Page 7 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

The world around me feels muffled, like I’m underwater. My ears are ringing, my heart is racing, and my legs feel like jelly.

Enzo, Jax, and Luca, on the other hand, are eerily calm. Enzo closes the door with a deliberate click, as if there isn’t a fresh corpse lying on my front stoop.

“What the fuck just happened?” I finally manage to whisper, my voice shaking.

Enzo grips my arm with more force than necessary, his expression grim. “We’re leaving. Now.” That commanding tone is what slaps me back.

“Like hell we are,” I snap, jerking out of his grasp and storming toward the stairs.

I make it halfway up the stairs before Jax’s voice cuts through. “Delaney.”

I pause, turning to glare at him. “What?”

His smile is gone. For once, there’s no humor in his tone. “You need to start taking this seriously. That wasn’t just a warning. That was an attempt on your life.”

“Oh, really? Thank you, Sherlock,” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me just pack a bag so I can move into your fortress of testosterone.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Luca’s voice cuts through like a blade, cold and sharp. “We’re leaving now.”

“Like hell we are,” I retort, continuing up the stairs. “I’m not going anywhere in my bathrobe, thank you very much.”

Enzo knows how to do two things: fuck like the devil and piss me off. Right now, sadly, he’s only doing one of those things.

We spent one whirlwind weekend together after months of resisting a workplace attraction. I gave him the best blowjob of his life, and on Monday morning, he gave me the boot.

Seriously, though, I can do this thing with my jaw—open my throat like a champ—and there is no length of cock too large for me. It turns Enzo into putty in my hands… especially when I slip a finger into his ass while he’s coming.

But I’m getting off topic. Back to my heartache.

He threw me out onto the sidewalk in front of his high-rise and didn’t even have the decency to do it himself. No, he sent the sixty-four-year-old HR lady to do the dirty work. Poor thing was crying hysterically, and somehow, I ended up comforting her—when I was the one getting fired.

That billionaire asshole didn’t even give me severance pay.

Not that I needed it.

I’ve been publishing my stories since my second year of college and saving everything. I worked hard to make sure I’dnever need to leverage my father’s name. I wrote under a pen name, Dela Montgomery, and it was liberating. A fresh start.

When I got hired at Enzo’s firm, Vincenzi Consulting Group, I stuck with Dela. No one knew who I really was.

The day Enzo had me thrown out, I packed up and moved to Seattle. Never looked back. I didn’t need to. Instead, I poured everything into my books. Dela Montgomery became a bestselling author. My taboo series sold like wildfire.

Stepbrother romances? Check.

“My-ex-is-a-con” tropes? Love them.

“I-fell-for-my-billionaire-boss”? Always a crowd-pleaser.

No idea where I got the inspiration for those stories. Couldn’t possibly be my fucked-up life and the three men who broke my heart. Nah.

As I move to storm upstairs, Enzo blocks my path.

“Move,” I snap, glaring up at him. He’s tall, imposing, with his perfectly tailored suit and that damn jawline I’d love to punch.

“Delaney,” he says, voice low and sharp, “nothing about this is a joke.”

I roll my eyes, pushing past him, but he grabs my arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop me.

“You need to understand what’s happening,” he says, his tone so calm it makes me want to scream. “Your life isn’t your own anymore.”

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