Page 51 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

And I’d be damned if I let that monster take him or his legacy.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MIRELLA

My father’s old studio felt so eccentric to me as I stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind me. Dust hung in the air, catching the faint rays of light streaming through the small, cracked window. The scent of oil paint and varnish still lingered, bringing back flashes of childhood memories—his steady hands, the quiet hum of jazz music, and the sound of his brush gliding across the canvas.

Now, the room felt foreign, almost haunted.

My shoes clicked against the worn wooden floor as I walked deeper into the studio, scanning every corner for a sign of the safe. It had been years since I’d last accessed it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I’d remember how to get to it. But if it held the secrets Don Carlos was after, I had to find it. Everyone had thought my dad kept the safe hidden in some warehouse outside town, but my father was the kind of man who loved being inconspicuous.

I paused in front of an old bookshelf, my fingers trailing over the spines of art books and journals. Somewhere behind this shelf was the safe. My father always said the best place to hide something valuable was in plain sight.

“Right, Dad, but you could’ve made this easier,” I muttered, shoving the bookshelf aside. It groaned in protest, the weight testing every ounce of strength I had.

Finally, it budged, revealing a small steel safe embedded in the wall. My heart raced as I knelt in front of it, brushing away the layer of dust that had settled over the keypad.

“Alright, Mirella. Think,” I whispered to myself.

The password. What was it again?

I closed my eyes, trying to pull the memory from the recesses of my mind. He’d told me it was something simple, something I’d never forget. And then it hit me.

The date of my mother’s death.

My fingers hovered over the keypad for a moment before I entered the numbers. The safe beeped, and for a split second, I thought I’d gotten it wrong. But then, there was a soft click, and the door swung open.

Inside, everything was just as I remembered. A small stack of files, a few USB drives, and a leather-bound journal lay neatly arranged. My father’s meticulousness was still intact, even after all these years.

I pulled out the journal first, flipping through its pages. Names, dates, transactions—it was all there. Every deal he’d ever made, every asset he’d ever acquired. But it wasn’t just about the money. This was a roadmap to power.

Then I saw it. A separate note slipped between the pages, detailing access codes to something far more dangerous. Keys to weapons, encrypted files on criminal networks, and AI prototypes capable of things I didn’t want to imagine.

No wonder Don Carlos wanted this.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Enzo.

He picked up after the first ring. “Mirella. What’s wrong?”

I let out a shaky breath. “I found the safe. Don Carlos is keeping my father alive because he wants what’s inside it.”

There was a pause on the other end. “What’s in it?”

“Everything. Names, assets, and—” I hesitated, glancing down at the journal again. “Access to things that could make him unstoppable. Nuclear weapons. Advanced AI. Bombs.”

Enzo let out a low whistle. “That’s why he’s been so desperate. He’s not just after control. He’s after domination.”

“Exactly,” I said. “This narrows it down, doesn’t it? If we know what he wants, we can trace his moves. He’s probably already made contact with someone who can help him decrypt these files or access the weapons.”

Enzo’s tone shifted, sharp and focused. “That’s good. It gives me a lead. I’ll start digging into his recent transactions and see if he’s reached out to anyone with expertise in this kind of tech. Keep the contents safe, Mirella. If he gets even a whiff that you’ve accessed the safe—”

“I know,” I cut in. “He’ll kill my father. Or worse.”

The line went quiet for a moment before Enzo spoke again. “Mirella, are you okay?”

I laughed, though it came out more bitter than I intended. “I’m great, Enzo. My life’s a circus, and I’m the clown juggling secrets, lies, and the occasional death threat. What could possibly be wrong?”

His chuckle was dry but warm. “You’re tougher than you think. Just hang in there. I’ll call you when I have something.”

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