Page 75 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

Danielle’s unbearably loud voice and unceremonious entrance into my apartment have me groaning and reaching for my pillow in hopes that I can suffocate myself before she gets to my room.

I know I shouldn’t have given her a spare key, but she was going crazy with her theories about people who died of broken hearts.

In her words, “I don’t want you to be a dead stink by the time I can break the door down.”Reiterating that I wasn’t going to let a man be the cause of my death didn’t seem to work on her.

“Natalie!” She yells, throwing my door open. I hold the pillow harder over my head, begging the flimsy thing to muffle the sound so I can get more sleep.

Who the hell said it was a good idea to get organicpillows?

When she reaches out and yanks it off, I snatch the covers from the foot of the bed and curl into a ball, burying myself underneath the thickness. “What are you doing?” She asks. “You’re supposed to be asking me what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t want to know,” I grumble. “My head is throbbing, and it’s the weekend, Danielle. I’m entitled to some sleep.”

“It’s ten a.m.,” she says.

I peek from one end of the sheet, pinning her with a death stare. “And? I worked my ass off yesterday and still had to fend off a client who couldn’t understand that my job didn’t involve catering to his every whim.”

I thought he was being nice when he offered to walk me home after our second consultation. I should’ve known he wascuckoowhen he asked if he could come in. I said no, and he said he could make me a cup of coffee.

How can you make me a cup of coffee in my apartment, sir????

I needed the cash, though. And the distraction the job provided.

“I’m sorry that you feel like shit,” Danielle says, although I doubt she means it, “but you’ll want to see this. Trust me.”

When she shoves her phone at my face, almost breaking my nose, I’m forced to ditch my efforts to get more sleep. I grab her phone, intending to make quick work of seeing and dumping, but my eyes grow wide like saucers when I see what’s on the screen.

“I told you!”

“Danielle,” I whine, “take it down a notch, please? I’m dying here. You wouldn’t want my head splitting open before I can figure out what the fuck I’m looking at.”

Because, what the fuck?

My heart is pounding as I stare at the screen. The words blur together, but the message is unmistakable.

Ethan Cross. Crime syndicate. Mafia boss.

It’s everywhere. Every damn where.

Danielle folds her arms, her expression caught between vindication and exasperation. “I knew it. I knew he was shady. Who the hell goes radio silent after meeting someone like you?” She gestures at me, throwing in a backhanded compliment before shaking her head. “Other than a man with ties to the mob?”

A chill runs through me. I try to rationalize it—maybe it’s some sensationalist hit piece, a smear campaign. But deep down, I know better.

I didn’t misread that. I didn’t imagine it.

Ethan Cross. The man who kissed me like he owned me. The man who made me question everything, from the definition of lust to what it felt like to be consumed by one person. The man I—

I swallow hard, shoving that thought deep down.

Because apparently, the man I’ve been tangled up with isn’t just powerful. He’s dangerous.

“Did you see the men at his house when we were there?” Danielle goes on a rant, trying to prove her point, while my head hangs low as I deal with the information. “They were all big, muscular, and shady. I was trying to keep it cool the entire time, but I felt the bad vibes until we left.”

She collects her phone from me and plops down on the bed. “Damn. The articles? The blinds? They’re saying that he’s killed a ton of people.”

“I know we’re not supposed to believe everything a hundred percent because the internet is fucking crazy, but apparently, he gave the order that fueled the shooting in the neighborhood where your parents…” Danielle trails off, catching herself midway, but the damage has been done.

My neck snaps back as my eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

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