Page 44 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

I laughed softly. “All right, ask away.”

“If you were given a chance to be someone else—someone other than the son of a ruthless Mafia family—who would you be?”

I blinked, taken aback. It wasn’t the kind of question I expected from her. Hell, it wasn’t the kind of question I expected from anyone.

“Who would I be?” I repeated, stalling for time.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady. “If you could strip away the title, the power, the violence, who are you underneath it all?”

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. It was a simple question on the surface, but the weight of it was heavy. Who would I be? I hadn’t thought about that in years.

“Maybe a firefighter,” I said after a moment.

Her head tilted again, a motion that was quickly becoming familiar. “A firefighter?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her gaze—or at least where I imagined her gaze to be behind that mask. “I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of rescuing people. Running into danger when everyone else is running out.”

She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I’d said something ridiculous. Then, she spoke, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. “How noble.”

I laughed softly. “Noble? I’m not sure about that.”

“Rescuing people in danger,” she said. “It’s a selfless ambition. Rare in a world like ours.”

“Fair enough,” I responded, leaning forward again. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. If you weren’t The Raven, who would you be?”

Her gloved hands stilled, and for the first time, I felt like I’d caught her off guard. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there.

“There was a time,” she began slowly, “when I wasn’t The Raven.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What were you then?”

“Lost,” she replied simply. “But someone once asked me who I would rather be. And so, I became what I would rather be.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I studied her, trying to piece together the puzzle she was offering me.

“And now?” I asked. “Is this who you want to be?”

Her posture didn’t change, but there was a quiet strength in her silence. It wasn’t a refusal to answer—it was an answer in itself.

“You’re something else,” I broke the silence after a moment. “I don’t meet many people who can make me question things. You’ve got a talent for it.”

“Thank you,” she responded, her tone polite but not dismissive.

The conversation could have ended there, but I wasn’t ready to let it. There was something about her—something I couldn’t quite place but didn’t want to let go of.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“That depends,” her voice laced with a playful tease, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Will you ask politely?”

I smirked. “If I must.”

She gestured lightly with her hand as if to say,go on.

I leaned forward, my voice dropping slightly. “Show me the face behind the mask.”

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