Page 30 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, everything else faded. She was safe. That was all I needed.

****

The drive back to Don Carlos’ estate was suffocatingly silent. Ryan was fuming in the front seat, Mirella sat beside me, quiet as a shadow, and I was gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ached. The failed deal played on a loop in my head: the gunfire, the chaos, and the moment I chose Mirella over the shipment. It didn’t matter how justified I felt; Don Carlos wouldn’t see it that way. The man I called my father would never understand.

We pulled into the driveway, the mansion looming over us like a disapproving parent. Ryan slammed the car door shut and stalked off, muttering curses. Mirella followed me inside, her presence a steadying weight I didn’t know I needed.

The moment we stepped into Don Carlos’ office, his fury hit me like a freight train. He was pacing behind his desk, his face red and his fists clenched.

“You lost the shipment,” he spat, his voice cold. “Do you have any idea what that cost me?”

I met his glare, forcing myself to stay calm. “It wasn’t exactly a peaceful negotiation. We were ambushed.”

“Ambushed?” He slammed his hand on the desk. “You had men. You had weapons. And yet, you lost everything.”

His words stung, but I refused to back down. “I prioritized lives over goods. My men made it out alive, and so did Mirella.”

He scoffed, his gaze flicking to her briefly before locking back on me. “You’re incompetent. I trusted you with this, and you failed.”

I felt Mirella shift beside me, and before I could stop her, she stepped forward. “Don Carlos, Sergio saved my life. The situation was—"

“Enough,” he snapped, cutting her off. “This isn’t about you, Mirella. It’s about him failing to do his job. I gave him just one fucking job, but he comes here with some bullshit about all lives matter.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she stepped back, her hands balling into fists. I hated seeing her dismissed like that, but I knew better than to push Don Carlos when he was this angry.

“I’ll figure out a way to get the shipment back,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You’d better,” he snarled at me, his voice like ice. “I don’t want excuses. I want results. And if you are not up to the task let me know. I don’t want liabilities.”

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving a suffocating silence in his wake.

I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders finally releasing. Mirella stood by the corner, her expression a mix of worry and frustration.

“You didn’t have to step in,” I told her, my voice softer now.

She crossed her arms. “I couldn’t just stand there while he tore into you.”

I didn’t respond, too tired to argue. Instead, I made my way to my room, shutting the door behind me.

****

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the faint scratch on my arm from the chaos earlier. It wasn’t much, but the sting was a reminder of the mess I’d just crawled out of. There was a knock at the door, and before I could answer, Mirella stepped in.

“You should lock your door,” she said, holding a small first-aid kit.

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” I replied, leaning back against the headboard.

She walked over and set the kit on the bed. “Let me take care of that.”

“It’s fine.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

Her tone left no room for argument, so I held out my arm, careful not to give her the arm with the tattoo. I wasn’t sure if she would still recall her hands trailing over it that night, but I couldn’t take that chance. She knelt beside me, her touch gentle as she cleaned the wound. I watched her work, the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the soft curve of her lips.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“For what?”

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