Page 30 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I whip my head around at the comment, only to find both men standing at the door. “Wh-what are you still doing here?”

“We thought you could use an emergency helping hand,” the one with the lesser hair says, adding a split grin at the end.

I wish I knew their names because lesser and fuller hair sounds terrible.But then again, with the number of men I saw coming and going at Ethan’s house, I’m not sure I’ll remember names if it turns out to be the same situation here.

What’s with the “men,” though? They almost look like they belong to a gang, with closed-off expressions and impressive, intimidating heights.

Bodyguards? I wonder as I lose track of the conversation. It does make sense, seeing as Ethan controls a billion-dollar enterprise, and Anthony is always the subject of media coverage.

“Mr. Cross isn’t the easiest person to work with—” one of them says, drawing me back into the conversation as I focus on his words. “And you’re a nice lady. We want to help.”

Mr. Cross? Which one? Anthony or Ethan? It’s probably Ethan. Anthony is the closest thing to a sweetheart in this house.

“Thank you,” I say, offering them a small, appreciative smile. “But I think I can handle this on my own. For now,” I add, softening the refusal.

They nod, accepting my answer, and I turn back to the sink, washing the peeled apples under the running water. The sound of water rushing fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels calm.

When I turn the tap off, though, the sound of footsteps catches my attention. Thinking it’s them reconsidering, I grab a towel to dry my hands and turn around with a faint smile. “There’s something you can do for—”

I freeze mid-sentence.

It’s not them. It’s Ethan.

He stands in the doorway, his presence dominating the space with an air of quiet authority. The two men slip past him in a hurry, avoiding my gaze as they leave the room in near silence.

I swallow hard, feeling the shift in energy. Ethan’s eyes flicker from the apples on the counter to me, his expression stoic. He’s wearing dress pants, and his shirt is untucked as if he just came from somewhere important.

The half-decent, half-negligent appearance stirs a whirlwind of memories. From his unexpected presence the first day we met, the wayhe filled the room with quiet authority; the hungry, ravaging kiss that left me breathless the second time.

Then, the unreadable look he gave me two days ago, one that lingered in my thoughts far longer than it should have.

Something about Ethan makes me feel like I’m standing at the edge of the cliff with my fate unknown. Am I about to be consumed by desire, or will I feel like a bumbling person trying to piece together his intentions?

My fingers intertwine in an attempt to avoid looking lost, and I run through my thoughts, looking for something to say.

“Hi,” I settle on the most basic of them all.

He gives me a curt nod, then crosses the room, each stride purposeful and heading straight in my direction.

At first, I frown, confused, unsure of his intentions. But as the distance between us shrinks with every step, the air around us thickens, and my heart begins to hammer against my chest, a wild rhythm I can’t control.

Why is he coming towards me? What does he want? To kiss me? I doubt it. He acted like I was nothing the other day.

Things don’t just change overnight… do they?

Ethan pauses in front of me, and I swallow hard as my eyelids flicker of their own accord, growing heavy with thoughts about something else. He bends low… his head dips, my head begins to spin, and then straightens.

I open my eyes—I wasn’t even aware I had then closed—only to see him holding an apple.

He wasn’t going to kiss me. I knew it. I just got carried away for a moment.

When he reaches for the knife, something else occurs to me. The men said Mr. Cross asked them to get fruit,right? Anthony was around when I walked in, but Ethan looks like he just arrived.

The apples must belong to Anthony.

Without thinking, my hand comes down like gravel on Ethan’s wrist, slapping the apple back into the bowl.

“What the—?” he doesn’t finish his sentence, turning to me in shock. Realizing what I justdid,I stare at him in horror. “Why?”

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