All Chapters of The Mafia Heir's First Love: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Leo Marcelli had been banned from three charity galas, two casinos, and one family fundraiser. None of those had been entirely his fault.He strolled into Marcelli headquarters at a little past ten with sunglasses on, a coffee in one hand, and absolutely no intention of staying longer than he had to. The lobby was all marble and glass and people pretending not to notice him. The receptionist saw him and smiled anyway. "Morning, Mr. Marcelli.""Morning, Sofia," Leo said, leaning on the desk. "Is my brother in a bad mood?"Sofia considered it. She was careful with answers. That’s why Adrian liked her. "...Worse than usual."Leo sighed and took a long sip of coffee. "So business as usual, then."He headed for the private elevators, already regretting that he’d answered Adrian’s text this morning. _Office. Ten minutes._ No hello. No explanation. Just an order, like he was still fifteen and getting called to the principal’s office.The elevator ride was quiet. Too quiet. Leo watched

*EMILY*The key stuck like it always did on Mondays. I had to jiggle it twice and mutter a curse before the gallery door finally gave in with a tired jingle. Inside it smelled like paint thinner and old wine and the kind of quiet that makes your own thoughts too loud. The exhibition was gone. The walls were bare and a little scuffed where the frames used to be. It looked smaller without people.I dropped my bag behind the counter and saw it immediately. A plant. Small succulent in a cheap plastic pot. Sitting dead center on the counter like it had been placed there on purpose. There was a note folded under it. I picked it up. > The florist said this one is difficult to kill. > > — AdrianI laughed. I actually laughed out loud in an empty gallery at 9am.Of course it was him. No roses. No _thinking of you_. Just Adrian Marcelli sending me something that could survive neglect and telling me about it like he was reporting inventory.“Who died?” I jumped. Clara was in the door

Emily couldn’t concentrate, and it was starting to irritate her. The gallery had opened an hour ago and the light coming through the front windows was perfect, the kind of light that made the paintings look expensive even when they weren’t. Customers should have been drifting in, asking about prices, pretending they understood brushwork. Instead she was standing behind the counter with a sketchbook she hadn’t put away and a newspaper clipping she kept unfolding like it might say something different the third time. Every few minutes her fingers found the edge of the book and flipped another page. Bridges that shouldn’t have been able to stand. A museum made of glass sitting on a river like it was floating. A fire escape drawn so precisely you could count the bolts. The kid who’d drawn these couldn’t have been older than twelve. There were dates in the corner of some pages to prove it. He was too good. That was the problem. Kids that good didn’t just vanish. Beside the sketchbo

*LEO* By eleven in the morning I’d already been told no three times. Don’t leave the building alone. Don’t take the car without telling Adrian. And don’t, under any circumstances, make Rowan regret agreeing to babysit me today. I was sitting across from him in Adrian’s office, watching him drink Adrian’s coffee out of Adrian’s mug like he paid rent here. “You’re actually doing this,” I said. “Yes.” “It’s Saturday.” “Yes.” “You have a life.” “No.” I frowned. “That’s depressing.” Rowan lifted the mug. “I have a job.” “That’s not a life, that’s a sentence.” “You’re one to talk. You’re sitting in your brother’s office at eleven on a Saturday because you have nothing better to do.” I looked around. “I’m sitting in my brother’s office drinking his coffee.” “You invited me.” “I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Rowan set the mug down. “You said, and I quote, ‘Come downstairs if you want to watch me make terrible decisions.’” “I was joking.” “I wasn’t.

*EMILY* I knew something was different before Adrian even texted. It was 8am and I was reorganizing the same shelf of prints for the third time because my brain wouldn’t shut up. Every time my phone buzzed I checked it. When it was just Clara asking about inventory I felt stupid for being disappointed. Then at 2:17 his name popped up. *Adrian: Are you working tonight?* I stared at it until the screen went dark. Not "foundation meeting". Not "can you review the proposal". Just that. *Emily: Why?* *Adrian: I want to see you.* No reason. No excuse. The last time a man said that to me I ended up crying in a bathroom at 3am. I set my phone face down. Clara looked up from the register. “Who’s making you do that?” “Do what?” “That face. Like you just got caught doing something.” “Nothing.” “Sure.” She rang up a customer and the second they left she leaned on the counter. “It’s him, isn’t it.” I didn’t answer. “You’re smiling,” she said. “When was the last time y