Page 8 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

“When has it ever been?” I snap, yanking my arm free, “Oh, I know. When I got away from the controlling men that just fuck me… one way or another… and then set me out to be collected with the other garbage.”

I ignore the flash of something in his eyes—regret? Guilt?—and shove past him. The scent of his cologne hits me, all spicy cedarwood and expensive arrogance. My traitorous body responds with a shiver, but I don’t let it show.Bad vagina, bad.

He doesn’t follow, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back until I reach my room and slam the door with a satisfying bang.

The sound of tires squealing outside pulls me to the window.

Gunfire. Shouting.

It’s like some low-budget action movie, but instead of extras, they’re shooting up my actual house. Within five minutes of learning my father is dead, my front yard has become ground zero for a mob shootout. Perfect.

My exes are in the middle of it, returning fire with practiced ease. They duck, shoot, and shout orders at each other like it’s just another day at work. They really need to work on some hand signals or something because they are loud AF. You can hear them across the entire neighborhood.

Speaking of which: down the street, a woman runs screaming, clutching her purse like it’s a lifeline. A man ducks behind a car, phone raised over the hood as he records the chaos. Seriously? People are shooting at my house, and this guy’s making a TikTok?

Shaking my head, I grab my black yoga pants and slip them on. Comfortable, practical. A sage green crop top follows, letting me breathe easier and conveniently pulling out the green in my hazel eyes.

Do I have time to brush my teeth? Yes. Yes, I do.

As I tie my hair into a messy bun, I glance out the window again. Jax moves with precision, firing, ducking, and firing again. He’s still wearing my bright pink apron, the white stick of a sucker poking out of his mouth.

I watch as he takes down one attacker with a single shot, then pivots to the next with deadly focus. He’s infuriatingly good at this, but the apron? The apron is ridiculous.

My gaze shifts as one of the attackers lets out a yelp. A neighbor’s golden retriever has clamped its teeth onto the guy’sass, growling like a rabid wolf, shaking his muzzle back and forth.

“Oh my God,” I whisper-laugh until I freeze in horror. “You better not, you fucking asshole.”

The attacker shakes the dog off and raises his gun, but before he can aim, Luca takes him down with a shot to the chest. The dog runs off unscathed, tail wagging like it’s just won a prize.

Okay, that is one bonus point for my stepbrother. But the others get nothing.

Shaking my head, I grab my bag and start packing essentials. Wallet, phone, laptop, charger. I pause, hand hovering over the drawer where my favorite book rests.Do I really need this? Am I seriously thinking about taking a romance novel to a mob war?

The sound of shattering glass snaps me out of it. A bullet whizzes past my head, embedding itself into the wall behind me.

I freeze, heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, all I can do is stare at the hole in the wall.

Are you fucking kidding me?

My fear morphs into anger, hot and sharp. I stomp to the window, yanking it open. “That could’ve hit me!” I yell out indiscriminately, not knowing which gun the bullet came from.

Jax looks up, completely unbothered. “Then get your ass down here. We need to go.”

His tone makes me want to throw something, but I don’t.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” I yell back. He doesn’t, he looks gorgeous.

The tattoos that run up his arms, somehow accentuate his muscles rippling as he moves. And his back, his wide shoulders and the way some of his tattoos creep behind him… oh my god, I think about him diving into me while I run my nails down that back.

I blink, shaking my head. There goes Her Royal Vagesty, taking the most inopportune time to remind me how long it’s been since I’ve been well and properly fucked.

I stomp over to my closet and shove on my white sneakers. With my bag on my back and my phone in hand, I clomp downstairs, mimicking their voices. “Now, Dels. Meh.”

Swiping car keys from the hook by the door, I take a quick look around for anything else I might need. This whole situation has moved past ridiculous and is circling back to comedic. There’s a literal shootout happening outside, but whatever. Let the boys handle it.

With my bag on my back and my phone in hand, I head for the garage. My car purrs to life, silent as a whisper. Carefully, I pull around the side of the house, away from the shootout, and hit the gas as soon as I hit the street.

A glance in my rearview mirror shows Enzo sprinting after me like a lunatic, suit jacket flapping, his face a mask of fury.

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