Page 19 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

Her words were true, but there was something more to them, something unspoken. “And yet, here you are, pretending you’re just another employee. I gotta say, I never pictured you being the workhorse type.”

She sighed, and for a brief moment, I caught a flicker of vulnerability before she looked away. “People change, Sergio. Sometimes, they don’t have a choice.”

I wanted to respond, to tell her she didn’t have to put on this front with me. But I knew that would be pointless. Mirella hadbuilt thick walls, and rightfully so. She wasn’t going to let them down for anyone, least of all me.

Clearing my throat, I pushed off the crate. “So, about those clubs I mentioned. They’re straightforward enough—big money-makers, no surprises there. I’ll give you the rundown on how we manage them. Just ignore anything that looks too shady.”

She smirked, glancing around. “Right. Because this place is the picture of innocence.”

Her sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed. “You know, sarcasm isn’t a great look on you.”

Her smirk deepened, and she tilted her head, challenging me. “Well, it’s not like I’m trying to impress you.”

I couldn’t help but grin at her defiance. She had that fire that was missing from most people I’d met, and it was refreshing, even if it came with a healthy dose of irritation. “Believe me, you’re doing a great job of not caring.”

She crossed her arms, eyeing me up and down with the same skepticism she’d given the warehouse. “And what exactly am I supposed to be learning here besides your unique brand of cynicism?”

I threw up my hands in mock defeat. “Alright, fine, I’ll give you the official tour. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

As we moved through the rows of shelves, I kept stealing glances, my mind fighting between focusing on business and the undeniable presence beside me. It was strange. Mirella had this way of commanding attention without even trying, and I found myself intrigued by her despite everything.

We stepped into the storehouse, and the heavy smell of oil and metal hit me, a scent I’d grown used to in places like this. Row upon row of neatly stacked weapons lined the walls, each piece polished and ready. Mirella scanned the room, her eyes sharp, taking in every detail with a blend of curiosity and cautious interest.

She glanced sideways at me, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “So, Sergio, can you actually shoot, or are you just the one who shows off the guns?”

I laughed, crossing my arms. “Are you kidding? I’m the best shot here.”

Her eyebrow lifted in an unimpressed arch, and I couldn’t resist. I leaned back a little, the ghost of a memory flitting through my mind. “I’ve been shooting since I could walk and a military stint right out of high school. I did two tours, actually.”

Her smirk softened slightly, curiosity replacing the challenge. I paused, feeling the old bitterness rise up, but I pushed past it. “My mom died when I was young, as you remember. I enlisted to keep myself from…” I shrugged, leaving the words hanging. It wasn’t something I talked about, not usually.

Mirella’s face softened, her eyes lingering on me, and for the first time, I saw something beyond the cool mask she usually wore. It was unexpected, intriguing, even.

“I got this, too,” I added, glancing at her with a half-smile and tapping the spot over my heart where I used to wear my badge of honor after being wounded in combat, “Purple Heart. Not that it means much in this line of work. But hey, for what it’s worth, I’m not exactly entitled.”

She held my gaze, her expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper. “Impressive,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, her eyes lit up again, that playfulness reappearing. “Well, then, Mr. Purple Heart, care to teach me how to shoot?”

My eyebrow shot up. “You want me to teach you? Think you can handle it?”

Mirella laughed, rolling her eyes. “Are you just going to talk, or are you going to show me how?”

I shook my head, grinning. “Fine. But if you’re terrible, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I handed her one of the guns, a small piece, just enough for a beginner. “Alright, grip it like this.”

She took it, but her hold was too loose, and her posture was all wrong. Suppressing a smirk, I moved behind her, reaching out to adjust her hands, guiding her fingers over the metal grip. “Here, like this,” I murmured, my voice low, and she stilled, her eyes locked on mine.

There was a sudden closeness between us, a quiet sort of tension, and I felt her breath catch slightly. I moved her hands into position, my own fingers lingering maybe a second too long. Her perfume was light and fresh. She smelled like cherries and somehow out of place in this dusty storehouse. The scent lingered in the air, and I found myself leaning closer, just enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. I wanted to spin her around, to have my hands wrap tighter.

“You don’t need to do too much when holding a gun,” I whispered, her gaze shifted and locked on mine.

“I don’t feel there is ever a thing like too much,” she whispered, her breath hitched and mingled against mine. She was daringme. She knew how much the sight of her drove me crazy. She knew she was the object of my desire, and her eyes told the very story mine did.

I want you.

I did. I wanted to feel my tongue intertwined with hers with every breath in me. Like that night, I wanted to touch every inch and curve of her.

“What next, teacher?” she asked, her voice not just teasing me, but daring me.

There was nothing I wanted more to do now than pin her against one of those barrels, against the crates, to have my face buried in her neck, kissing it, trailing all the way to her shoulders, which were bare because of the sleeveless dress she effortlessly wore.

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