Page 65 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I push my work aside, a tiny frown appearing between my brows as Perpetual walks into my office, holding a slim brown envelope. “I had the security guard open it to make sure it was safe, but neither of us took a look at the content.

Her statement is unsurprising because of the security protocol I implemented after a threat package was sent to my office three years ago.

I try to keep my affairs here separate from eachotheras best I can, but they sometimes intermingle.

Still… I can’t think of any reason I should be getting one. Delivery to my office, rather than my home or the usual drop points, feels deliberate. Intentional. Someone wanted to make sure I got this—personally.

“Thank you,” I say as she places it on my desk. Perpetual nods and leaves, but I don’t immediately reach for the envelope. Instead, I let it sit there, its presence unsettling despite its plain, unremarkable appearance.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders before finally picking it up. The weight is negligible, but my gut tells me it’s heavier than it seems. With careful precision, I slide a finger under the flap and peel it open, my pulse steady yet aware.

The first thing I see is a photograph. Its’ presence should be unassuming, but it’s a picture of Natalie and me at dinner last night. I lift the envelope and let the rest spill out—more photographs of us from when we exited her apartment to the restaurant and left.

My fingers tighten around one of the photos, crushing it in my grip. My jaw clenches, muscles twitching as the message becomes painfully clear.

Natalie isn’t just caught in the middle. She’s the warning.

There’s no ransom note, no demand, just a silent declaration. They’ve seen her. Marked her. Decided she’s my weakness.

I inhale sharply, forcing the rage back before it consumes me. Then, with a sharp flick of my wrist, I hurl the crumpled photo across the office. It smacks against the wall before falling to the floor, just another piece of evidence that someone made a grave mistake.

They think they’ve found my vulnerability.

They have no idea what they’ve just unleashed.

Picking up my phone, I make a call, asking the other person to make an appearance. Unsettled, filled with anger and a new emotion, fear, I stand up abruptly, pacing to the window.

Being Ethan Cross means everyone is always trying to take me down—friends, enemies, and my cousin, because of his foolishness.It’s one of the reasons I chose to live a secluded life, earning myself the title of “elusive billionaire.”

I knew that the people who pledged loyalty could turn at any time, so I kept my eyes at the back of my head. I also had thescarto remind me in case I ever forgot.

Natalie was my slip-up.

I meant it when I told her that she had gotten into places other people never knew existed. I should’ve known this would happen. The moment I let her close, the moment I stopped thinking with my head and started feeling, this became inevitable.

“Boss.” Sebastian appears at my door, his manner promptly and ready to carry out orders.

I walk back to my desk, settling behind it with my emotions schooled into a firm mask. “Sebastian,” I say, “I need you to keep a pair of eyes on someone. I need it to be discreet, but if you have to do it yourself so there are no slip-ups, then you should.”

He nods squarely. “Yes, boss.”

Picking up a pen and a sticky note, I scribble down her address. “Natalie Monroe.” His eyes widen slightly as I mention her name, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Good.

That’s how I know I can trust him.

“She’s not to pick up on your presence,” I add. “You’re shadowing her, which means you’re there but not visible.”

It’s important that Natalie never finds out why because I don’t need her wading deeper into my life. At this point, I’m taking a step back, too—halting my feelings and prioritizing her safety until I can find out who took the pictures.

When I do, they’ll kiss the earth six feet underground while still breathing.

“You can go.”

“Yes, boss.” He slips the paper into his pocket and leaves as promptly as he arrives.

Despite my order to Sebastian, the uneasy feeling clawing at the back of my throat refuses to settle. I reach for my phone more times than I care to admit, my thumb hovering over Natalie’s contact. The urge to call her, to demand she come to my house where I know she’ll be safe, gnaws at me.

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