Mob Boss's Second Chance

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Natalie

“ Y ou’re never going to believe this.” Danielle chatters away on the phone while I’m struggling to fit into my Mary Janes and going over the list of things I’m supposed to have in my bag.

My trusty notebook and ink pen? Check.

The event schedule? Check.

I spent the night going over every detail because I didn’t want to show up with an unprepared impression.

Contact list? Business card? My tablet? Power bank? All checks.

“Okay,” I say with a lengthy exhale after my foot finally slips into the left shoe. “You’ve got this, Natalie Monroe.”

“Are you there? Mia?” Danielle chirps from the other end.

I nod vigorously, even though she can’t see me. “Uhuh. I’m here. I’m with you all the way. ”

She sighs. “What do you think I should do? Obviously, I can’t break up with him because he didn’t do anything wrong, but I have a feeling… actually, it’s more of a vibe,” she corrects herself in a tone that sounds unsure, “or maybe I’m just reading into it. What do you think?”

Ah—I don’t know.

I zoned out of the conversation after I answered the call because I realized I’d forgotten to fix my lucky pair of heels, which meant I had to go for the next best thing: a pair of Mary Janes that’s a size too small. And judging by Danielle’s dating habits, she’s probably talking about someone she met a couple of days ago.

They never last long enough for me to form an opinion.

Danielle makes a sound in the back of her throat, and I picture her rolling her eyes. “You were listening, were you?”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize profusely, “but you called me while I was getting ready to head out. Maybe we’ll pick this up later?”

There’s nothing on the other end for a moment. Then she comes back with a gasp. “Wait, it’s today? You’re meeting Ethan Cross today?”

I start to remind her that I’m not meeting Ethan Cross, but we’ve gone over the conversation enough times that I know it’ll fly over her head again. Instead, I sling my bag to my shoulder, patting it down to make sure I have everything in it.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I say hurriedly as I snatch my keys from the bedside table, then dash to the mirror to look at my reflection.

It’s a basic outfit—a white print V-neck sleeve shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. My hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and I have stud earrings on. The earrings are the only thing that costs money since they’re real gold .

My mom gave it to me for my twentieth birthday… but it’s not something I like to remember often.

“Fine,” Danielle huffs, although I know she’s not trying to be mean. “Did you wear the black dress I picked out for you? You didn’t, did you?” She continues without waiting for a response. “I’m teaching you how to find a good man, Natalie.”

I snort as I walk to the door, pushing it open. “You mean a man that has money?”

“That’s the same thing,” she replies seamlessly. “Ethan Cross is a billionaire with a dating sheet shorter than anything I’ve ever seen. You know what’s even better? He lives here in Philadelphia. You don’t have to go across the world to find a good man.”

“Danielle,” I groan as I stab the elevator button. “I’m not going to seduce anybody. It’s work. And Ethan Cross did not hire me. His cousin, Anthony Cross, did.”

“Okay?”

In Danielle’s terms, that means potato potahto. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I say as I walk into the elevator. “Gotta go.”

Without waiting for her to remind me of how long it’s been since I last went on a date, I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket. Sighing, I run my hands down my pants and take a deep breath for good measure.

I’m more concerned about making a good first impression than I am snagging a wealthy man who, let’s face it, probably wants nothing to do with a woman from the middle class. If this goes well, I get to add the Cross family to my resume—the billionaire family with a multi-billion dollar empire that controls everything from real estate, entertainment, and shipping to oil and gas.

“No screw-ups, Natalie,” I remind myself, straightening my posture. “This is your one shot.”

** *

The Cross mansion is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen—not that I’ve seen that many extremely lavish places—and I’m ushered in through a gate after identification.

The drive to the main house takes ten minutes. The road is flanked by tall, decorative trees on both sides, with the occasional unpleasant-looking statues. When I get to the house, a valet directs me to a parking space and collects my key.

Another person walks up to me, wearing a uniform. “Welcome, Miss Monroe,” he says with a measured smile. “I’ll be taking you to where you’ll set up.”

Huh , I purse my lips. I see.

“Thank you,” I say.

