Page 24 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

Ryan leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’ll never admit it, but you are.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of his words lingering. I had never felt like a hero. It was something I did without thinking, and even if the outcome would have been different, I would have still done it. Mirella looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she just nodded, her expression thoughtful.

The conversation shifted. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at Mirella. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, her posture relaxed. Every time she laughed or smiled, it felt like the room got a little brighter.

She caught me staring once, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, looking away.

Ryan noticed and smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything. For once, he decided to let it slide.

Later, when we finally decided to call it a night, I lingered in the hallway as Mirella opened her door.

“You good?” I asked, my voice quieter than usual.

She looked back at me, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just… tomorrow’s a big day. If you’re nervous or anything—”

“I’m not,” she cut in, her tone firm but not unkind. “I told you. I can handle myself. You don’t have to be a hero all the time.”

I nodded, but something about her tone made me pause. “I know you can. Just… be careful, Mirella.”

She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Goodnight, Sergio.”

“Goodnight,” I said, stepping back as she closed the door.

Back in my own room, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Don Carlos’s words echoed in my mind, but they weren’t what kept me awake. It was Mirella. Her laugh, her smile, the way she carried herself. She was a storm I couldn’t ignore, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

The next day, I stood outside Mirella’s door, my hand hovering over the wood for a moment before knocking. The hallway was too quiet, and every sound seemed amplified—the soft hum of the air conditioning, the distant murmur of someone talking. I wasn’t sure why I was here that early, but something about the thought of sharing breakfast with her before the chaos felt necessary.

Three sharp knocks. I shifted my weight, waiting. A few seconds later, the door opened, and there she was—wrapped in a towel,damp hair falling over her shoulders, skin glowing as if she’d just stepped out of a dream.

I froze.

Mirella looked equally surprised, her eyes widening. “Sergio? What are you—”

“I thought you were room service,” she finished quickly, clutching the towel tighter around her.

I tried to look away, but my gaze betrayed me. The curve of her shoulder, the drop of water trailing down her neck, stopping right on her chest, the little flash of her round breast being closed midway by the towel—it all brought back memories I’d buried too deep--memories of her skin against mine, her breath mingling with mine, the taste of her. It had been a long time, but the thought of that night still haunted me in ways I couldn’t explain.

She cleared her throat, snapping me out of my daze.

“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping back. “I should’ve—”

She laughed lightly, cutting through the tension. “It’s fine, Sergio. What do you want?”

“Breakfast,” I blurted out, my voice steadier than I expected. “Thought we could eat before the shipment arrives later on. You know, to calm the nerves.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and for a second, I thought she might turn me down. Instead, she nodded. “Give me five minutes. Wait here.”

She stepped back into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. I hesitated, then peeked in, catching a glimpse of her as she disappeared behind a partition. The room smelled faintly of her—cherries, citrus, and something floral I couldn’t place.

“Turn around,” she called out from behind the partition.

I turned, focusing on the wall, though it did little to quiet my thoughts. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little,” she teased, the sound of fabric rustling in the background.

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