All Chapters of The Mafia Heir's First Love: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The man across the table had been talking for forty minutes about loyalty and respect and partnership, and Adrian let him because that was always how it started. They talked right up to the part where they started lying to themselves. “You knew about the delay three days ago,” Adrian said, and watched the color drain out of the man’s face. “I was going to tell you,” the man stammered, hands gripping the edge of the table like it would keep him steady. “There were complications at the dock, customs held it up, I thought I could fix it before—”Adrian slid a folder across the table and the sound cut him off. Photos spilled out. Empty docks at 3am. Bank transfers with his signature forged. And one photo of the man in Monaco three days ago, champagne in his hand, laughing like he didn’t have a shipment sitting in customs. Adrian leaned back in his chair and let the silence do the work. “You weren’t delayed,” Adrian said quietly. “You were busy.”The man’s mouth opened and closed. Sw

Emily stared at the message for almost a full minute, because the words were simple and too simple.We need to talk.No explanation, no apology, no request, just a statement like Adrian Marcelli was used to people rearranging their lives around whatever he wanted.Her first instinct was to ignore it, her second was to ask why, and that was the problem because she wanted to know, and she hated that.Emily placed the phone face down on the counter and continued locking up the gallery, pretending her hands weren't shaking as the key stuck and she had to jiggle it twice.She had spent three years building a life where nobody could tell her what to do, not her father, not her family, not anyone, and she wasn't about to let one intimidating man in a perfectly tailored suit change that.Her phone buzzed again on the counter and she froze.Another message.Adrian Marcelli: Tomorrow. 10 a.m. Marconi's private room.Emily stared because the confidence was almost insulting, he didn't ask if she

Adrian hated waiting.Waiting meant uncertainty and uncertainty meant someone else had control, and Adrian Marcelli had spent his entire life making sure that never happened.But as he sat in the back of his car outside Emily Pascarelli’s gallery, he realized something that annoyed him more than the threat itself.He wasn’t waiting for his enemies.He was waiting for Ethan to tell him who was watching her.The city moved around him. People walked past without knowing who sat inside. Cars passed. Lights changed. Everything looked normal but Adrian knew better because normal was usually just the moment before something went wrong.His phone rang. Ethan.Adrian answered immediately. “Tell me.”A pause. “We checked the area around the gallery.”“And?”“Nothing obvious.”Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Nothing obvious is not the same as nothing.”“I know.”“Then find them.”Another pause and then Ethan’s voice changed. “Adrian.”The tone made him look up from the window. “What?”“You need to be c

The man was still breathing. Barely. Warehouse Seventeen smelled like rust and old blood and the kind of cold that gets into your bones. A single bulb swung above the metal chair, throwing his face in and out of light every time the air moved. He was tied with zip ties that had cut into his wrists. His shirt was gone. There were bruises blooming across his ribs in colors Ethan had seen a hundred times before. Nobody had touched him yet. Because Adrian Marcelli had just walked in. His shoes didn’t make much sound. That was the worst part. Adrian never needed to be loud. The quiet was what made people talk. Ethan was already inside, leaning against a pillar with his arms folded. He didn’t look up when Adrian came in. “You took your time,” Ethan said. “I was at the gallery,” Adrian replied. His voice was even. Too even. “Anything?” “Three phones, all burners. Cash. Fake plates. Guy’s a ghost.” Ethan jerked his chin toward the chair. “Says he doesn’t know who hired him

I spent twenty-four hours pretending I wasn’t thinking about Adrian’s dinner invitation.I failed in about ten minutes.It wasn’t that I wanted to go. It was that I couldn’t figure out why he’d asked. The same man who looked at me like I was a spreadsheet during our first meeting had sent an apology. Then he’d rewritten it. Then he’d asked me to dinner like he was scheduling a board meeting.None of it added up.I was unlocking the gallery when Clara called from the back without looking up. “You still haven’t decided.”“I haven’t said anything.”“You don’t have to.” She turned a page of the magazine she wasn’t reading. “You’ve had that face since yesterday.”“What face?”“The one where you’re arguing with yourself and losing.”I dropped my bag behind the counter. “I’m not arguing.”“Really?”“Really.”“So you’ve already decided not to go.”I looked up. “I never said that.”“You didn’t have to.” Clara closed the magazine. “If you weren’t going, you would’ve texted him no by now.”I hat