Page 49 of Married to the Mafia Devil

I walk to my car, each step resolute yet heavy. I throw my bags in the trunk and slide into the driver's seat, taking a deep breath as I start the engine. The street stretches out before me as I drive, an endless ribbon of asphalt lit by the city that never sleeps.

My phone, silenced and tossed onto the passenger seat, lights up sporadically with missed calls and messages I have no intention of checking. I’m leaving it all behind—everything but the memories, which cling tighter than shadows at dusk.

A pair of headlights appears in my rearview mirror, growing brighter, closer. Too close. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and my heart rate picks up. Instinct tells me that whoever it is, they’re following me.

Their car speeds up, swerving into my lane. A sense of dread washes over me. Old instincts kick in. I glance over, trying to make out the driver, but the windows are tinted and it’s not a vehicle I recognize.

I swerve to scare it away. The other car matches my movements, aggressive, relentless. It’s not just reckless driving; it’s a deliberate act.

I push my car faster, trying to outpace them, but they keep up, a dark shape flanking me like a persistent shadow. My mind races—could this be Petrovitch’s doing? Or another enemy I've made, come to claim retribution now that I'm alone?

Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull out my gun, a heavy and cold reassurance in my hand. I’ve lived by the sword, and if necessary, I'll die by it too.

The car swerves again, this time cutting in front, forcing me to slam on the brakes. My car skids, the tires squealing in protest as I come to a jarring stop. The other car blocks the road ahead, trapping me.

If this is an attack, I won’t go down without a fight. I keep my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, watching for any sign of movement from the other car.

This might be the end of the road for me, but I'm not going out quietly. Not now, not ever. My only regret is not getting to kill Petrovitch myself. I don’t regret breaking up with Emma. She’s better off without me. Everyone is. I step out of my car, gun drawn, ready to fire.

TWENTY-ONE

Emma

He steps out of his car, his eyes blazing with a mix of shock and anger as he points a gun straight at me. I wince, expecting him to shoot me but instead he starts yelling.

“Emma! What the hell are you doing? I could have killed you!” His voice is sharp, echoing off the quiet suburban homes lining the street.

“I had to see you,” I reply. “I got to yours but Alex said you’d already left. Where are you going?”

“Airport.”

“That’s the other way. Where are you really going?”

He says nothing, just stares at me as he holsters his gun.

“Still keeping secrets from me.” I take a step toward him. “I heard about what you did for my dad.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “You shouldn’t be here, Emma. After everything, this isn’t safe—for either of us.”

“I thought you were just a violent mafia asshole,” I throw back at him, the words harsher than intended. “But you saved him. You’re building the park.”

He looks away, his jaw clenching. “I did what I thought was right. That’s all.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I press, needing to understand his silence, his choices. “You told me about helping Amelia. Why nothing else?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes intense. “You said you didn’t want to see me anymore. What was I supposed to do? Hold your father’s well-being over your head to persuade you to stay? If you wanted to stay, you would have done, not because of what I did but because of who I am.”

“But you did all that despite us not being together. That shows you're capable of being a good person, of caring about others.” I take another step closer to him, driven by a sudden impulse to bridge the gap between us. “You listened to me and stayed away. You helped my sister. Helped my father. You aren’t the man you think you are. You’re not a monster.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with a mix of resignation and something else—pain, maybe. “What are you saying?” he asks suddenly, his voice softening.

“For a man who just completed a billion dollar deal, you can be pretty dumb.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m saying that I want to be with you.”

“You don’t. I would be too controlling.”

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