if we leave tonight.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage, but the rational part of her mind refused to yield. “You don’t understand, Ethan. I can’t just… walk away. I’m married. And even if I wasn’t… you don’t know what this world is like. My father, Mark—this isn’t just about marriage. This is the mafia. This is life and death.” Ethan’s jaw tightened, frustration flashing in his eyes. “Life and death? You’re more likely to die trapped here under your father’s thumb than if you come with me. I can keep you safe.” Mia shook her head vehemently, her hands trembling. “I can’t just abandon my life like that! I… I can’t be reckless. I can’t throw myself into danger blindly. You don’t understand what it means to be a Romano—what it means to live under this… this shadow. Running isn’t safe. It’s stupid. And I… I can’t leave Mark. Not completely. He… he…” She froze, realizing what she almost admitted. Mark. His name, unbidden, had slipped out of her mouth. Ethan’s gaze sharpened, darkening with jealousy and rage. “Mark?!” Ethan’s voice rose, anger and disbelief mixing together. “Are you serious? You’re worried about him? After everything I’ve done for you? After everything we’ve shared?” Mia took a step back, her eyes flashing. “Don’t twist my words! I didn’t… I didn’t say I care about him! I just… I’m aware of the danger! You don’t understand what you’re asking!” Ethan’s expression softened slightly, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I understand more than you think. But Mia… don’t let your fear keep you from the one chance we have to escape this.” Fear. That word settled over her like a cold wave. He had no idea what the danger truly meant—not Mark, not her father, not the mafia. She had seen what her father could do to those who crossed him, and she had witnessed the ruthless efficiency of Mark’s protection. To flee blindly into the night with Ethan would be nothing short of suicidal. “I can’t, Ethan. I… I can’t run with you. I won’t,” she said finally, voice trembling. Ethan’s fists tightened at his sides. “You’re insane. Do you have any idea what this means? This is your life, Mia! You could be free!” “And what about the consequences?!” Mia snapped back, her anger flaring. “You think we can just disappear, and my father won’t hunt us down? That the people who owe him loyalty won’t come for me? That Mark won’t find me?” Ethan’s jaw tightened, but his voice softened. “Let him try. Let anyone try. I’ll fight them all. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Mia. I swear it.” Her chest tightened, torn between his passion and her rational fear. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to run. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t. Not tonight. Not yet. Not when the stakes were life and death, and not when Mark—whether she liked it or not—was here, always watching, always protecting. “I… I can’t, Ethan. I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words almost a sob. Ethan’s face twisted in frustration and pain. He took a step closer, lowering his voice, almost pleading. “You don’t understand what it’s like to watch someone you love being trapped. You don’t understand what it’s like to feel powerless while your life is being dictated by someone else!” “I do understand!” she shot back, voice shaking. “I live it every day! But running isn’t a solution. It’s a gamble, and we both know it could be fatal. I… I have to stay. At least for now.” Ethan’s hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders stiff with tension. He stared at her, eyes burning with a mix of fury, hurt, and desperation. “You’re choosing him,” he said softly, almost accusingly, “over me. Over everything we could have had.” “No!” she cried, stepping back. “Don’t you dare—don’t make this about him! I… I’m not choosing anyone over you! I’m choosing survival. I’m choosing not to throw my life away recklessly!” The two of them stood there, the room heavy with silence. The tension was almost tangible, crackling like electricity between them. Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line. His dark eyes lingered on her, filled with a storm of emotions she couldn’t name. Finally, he turned abruptly, his movements sharp and tense. “I won’t give up on you, Mia. No matter what.” Mia’s heart clenched, torn between relief and frustration. “Then… then don’t expect me to run. Not tonight. Not like this.” Ethan paused at the door, his hand on the knob. He looked back at her, eyes softening just slightly. “Fine. But you don’t forget this, Mia. You don’t forget that I’m here. And I’ll wait as long as it takes.” With that, he left, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall. Mia slumped against the wall, trembling. Part of her wanted to chase after him, to throw herself into his arms and let him carry her away. Another part of her—darker, more cautious—knew the danger was too real. And somewhere, deep beneath her anger and fear, a small, unwelcome thought lingered: Mark… he’s always here. Always watching. Always protecting. And I… can’t ignore that either. The realization made her chest tighten. She hated that thought almost as much as she hated Ethan’s insistence. She hated the pull between the two men, between safety and desire, between loyalty and fear. For now, she was trapped. Between her father’s expectations, Ethan’s desperation, and Mark’s silent, unyielding presence. And as the night deepened and the mansion fell into silence, Mia realized one thing with terrifying clarity: her life had changed forever, and there was no turning back.Smoke still clung to the corridors when the second wave hit.Mia hadn’t realized she’d let go of Mark until the crush of bodies pulled them apart. Guards surged past her, shouting orders, dragging the wounded, sealing doors. Someone slammed into her shoulder, hard enough to spin her sideways.“Mia—!” Mark’s voice cut through the noise.Then a door crashed shut between them.The sound echoed like a verdict.“Mia!” he shouted again, closer now, angrier.She pounded once on the door, panic rising, but another explosion rocked the wing and the ceiling groaned ominously. Dust rained down. The corridor lights flickered, then died, plunging the hallway into half-darkness lit only by emergency strips along the floor.“Mia, stay where you are!” Mark’s voice came through the door, strained.Footsteps thundered away on his side.She was alone.Her breath came too fast. She forced herself to move, backing slowly toward the wall, senses screaming. The mansion no longer felt like stone and marble—i
