Page 32 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

“No, I didn’t. I—” My throat tightened. The words wouldn’t come.

“You ran away, Sergio. You thought leaving would fix everything, but it didn’t. Look at me.” She gestured to her chest, and blood seeped through her dress, spreading like ink on paper.

I stumbled back, my hands trembling. “I couldn’t save you. I was a kid—what could I have done?”

“You could’ve stayed,” she snapped, her voice rising. The knife clattered to the floor, but the sound was deafening. “You could’ve fought for me.”

Her body crumpled to the ground, and no matter how fast I moved, I couldn’t catch her. My hands reached out, but the room twisted and turned, pulling her away from me.

“Mom!” I screamed, but the darkness swallowed her whole.

I jolted, gasping for air, struggling to breathe, my chest heaving as if I’d been sprinting for miles. My hand shot out instinctively, gripping the edge of the bed as I tried to ground myself. The room was dim, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the curtains.

“Sergio.” Mirella’s voice was soft, pulling me from the remnants of the nightmare.

I turned my head, and she was there, sitting up beside me, her hair falling in messy waves around her face. She must’ve fallen asleep after tending to my wound. I had asked her to stay, but I wasn’t sure when we had both drifted into sleep. Her presence was grounding, but my pulse was still racing.

“It was just a dream,” she assured me, her hand brushing against my arm. I must have woken her up by the way I jolted out from my dream state.

I shook my head, the images still vivid. “It wasn’t just a dream.”

Her brows furrowed, and she moved closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I didn’t answer right away. Talking about my mother felt like reopening a wound that had never truly healed. But the concern in her eyes broke something in me.

“She blamed me,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “For leaving. For not being able to save her.”

Mirella’s hand rested on my shoulder, her touch warm and steady. “Sergio, you were a kid. There’s no way you could’ve stopped what happened. Also, she died before you left town. You were there for her till the end.”

“I know that,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “But it doesn’t stop the guilt. I left her to deal with my father alone. I could have stood up to him more when he treated her so badly right in front of me. I could have saved her from the monster he is. She didn’t deserve that.”

Mirella leaned closer, her hand moving to my cheek. Her touch was soft, and I found myself leaning into it without thinking. “You can’t carry that guilt forever,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I looked at her, really looked at her. Her words were a balm to a wound I didn’t know how to heal. The dream had been haunting me for years, and for the first time, I didn’t let myself wallowin feelings of guilt. Her words reminded and reassured me of things I already knew but wouldn’t let myself believe.

“Thank you,” I responded, my voice steadier now.

She smiled faintly, her thumb brushing against my cheek. “You don’t have to thank me.”

I glanced at her, her frame becoming clearer in the dim light. She was beautiful even in the darkness. Her hands on my cheeks sent shivers and electrical waves down my bones, shocking my very core and essence. Melting every will to fight the urges I had been battling ever since I saw her walk into the gala in that dress days back. I don’t know what came over me, but I leaned in, my lips brushing against hers softly at first. She didn’t pull away, and the tension that had been building between us for weeks finally snapped. My lips coiled gently in her as my hands cradled the small of her back, pulling her ever so gently to me. Her lips pressed against mine, and I could taste the sweet taste of cherries and berries just like I did years back, her soft palm still on my cheeks trailed down to the rough edges close to my jaw.

The kiss deepened, and I felt her fingers slide up from my jaw into my hair, pulling me closer. My hand moved to her waist, and I felt her shiver under my touch. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an explosion, a release of everything we’d been holding back.

Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of honey mixed with cherries. I tilted my head, deepening the kiss as my other hand slid to the small of her back again, pulling her flush against me. She let out a gentle moan against my mouth, and it was everything I had dreamed of since that night. She made another small sound in the back of her throat, and this time, it drove me wild.

I broke the kiss for a moment, my forehead resting against hers as I tried to catch my breath. “Mirella,” I whispered, her name feeling like a prayer on my lips.

She didn’t answer. She just pulled me back in, her hands gripping my shoulders. The pace increased, and I could feel something snap between us. I wanted her, and I could tell she wanted me just as badly as I did. My fingers found the edge of her dress, and I started to slide it off her shoulder, my lips trailing down her neck.

“Sergio, wait.”

Her voice was quiet but firm, and I froze immediately, pulling back to look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were swollen from the kiss, but her eyes held a mix of emotions—desire, confusion, and something I couldn’t quite place.

“We can’t do this,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Did I do something wrong?”

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