Page 70 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

Welp.

My response is a dash from the bed, with a mumbled excuse, “I need to use the bathroom,”and locking the door so she doesn’t come in.

It doesn’t stop Danielle from banging against the door, though.

“Natalie Sarah Monroe,” she repeats. “I’m prepared to spend all week in your apartment, so you might as well get cozy there. Because the moment you’re out, I want everything. You’re not supposed to hide secrets from your best friends.”

I turn on the sink tap to drown out the rest of her voice. Bracing my hand on the edges of the beige-colored sink, I stare at my blurred reflection in the mirror with a sigh.

I’m spiraling.

That’s the only way to explain it.

Defending a man who kissed me while spilled juice ran across my floor, then took me out to dinner afterward… a man who pinned me against his desk and then proceeded to go underground isn’t something I’d normally do.

Heck, letting a man like Ethan in isn’t like me.

It should’ve ended when I smelt sandalwood or the moment I saw the scar on his back. If I hadn’t felt the flush of pride when he defended me at the party or let myself sink into his care when he thought I was hurt… I wouldn’t have fallen for him.

Now—my heart is somewhere across the city, nestled in the arms of a man who doesn’t know how deep he’s burrowed into my life.

“Danielle is right,” I admit grudgingly. “I should go on a vacation.”

Somewhere far from Philadelphia. Where I know I won’t think about Ethan Cross.

If that’s even possible.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ethan

Istop pacing, my fists clenching at my sides. The room is thick with my fury, the air heavy with the weight of my words.

My father would call me a disgrace. A shame to the Cross family.

I turn slowly, my gaze locking on Paul, my so-called driver, my supposed loyalist. He’s standing there, sweating, his shoulders hunched like a scolded child. The sight disgusts me.

“How?” My voice is eerily calm now, but it does nothing to mask the venom behind it. “How the fuck did you let that happen?”

I take a step closer, reveling in the way he shrinks. “Are you that gullible? That fucking stupid? Someone dangles a threat in front of you, and you roll over like a whimpering dog?”

He flinches. Good.

Paul doesn’t answer—he probably knows better than to try. His silence is a small mercy because if I hear one word of justification, I will break something.

But I already know what happened. I don’t need an explanation.

Some spineless government official got their hands on dirt about him—his side hustles, the secrets he thought were buried. They threatened his family and his precious life, and instead of coming to me, instead of trusting that I could fix it, he betrayed me.

Now, my connection to the mafia is splattered over every blog, website, and greedy news outlet gearing to get a pound of flesh that doesn’t belong to them. The headlines are outrageous—

Elusive Billionaire Rumored to be Involved in Drug Trafficking

Ethan Cross Named as Underground Mob Boss in Recent Crackdown on Violent Crimes.

Days. Two days. That’s how long it took for everything to go downhill.

Fucking rats.

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