All Chapters of Running From The Mafia CEO: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

Maya’s POV The first lie I ever told him was my name. “Elena,” I say, when he slides into the chair in front of me. The lie rolls off my tongue softly like smoke, and for a moment, while the street lamps of Barcelona light up the cobblestone path beside the restaurant, it feels like mine. Maya Serrano died three countries ago, somewhere between a burned passport and the hollowed echo of a gunshot I’ll never forget. I’m Elena now, sitting with one of the most dangerous men in the world, as someone with priceless intel. I spent months perfecting my identity—and then weeks setting up this meeting with him. It has to go smoothly. A small smile curls the corner of his lips. Luicien Moretti. “Elena,” he repeats slowly, like tasting something forbidden. Like sin, wrapped up in the evening’s seductive breeze and the mouth-watering menu seated between us. “Pretty. Dangerous.” I smile coyly, even though the instinct to run coils tight in my stomach like a snake. “You think I’m dangerous?”

Present dayLos Angeles, United States. Lucien’s POV The gates creak open before the car stops.I step out slowly, letting the wind hit me full in the face—sharp, fresh, biting with spring rain and expensive stone. The smell of home. It’s been five years.Five years since the government locked me in a hole and threw away the key, since I lost my freedom. Five years since she disappeared.And now, I’m back.I move slowly through the gravel drive toward the main estate, taking in my surroundings. Nothing’s changed in my absence, except the smell of death behind the walls. As I walk to the front door, it swings open and Jamie, my best friend and consigliere, steps out. “Lucien,” he says from the top of the marble steps, his voice tight. “Jesus. You look like hell.”“I feel fantastic,” I reply dryly, reaching the top. “Where is he?”Jamie doesn’t need to ask who. “Inside. Waiting. Barely. The lawyers are downstairs cleaning up the last of the mess.” I nod once and walk past him, str

Andrew corners me just as I step out of my car in the visitor parking area of the Moretti Group headquarters.“Hey,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at my ankle like he’s clocking a weak spot. “Did you manage to get some ice on that? Want me to piggyback you in?”I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure that won’t scream ‘intimidating’ to the Morettis.”He clicks his tongue. “Yeah… good point.”Then he rolls his neck, side to side, like he’s working out invisible kinks, and makes a whole show of cracking his knuckles. After that, he checks his sleeves for lint, tugs his suit jacket tighter, adjusts his tie with theatrical flair—then flashes me one of his signature grins.“Let’s go.”“Sure,” I drawl flatly. “I’ll be right behind you.”The doors swing open as we approach, and I step into the lobby—immediately awestruck by the size and the sheer opulence of it all. Polished marble floors stretch out beneath high ceilings, where chandeliers glint like a thousand tiny suns. The air smells