SHE LOVED THE MAFIA BOSS IN SILENCE—UNTIL HE WHISPERED, “I CAN’T PRETEND ANYMORE”

SHE LOVED THE MAFIA BOSS IN SILENCE—UNTIL HE WHISPERED, “I CAN’T PRETEND ANYMORE”

PART 1

The marble floor felt cold beneath my heels as I ran through the east wing of the mansion.

My breath came in short, uneven gasps that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Behind me, Marcus’s voice echoed through the corridor, each desperate plea following me like one more ghost I had spent the last 3 months trying to outrun.

“Saraphina, please. Just hear me out.”
I did not slow down.
I could not.

Downstairs, the engagement party was still in full swing. Laughter and the soft clink of champagne glasses floated up through the ornate stairwell, a polished reminder of everything I was trying to leave behind. Tomorrow, I was supposed to be on a plane to Boston, far from this suffocating world of family obligation and impossible love.

Far from Marcus, who could not understand why I had ended things.

Far from Sebastian.

Especially far from Sebastian.

My fingers fumbled with my small clutch as I turned the corner and nearly collided with the marble bust

of some long-dead Moretti ancestor. The private elevator was just ahead, the one that led directly to the underground garage. My car was already packed. My apartment lease was signed. All I had to do was survive tonight without falling apart.

“Saraphina.”

Marcus’s footsteps grew closer, his voice taking on a desperate edge that made my skin crawl.

“You can’t just throw away what we had.”

What we had.

The phrase might have been laughable if it had not made me want to scream. What we had was a relationship built on my father’s approval and Marcus Vital’s ambition to climb higher in the Moretti family hierarchy. What we had was me trying desperately to feel something, anything, for a man who was not the one who had haunted my dreams since I was 18 years old.

I jabbed the elevator call button 3 times in quick succession, my heart

hammering against my ribs. The ornate brass indicator above the doors showed the elevator climbing.

Third floor.

Fourth floor.

Fifth.

“Come on,” I muttered. “Come on.”

Marcus rounded the corner behind me. His handsome face was flushed, his expensive tuxedo slightly disheveled from chasing me through the mansion.

“I know you still care about me.”

I whirled to face him.

“My father doesn’t get to choose who I love.”

The words came out sharper than intended. Years of pent-up frustration bled through my carefully maintained composure.

“And neither do you, Marcus. I’ve told you 100 times. We’re done. It’s over. Accept it.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something dangerous flickered in his eyes, something that reminded me why I had always felt uneasy around him, even when I had been trying so hard to make our relationship work.

“You think you can do better?” he said. “You think

there’s someone out there who will put up with your stubborn pride, your sharp tongue, your—”

The elevator chimed, cutting him off.

Thank God.

I turned my back on him, ready to escape into the elevator car and out of this nightmare. Ready to leave behind the mansion where I had grown up, the family business I had spent years trying to prove myself worthy of joining, and the man I could never have.

The polished bronze doors slid open with a soft whisper.

My breath caught in my throat.

Sebastian Moretti stood in the center of the elevator, one shoulder leaning casually against the mirrored wall, his dark eyes already locked on mine.

Even in the warm golden light, he looked like something carved from shadow and ice. He was 6’2”, all controlled power wrapped in an immaculate black suit that probably cost more than most people’s cars. His dark hair was styled back from his face, emphasizing the sharp angles of a jaw and cheekbones that could cut glass.

At 30, Sebastian was everything his father had groomed him to be: calculated, ruthless, untouchable. The future head of the Moretti family. A man who commanded respect through presence alone.

He had inherited his mother’s Italian beauty and his father’s cold pragmatism, creating something devastating and dangerous.

And I had been in love with him since the moment I understood what love meant.

“Going somewhere, Saraphina?”

His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my bones, that slight Italian accent he had never quite lost wrapping around my name like silk and steel.

I froze in the doorway, suddenly aware of Marcus standing behind me, of the party continuing downstairs, of my carefully laid escape plan crumbling like sand between my fingers.

Sebastian’s gaze moved past me briefly, a flicker of acknowledgment toward Marcus that held more threat than a thousand words, before returning to my face with an intensity that made my skin flush hot.

“Sebastian,” I said.

I hated how breathless I sounded. Hated the way my body responded to his proximity, even after all these years.

“I was just leaving.”

“Were you?” He straightened from the wall with liquid grace, taking a single step forward that somehow made the spacious elevator feel impossibly small. “Strange. Your father specifically requested your presence at the engagement announcement. Seems rude to miss your own brother’s celebration.”

Dante’s engagement to the Castellano girl.

Another strategic alliance.

Another piece moved across the chessboard of mafia politics.

Another reason I could not wait to get out of this world.

“I’ve already congratulated them,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Come here, Saraphina.”

The command in his voice was not loud, but it hit me like a physical force. Behind me, I heard Marcus take an involuntary step back. Everyone in the family knew better than to argue when Sebastian used that tone.

Everyone except me.

“I’m not one of your soldiers to order around,” I said, my chin lifting in automatic defiance even as my pulse raced. “I’m not a child anymore, Sebastian. You can’t just—”

“I said come here.”

The doors began to slide closed.

Without thinking, I stepped forward into the elevator, my body obeying before my mind could catch up. The doors whispered shut behind me, cutting off Marcus’s view and sealing me inside the small space with the one man I had been trying to avoid for the past 5 years.

The one man who had made it clear, in 100 subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that I was nothing more than an inconvenient child playing at being an adult.

Sebastian did not press a button. He did not move toward the control panel. He only stood there, filling the space with his presence, his dark eyes tracking every microexpression that crossed my face.

“You broke things off with Marcus 3 months ago,” he said finally, his tone conversational despite the tension crackling between us. “Yet he is still following you around like a lost puppy. Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I pressed my back against the far wall, needing distance, even as every cell in my body seemed drawn toward him like a compass to north.

“And how do you even know when I broke up with him?”

A slight curve touched his lips. Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one.

“I know everything that happens in this family, Saraphina. Especially when it concerns you.”