Page 6 of Mafia Wars

“It’s not your concern,” she mutters so quietly I almost don’t catch it.

“Yes, it is,” I reply, my voice softening despite myself. “You’re in my world now. And in my world, no one touches what’s mine.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with shock.

“I’m not yours…” Her lips tremble, brows pulled down in confusion.

I’ve seen enough of her body to know she could be mine, in my bed for a few hours.

I smirk at her. “Oh, sweetheart. But, you are.”

She quickly pulls her tank top back on and then her jumper, her cheeks blazing.

Once she fixes her top, she folds her arms across her chest. “Can I leave?”

“No.” I tilt my head. The bruises need answering, too. A man hitting a woman isn’t something I could tolerate. I want to know who the coward is.

“Who marked you?” I find myself saying, while glancing at her chest which is now covered, hidden under the baggy sweater. My cock jumped just thinking about how full her breasts were. How nice it would be to play with them.

“My boyfriend.” She juts out her chin, a look of anger flashing in her deep hazel gaze.

I nod. “You can leave now.”

She drops her arms to her side and quickly ducks out of the bathroom.

I’ll have to find out more about her boyfriend, who thinks it’s okay to hit her. I wonder how he’ll feel when I unleash my wrath on him.

CHAPTER FOUR

CIAN

I DRAG THE towel over my skin, the fabric doing little to match the storm brewing in my head. The decision is made. Luna’s boyfriend needs to be dealt with—one way or another. I shove ona clean shirt, tugging it into place as I head out. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s in the staff quarters, standing by the sink. A mug is in her hand, but she isn’t drinking from it. No, she’s just holding it, her movements slow and mechanical as she wipes the same spot over and over again. Her eyes are fixed on the red tiles in front of her, glazed and distant. What’s going through her head right now? Guilt? Fear? Both?

Sara—one of the other staff, I think—sits at the corner table, her head bent over her phone. The moment she catches sight of me standing in the doorway, she jolts upright, her chair scraping against the floor. The sound pulls my focus briefly, but I wave it off. She’s not who I came for.

“Hello, Mr. O’Reagan,” Sara stammers, her voice stiff with forced politeness.

Her words slice through the room, and Luna jerks like a string has been yanked. The mug wobbles in her grip, and for a split second, I think she’s going to drop it. Her face goes pale as death, and her eyes lock onto mine. Wide. Unreadable. But unmistakably afraid.

I step further inside, ignoring the rising tension that hums in the air like a live wire. “Come with me,” I say, my tone flat and final.

Silence. A thick, suffocating kind of silence. Sara’s gaze darts to Luna, and I can practically see the assumptions churning in her head. Luna, though, doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. Her fingers tighten around the mug like it’s her last lifeline.

“Now,” I add, sharper this time.

That does it. Luna sets the mug down with trembling hands and follows me, her steps slow and reluctant. She thinks she’s in trouble. They all do.

I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I can feel her behind me, hear the hesitant drag of her footsteps as we make our wayoutside. The chill of the evening air hits, but I don’t slow down until we’re far enough from the prying eyes of the staff quarters.

Then, I stop. Turn to face her.

“Where do you want to eat?” I ask, my voice as casual as if I were asking the time.

She freezes, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. The stunned look on her face almost makes me laugh.

“What?” she finally manages, her voice barely a whisper.

---