Page 31 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

“For stepping in earlier. For this.” I gestured to my arm. “For… being here.”

She glanced up at me, her expression softening. “I should be thanking you. You saved me back there.”

I shook my head, a humorless chuckle escaping. “I didn’t even think about it. When I saw them grabbing you, the shipment didn’t matter anymore.”

Her hand paused for a moment before continuing. “Why?”

Her hand stilled on my arm, and she placed the bandage over the wound. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to tell her all I felt, how she was the world to me, and how I would gladly choose her over the fucking world.

That would be saying too much. It could scare her away. Instead, I chose to say nothing. She gently observed my silence, and when she saw that I was unwilling to respond, she spoke out.

“You’re not your father. You’ve built your own life and your own legacy. That’s worth more than any shipment.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I reached out, my hand finding hers. “You always knew what to say.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to pull back, but I held on.

“You’re more than a friend, Mirella,” I blurted out before I could stop myself, my voice low. “You’ve always been more.”

She didn’t pull away this time. Instead, she leaned in just slightly, her eyes searching mine.

“I should go,” she whispered.

“Stay,” I said, the word coming out before I could stop it again. There was this edge Mirella had over me. With her, I felt safe enough to let my inner thoughts out. I felt safe to let out my struggles without the fear of being judged. “Please,” I added.

She hesitated. I could feel her resolve melting, and then, she nodded. I shifted over, making room for her on the bed. She climbed in beside me, and for a moment, we just lay there, the silence between us comforting.

I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “You asked why I chose you over the shipment.”

She tilted her head to look at me, her eyes wide and curious.

“The shipment can be replaced,” I whispered, my voice coming out a little bit shaky. “You can’t. If I had to choose again, I’d choose you every time.”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze softening. “That’s… a lot to say.”

“It’s the truth,” I replied. It wasn’t a lot to say. It was the truth. It was exactly how she made me feel.

She rested her head on my chest, her hand resting over my heart. “Thank you for saying it.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “And I meant it. I’d take a bullet for you, Mirella. No hesitation.”

Her grip on me tightened, and for the first time in years, I felt a sense of peace I didn’t think I’d ever find.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SERGIO

I felt my lungs collapsing as the air whooshed out of them, slow and ragged.

I stood in the center of the room. It wasn’t bright, and all the edges were so dim that I could barely make out where I was, but I knew exactly where I was.

I was home, one I hadn’t stepped foot in for years but could never forget—the kitchen from my childhood. The heavy scent of burnt bread and cheap cologne lingered in the air. My mother stood by the counter, her back to me, humming a tune that had haunted me for as long as I could remember.

“Mom,” I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the room. She didn’t turn around. Her movements were slow, almost mechanical, as she sliced bread with a knife that gleamed too brightly under the dull light.

I stepped closer, my boots scuffing against the floor, but she didn’t flinch. I reached out to touch her shoulder, and she turned sharply, the knife still in her hand. Her face was pale, her eyes hollowed with a sadness I couldn’t bear.

“You weren’t there,” she whispered, her voice breaking like shattered glass. “You left me with him.”

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