Page 24 of Mafia Wars

I have to save him.

Without warning, Cian pulls me into a hug. I sink into his arms, inhaling his scent—a mix of rain, leather, and something uniquely him. I breathe it in like I can memorize it, as if that alone can keep me safe.

No one has ever defended me before. People take. Theytake, and they leave me empty. But not Cian. He’s here, and he’s real.

This is my chance to give back—to protect someone who sees me completely.

The wordsI love youlodge in my throat, tangled there. Would he laugh if I said them? It feels too fast, too soon…and yet it’s so clear.

I want Thursday visits to his nan. I want his lips pressed to mine. I want to learn what makes him the man he is. I want to watch him cook me breakfast or just sit beside him in his car, the silence filling all the cracks I didn’t know were there. It’s the small things that twist me up inside.

Cian’s lips press to mine, soft and searching. A groan slips out before I can stop it.

He deepens the kiss, his hands sliding to my waist and pulling me closer. I melt under his touch, my heart pounding like it might burst through my ribs. The world narrows to just this—his warmth, his lips, the way he tastes like rain, and something darkly sweet. It’s the kind of kiss that steals breath and reason, leaving me dizzy and wanting more.

But the moment shatters when we hear someone clearing their throat behind us.

"Cian," a deep voice says. I jerk back, cheeks flushed, as one of his security guys stands at the edge of the door. "Your father’s on the office phone."

Cian curses softly, brushing his thumb over my cheek before stepping away. "I’ll be back."

I nod, though it feels like something inside me just cracked open.

He disappears into his office, and I’m left standing there, soaked and cold, my lips still tingling.

I can’t stay.

The decision hits me like a slap. I know what I have to do.

I climb the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the room—the one I’ve been sleeping in—I push the door open and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The space is ridiculous, far too luxurious for someone like me. A four-poster bed sits in the center, its dark wood polished to perfection and the fabric draped around it whispering of wealth and comfort.

I don’t linger long. I strip down quickly and step into the shower. The water is scalding hot, almost too hot, but I don’t turn it down. It’s grounding—a sharp reminder that I’m still here, that this moment is real. My fingers trail through my wet hair, and for a second, I let myself imagine this life is mine: clean, fresh clothes; a bed big enough to get lost in; walls that don’t threaten to close in on me.

But that thought barely lasts. My comfort is short-lived, slipping through my fingers like the water swirling down the drain. I’m not stupid. None of this belongs to me.

Once I’m dressed in a set of clothes that are—unsurprisingly—brand new, I pause. I take a minute to really look at the room. The furniture is all polished oak, heavy, and timeless. The curtains are a thick burgundy, and spill onto the floors in elegant folds. Even the air smells different here—clean, expensive, like linen and faint cologne.

I don’t belong here.

The realization sits like a weight on my chest. I force myself to breathe through it, to ignore the ache growing in my throat. I should feel grateful—and I do—but all it does is make me more aware of how fleeting this is.

But…I met Cian. And for the first time, I think I understand what it means for someone to protect me. I’ve never had that before. Not really. And now that I do, it’s almost too much. The room feels suffocating. The silence is too loud, pressing against my ears. I need to move.

I slip downstairs to the living room and grab the first book I see from the shelf. It’s heavy in my hands, the spine creaking as I open it to a random page. Not that it matters—I don’t intend to read it. I just need something to do, something to occupy my hands while my mind refuses to settle.

That’s where Cian finds me.

The sound of footsteps makes my head snap up, and there he is, standing in the doorway. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me like he’s taking in every detail. Then he crosses the room, his movements slow and deliberate.

He kneels in front of me, his strong hands finding mine, wrapping around them gently. His touch is warm, steady—reassuring in a way I’ve never experienced before. I hate how much I lean into it.

“I promise this will be over soon,” he says quietly. His voice is soft, as if he’s trying not to break me with the words. “When I get back, why don’t I cook you something nice?”

My throat tightens instantly. I try to swallow it down, but it’s no use. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand that I won’t be here when he gets back—that I can’t be here. I’m leaving, and there’s no stopping it.

I want to tell him; to warn him not to get too comfortable. But when I look at his face, at the way he’s trying so hard to make this okay for me, the words die on my tongue.

Instead, I force a smile, my lips trembling as I nod. “That sounds nice.”

---