Page 38 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

Her lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I know. But sometimes it’s easier to let people think you are. They underestimate you that way.”

I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to admit. We both had our masks, our ways of surviving in a world that didn’t allow for weakness. But as I watched her walk ahead of me, strong and unyielding despite everything, I couldn’t help but think she was the strongest person I’d ever met.

*****

The engine hummed softly as we drove toward the next town, the morning sun painting the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Mirella sat beside me, staring out the window, her face unreadable. It wasn’t the usual silence between us—the kind where tension hung so thick you could cut it. This one felt... thoughtful, like she was piecing something together in her mind.

Finally, she broke the quiet. “Sergio, you don’t care about your father’s business. Not really. So why are you so keen on bringing down The Raven?”

Her words surprised me. She had a way of cutting straight to the point, no dancing around the edges. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, debating whether to brush her off or give her the truth. This was Mirella, though—she’d see right through me if I tried to dodge the question.

“It’s not for him,” I said after a pause. “I couldn’t care less about his empire. If it all burned down tomorrow, I wouldn’t shed a tear. I wouldn’t give a fuck.”

Her head turned toward me, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Then why?”

“Because of them,” I gestured vaguely out the window. “The families, the jobs, the people tied to this mess. My father’s business—illegal or not—puts food on the table for a lot of people. If we let The Raven and others like her tear it apart, they’re the ones who’ll suffer. Not my father. Not me.”

She stayed quiet, letting my words settle. I could feel her studying me, peeling back the layers I usually kept locked away.

“But it’s not just that,” I continued, my voice softer now. “I’ve been thinking about ways to make it better. Safer. To legalize as much of it as I can. I’m not naïve—it’ll never be clean. Not completely. But it doesn’t have to be the bloodbath it is now.”

“You think your father would go for that?” she asked, skeptical but not dismissive.

I snorted. “Not a chance. He thrives on chaos and fear. But he won’t be in charge forever.”

Her lips twitched, a half-smile playing there. “So, you’re the future of the empire, huh? The golden boy with a heart of gold?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I grinned. “Maybe just a tarnished heart trying not to rot completely.”

She laughed at that, a sound that felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. For a moment, the tension eased, and I let myself enjoy the moment. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t last. Not with where we were heading.

As we pulled into the town, I parked the car outside a café. Mirella looked around, her brow furrowing.

“This is it?” she asked.

“No, but we’re close. The Raven is known to visit a particular restaurant here. If she’s in town, that’s where we’ll find her.” I glanced at her outfit—a simple but elegant dress that was fine for most occasions but not for this. “You’ll need something flashier, though. She won’t show herself to just anyone.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you telling me we’re going shopping?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” I smirked, already imagining how she’d react to the ordeal.

*****

The boutique was one of those places that smelled like perfume and money, where everything was overpriced but worth it. Mirella walked in like she owned the place, and I followed, grinning at how easily she commanded the room.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she muttered as a saleswoman fluttered around her, holding up dresses like offerings to a queen.

“I live for moments like this,” I teased, leaning against a rack of suits. “The great Mirella, out of her element.”

She grabbed a sequined dress from the rack and held it up, glaring at me over the fabric. “You think I’m out of my element? Watch and learn, Sergio.”

What followed was a whirlwind of fabric, color, and Mirella’s sharp wit. Every dress she tried on seemed designed to drive me insane. There was one in particular, a black number with a plunging neckline, that nearly had me forgetting how to breathe.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning in front of the mirror.

I couldn’t speak for a moment. My throat was dry, and my brain was working overtime to keep my thoughts PG. “It’s... fine.”

She smirked, clearly seeing through me. “Just fine?”

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