Page 39 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

“Don’t push it,” I teased, turning away before I gave myself away completely.

By the time we left, she was carrying several bags, and I was down a ridiculous amount of money. Not that I cared. The way she laughed as we walked back to the car was worth every penny.

Back at the hotel, I walked her to her room, carrying the bags like some kind of overpaid chauffeur. She unlocked the door, and as she turned to thank me, something shifted in the air. The playful banter we’d shared earlier faded, replaced by something heavier.

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us moved. My gaze dropped to her lips, and before I could stop myself, I leaned in, dropping the bag at the doorstep. I wanted to fight with everything in me, but I couldn’t. The pull was stronger than my resistance.

The moment our mouths touched, it was like a dam breaking. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted faintly of the coffee she’d sipped earlier, but I could still taste the cherries in them. She always tasted like cherries. I pressed closer, my hand finding the curve of her waist. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her arms looped around my neck, pulling me closer.

Her lips lingered on mine. I pulled her tongue with mine playfully but enough to deepen it, turning urgent. My heart raced as her fingers tangled in my hair, and I lost myself inher completely. Her scent, her touch—it was intoxicating, like nothing I’d ever felt before. Every part of me screamed to take this further, to forget about the world outside and just stay here with her.

But then reality slammed back into me. Mirella wasn’t mine. Not really. She was supposed to marry my father, and no matter how much I hated that, it was the truth.

I pulled back, my breathing heavy. Her lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed, and she looked at me with a mixture of confusion and longing that nearly broke me.

“We shouldn’t...” I began, though the words felt like a lie.

She nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. “I know.”

I stepped back, putting space between us before I did something I couldn’t take back. “Get dressed. I’ll come back for you in twenty minutes.”

And then I left, shutting the door behind me before I could change my mind.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MIRELLA

The room was quiet after Sergio left, but my heart wasn’t. It was pounding so loudly I was sure the entire floor could hear it. I stared at the closed door for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order, but they refused to settle.

The truth was, if Sergio had wanted to go further, I wouldn’t have stopped him. No, I wanted him as much as he wanted me, maybe more. That kiss left me feeling like I was on fire, and the idea of extinguishing it now felt impossible. But I wasn’t just Mirella. I was Raven, too, and Raven didn’t lose control.

Still, being in this town again stirred something in me, something I hadn’t felt in years. It was the same place I’d come to when I thought my father had died. And when the father of my child died right in front of me, I relocated here to bury my grief and figure out my life.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the photos I kept hidden. One caught my eye—a picture of a little restaurant with blue shutters and a cozy courtyard. My dad used to take me there when I was a kid. I smiled at the memory of his booming laugh as he told me silly stories over bowls of pasta too big for me to finish. After his “death,” I started going there every Saturday, alone, as a way to feel close to him. It became a ritual, a place to breathe. Over time, it became my sanctuary.

Back then, I wasn’t Raven yet. I was just Mirella—broken, lost, and trying to survive. The town embraced me in ways I didn’texpect. It gave me Enzo and Dahlia, the two people who became my family.

I first met Enzo in the middle of a rainstorm. I was standing outside a market, soaked to the bone and cursing myself for not checking the weather. My car had broken down, and I was stuck with a bag of groceries and no plan. Enzo pulled up in an old truck, leaning out the window with an umbrella in one hand and a grin that could rival the sun.

“Need a ride, Bella?” His voice was warm, teasing.

I hesitated. “You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

“Do I look like a serial killer?” He held up the umbrella as if it was proof of his good intentions.

“To be fair, they usually don’t advertise it,” I shot back, but I was already walking toward the truck.

The ride was short, but by the time he dropped me off, we’d covered everything from the best pizza in town to why he thought pineapple didn’t belong on it. He handed me a business card before driving off, saying, “If you ever need anything, call me.”

A week later, I did. And that was the beginning of our partnership.

Dahlia came a few months later. I was at the restaurant one Saturday, sitting in my usual corner with a book, when a young woman in a bright red dress burst in, looking like she was about to cry. The waiter tried to tell her the place was fully booked, but I waved him over and told him to let her sit with me.

She hesitated, her eyes darting between me and the empty chair. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“I could use the company,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie.

She sat down, and we ended up talking for hours. She told me about her messy breakup, her dreams of opening a bakery, and how she felt like she didn’t belong anywhere. I told her a little about myself—just enough to let her know she wasn’t alone.

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