The second gunshot shattered her thought just then. She heard the sound already echoing through her bones a sharp crack, then another, followed by the scream of an alarm tearing through the mansion. Red lights flickered to life along the walls, bathing the corridor outside her room in a violent glow. For one disoriented second, she thought it was another nightmare. Then the shouting started. “Breach! East wing—move!” Boots thundered past her door. Somewhere below, glass exploded. Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs as she bolted upright, dragging the sheet around herself. She barely had time to swing her feet to the floor before her door burst open. Mark. He was already dressed, gun in hand, jaw tight, eyes razor-sharp. Blood smeared his sleeve not his, she realized with a jolt, too bright, too fresh. “Get up,” he said, voice clipped. “Now.” “What’s happening?” Her voice shook despite her effort. “They’re here.” He didn’t have time for explaining. Then another explosion r
By morning Mia felt Mark distancing himself — like he intentionally avoided the breakfast table until she had already eaten, in how he answered her questions with efficiency instead of warmth, in the careful neutrality that wrapped itself around him like armor.She hated it more than anger.Anger meant honesty. This.... this was restraint sharpened into distance.By afternoon, she couldn’t take it anymore.She found him in the west corridor, speaking quietly with Luca. Mark noticed her instantly, something flickering across his face before it vanished. He dismissed Luca with a nod.“What is it?” he asked.That tone. Calm. Controlled. Closed.Mia folded her arms. “Why are you pretending nothing changed last night?”His jaw tightened. “Because nothing did.”“That’s a lie.”He took a slow breath. “Careful.”“Careful of what?” she shot back. “Hurting your pride? Or admitting you actually feel something?”That did it.His composure cracked not loudly, not violently but enough that she saw
Because Mia had always believed clarity came with distance.That if she stepped back far enough, emotions would untangle themselves, settle into something manageable. But as she moved through the mansion that evening, everything felt closer instead—sharper, heavier, impossible to ignore.Mark was everywhere.Not physically. He wasn’t hovering, wasn’t following her from room to room. If anything, he was careful not to. But she noticed him in the details now. In the way guards deferred to him with quiet respect. In how conversations stilled when he entered a space. In how he listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, people obeyed.Loyalty clung to him like a second skin.She saw him in the war room later, leaning over a table scattered with maps and reports. Luca stood across from him, speaking in low tones. Mark nodded occasionally, eyes focused, expression unreadable. He looked… burdened. Not powerful for the sake of it, but responsible.When one of the younger men grew agit
The mansion felt different when they returned.Not quieter—never quiet—but sharper. Like every corridor remembered secrets. Like the walls had ears again.Mia stepped inside beside Mark, shoulders brushing for a fraction of a second before he deliberately shifted away. The distance was subtle, practiced. Public.It hurt more than it should have.Don Romano was already waiting, issuing orders, questioning guards, moving pieces on an invisible chessboard. Isabella stood near the staircase, perfectly composed in a pale dress that looked soft enough to lie about who she really was.Her eyes met Mia’s.And lingered.Mia looked away first.The rest of the day passed in fragments—voices, footsteps, closed doors. Mark vanished into meetings. Guards doubled. The mansion locked itself back into routine, into control.By evening, Mia was restless.She was crossing the east wing when a voice stopped her.“Mia.”She turned.Isabella stood a few steps behind her, hands folded loosely in front of he
The silence after his confession didn’t fade.It thickened.Mia stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together took effort now. Mark remained where he was, a few steps away, his presence filling the room without him moving an inch closer.Neither of them spoke.The rain had stopped. The night pressed in.“You shouldn’t have said that,” Mia finally whispered.Mark didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I know.”Her jaw tightened. “Then why did you?”“Because I was tired of lying,” he replied quietly. “And because pretending I don’t feel anything when you look at me like that is becoming impossible.”She turned, eyes flashing. “Like what?”He hesitated—just long enough for honesty to win. “Like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t want to admit you’re already falling into.”Her breath caught. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”“I’m not deciding,” he said. “I’m noticing.”She laughed sharply, more defensive than amused. “You notice







