Page 60 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

“You don’t know anything,” I snapped, desperate to regain control. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” He moved closer, his voice laced with curiosity and something else I couldn’t place. “Tell me everything. Explain why you’ve been lying to me since the day you came back.”

I folded my arms, trying to shield myself from the weight of his words. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. There’s a difference.”

His laugh was sore, cutting. “Spare me the semantics. You’ve been keeping secrets, Mirella. Big ones. You sat across a table from me as The Raven. And for what? To protect yourself, or are you just so used to hiding that you don’t know how to be honest anymore?”

“That’s rich coming from you, someone who hides his real self from his father, talking to me about honesty,” I shot back, my voice shaking with fury. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought I’d hit a nerve. But then he smirked again, that maddening, infuriating smirk. “This isn’t about me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “This is about you. About why you couldn’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his eyes burning into mine. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

His hand cupped my cheek, and I hated how my body reacted to his touch, how my skin warmed under his palm. I should have pulled away, but I couldn’t.

“You need to stop pushing Sergio. It is driving me insane,” I whispered, the admission slipping out before I could stop it.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Because you’ve been driving me insane. I am going crazy just thinking about you.”

I pushed his hand away, forcing myself to put some distance between us. “You don’t get to do this,” I said, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to walk in here, accuse me of lying, and then act like you care and know it all.”

“But I do care,” he replied, his voice soft but fierce. “That’s the problem. I care too damn much.”

The weight of his words hit me like a freight train. I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“Mirella,” he said, stepping closer, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. “I didn’t come this far to lose you. Not now. Not after everything.”

The way he said it, the way his voice broke on the last word—it was too much. My chest ached, and my eyes stung with unshed tears.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, turning away from him.

“Mirella, can’t you see I don’t care if you are Mirella or The Raven. All I care about is you. That is the only truth I know,” he said, his voice hardening.

I turned back to him, my eyes blazing. “Sometimes the truth isn’t always black or white. There are shades of gray, Sergio.”

For the first time, his confidence faltered. His smirk disappeared, and something flickered in his eyes—something that looked a lot like guilt.

The silence between us was deafening. I wanted to hate him for unraveling me without warning, to push him away, but I couldn’t. Not when his presence was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“Sergio,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this? You know the risk, don’t you?”

His gaze softened as he closed the distance between us, and for a moment, I thought he might say something else. Instead, he just said, “Because I can’t lose you.”

I didn’t have time to respond before his lips crashed into mine. The taste of his lips was like wildfire, fierce and consuming. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any distance between us.

I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity. He fondled my hair and pressed on, his tongue already curled up in mine, teasing mine in a way that lit up the fire in my heart. My hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as I surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of him.

“Sergio,” I breathed as his lips trailed from my mouth to my jawline, then to the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.

“Say it again,” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low growl that weakened the fiber of my being. “Say my name again.”

“Sergio,” I whispered, and his hands tightened on my waist in response, cupping firm my butts with his palm and gently squeezing them until it made me squirm, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice rough, but there was a vulnerability there, a hesitation.

I shook my head, my hands sliding up to cup his face. “Don’t you dare.”

That was all the permission he needed. In one swift motion, I was above the ground, and I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively. He carried me to the couch in my study, his lips never leaving mine, the urgency between us building with every passing second.

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