Page 24 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

“The fifteenth floor, Miss Monroe,” he says. “Mr. Cross is expecting you.”

“Thank you,” I smile and nod politely, clutching my bag as it slips down my shoulder.

“You’re welcome.”

The building smells like flowers, and it puts me in a good mood as I ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor. As the elevator glides to a stop, a soft chime fills the air. The mirrored doors slide open to reveal a sleek, carpeted hallway that radiates opulence.

The muted lighting casts a warm glow, and the faint scent of lilies mingles with a hint of something luxurious—sandalwood, perhaps.

“Nope,” I’m quick to shake my head as my mind picks up the smell. “It’s just your thoughts, Natalie.”

There’s no Ethan here.

Still, I step out cautiously, my heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet as I glance around. The hallway is immaculately quiet, as though the sound itself is unwelcome here.

Ahead of me, a single door stands at the end of the corridor, larger and more ornate than the others. It’s made of dark wood, with a polished brass handle that gleams under the soft lights.

Reaching the door, I pause to take a steadying breath, glancing down at my reflection in the polished brass plate on the wall beside it. My hands reach down to smoothen my jeans with a dressy blouse thrown over it.

Since I never thought to ask about the nature of the job, I decided to go for something between casual and formal with a pair of low black pumps.

After a quick check of my appearance, I lift my hand to knock. Then I stand back and wait.

It takes a minute, but I hear the muted sound of soft slippers on the other end and the quiet click of the door. In the split second before it opens, I prepare a smile and part my lips with a friendly greeting at the tip of my tongue.

…it dies on my tongue the moment the door swings open.

Ethan.

His all-imposing self stands by the doorway, an arch to his eyebrow and his mouth curled in familiar distaste. My mouth closes and opens again as I try to speak, but I can barely get anything out.

Seeing the one person who you thought you wouldn’t run into—the person you had sex with and can’t stop thinking about—is one way to achieve speechlessness, I guess.

I’m not about to look like a bumbling idiot in front of him.I’ve been there before when I walked into his bedroom and saw him shirtless. I spent days thinking about the blood I saw on his knuckles and his torn shirt, wondering what must’ve happened prior.

So I pinch myself hard enough that I yelp out loud, but it turns out to be for nothing because Anthony appears at that moment, wearing a grin.

He shoves Ethan aside and pulls me into a bear hug. “Hi. I’m so glad you came. And I’m so sorry for the impromptu request. The truth is—” he releases me, although his hands remain on my shoulders, “I’m having some people over, and I need to have food in the apartment. I thought I’d discussed it with you already, and then I found out that I—”

“Would you let her in?” Ethan, with an edge in his voice.

He doesn’t wait for either of us to respond before turning and striding into the apartment.

Anthony purses his lips. “Huh. Someone’s in a bad mood.” Then he shrugs nonchalantly and turns to me again. “That’s none of our concern, though. Come, let me show you what you’ll be working with.”

Adopting his nonchalant attitude, I follow Anthony into theapartment, which easily dwarfs mine in both size and luxury.

It doesn’t escape my notice that Ethan has retreated into one of the many rooms, and I allow my curiosity to wonder which one before promptly shutting it down.

The space exudes elegance, with gleaming hardwood floors, high ceilings, and natural light pouring in from the oversized windows. The entryway stretches into a wide hallway that leads us to a kitchen that could rival any five-star restaurant.

“I asked a chef to get the supplies,” Anthony says with a proud smile, gesturing toward the counters, which are buried under an assortment of food items—produce, spices, fresh meats, and exotic-looking jars.

Every single surface is covered, making it look like the set of a gourmet cooking show.

I’ve never worked with this much food before.

Even when I had to cater for the party—that ended up being a prelude to a one-night mistake—there wasn’t this much food.

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