He bows slightly and escorts me to the back of the house, where sectioned gardens and more sculptures hang around. I’m led even further, through a second gate, into a spacious yard.

“Mr. Cross said to set you up there,” the man points to a canopy. “He said a team will be down to assist you in a couple of minutes, but if you need anything, you can find me through the gate.”

“Thank you,” I say again, offering him a grateful smile.

He nods, and I’m left alone.

I waste no time getting set up under the canopy, pulling one of the stacked chairs to the table. I take out my notebook and the event schedule to compare notes I made last night.

One thing that stood out to me when I got the job—which came through a referral—was how vague the event details were. I was told it was to be an intimate yet lavish party with an unlimited budget, but beyond that, the client didn’t provide any specific requests.

Unlike my usual clients, Mr. Cross had no preferences regarding the theme, color palette, catering, entertainment, or even personalized touches. It was almost unsettling how little guidance I was given.

The only concrete detail was the number of guests—an impressively small number considering the extravagance implied by the budget.

“Oh well,” I shrug. “It gives me more to work with.” And also much to live up to.

Regardless, I get to work, drawing inspiration based on the venue to make corrections to the suggestions in my notebook. I’m completely engrossed, my pen moving quickly as I sketch out ideas that I don’t hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

The firm scent of sandalwood is what hits me first. It’s rich and unmistakable, cutting through the faint aroma of paper and ink. It’s the kind of scent that demands attention—grounded, sophisticated, and undeniably masculine.

It pulls me out of my thoughts, my pen pausing mid-stroke as the shadow on my notebook grows more distinct.

Slowly, I look up, ready to introduce myself, but I stop short, brought to silence by his presence.

Standing before me is a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly handsome. His tailored suit fits perfectly, the sharp cut emphasizing his strong build.

Dark eyes framed by thick lashes meet mine with an intensity that makes my pulse falter. His jawline is sharp, and the slight stubble adds an edge of ruggedness to his polished appearance.

For a moment, I forget what I was doing and what I was going to say. His sheer presence, coupled with his intoxicating scent, is enough to leave me momentarily disoriented .

But I have no problem identifying who he is.

Ethan Cross.

His lips curl into a distasteful frown as he stares at me. “Who are you?”

Me? Me? I struggle for a moment to process the question before the light bulb comes on in my head.

“Oh—oh,” I stutter lightly, stretching out my hand with a smile to cover up the awkwardness. “I’m Natalie Monroe, the event planner. Mr. Cross hired me.”

“I did no such thing,” he responds curtly, already looking towards the gate. I can feel the iciness radiating from him, and it reaches towards me, stealing the warmth from my body. I refrain from rubbing my arms to get some circulation going again. “How did you get through security?”

How? My brows furrow in confusion. Then it hits me.

“No,” I shake my head hastily, “not you. Your cousin. Mr. Anthony Cross. He hired me. Some guy asked me to wait here for the crew.”

Shit . I should’ve clarified that when I first spoke. Now, I look like an imposter—not the first impression I wanted to make.

Ethan Cross doesn’t respond, but his glare doesn’t soften either. Instead, it feels like I’m being scrutinized from the inside out. It doesn’t help that he’s taller than me, at least a head taller and more imposing.

The silence stretches on until I’m forced to say something.

“Do you want me to call Mr. Anthony?” Not making the name mistake twice. “I’m sure he’ll clear things up. And there’s no way I could’ve gotten through your security without a verified form of identification,” I throw in my last resort with a nervous laugh.

It doesn’t work.

Where’s a sinkhole when you need one ?

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps approaching ends the interrogation. I’ve never been happier to see someone, and relief courses through me when it turns out to be Anthony Cross.

The other cousin is less like Jack Frost, with wide-rimmed glasses and a smaller build, although the same height and a smile that warms the sun from miles away.

“Miss Monroe!” He calls out, opening his arms as he doubles his stride. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to greet you sooner. I had to attend to some things and… well…” He clicks his tongue.

Then he turns to Ethan and chuckles. “I see you’ve met Ethan. I hope he didn’t frighten you? He has the effortless charm of a walk-in freezer.”

Something between a chortle and a snort escapes my lips, but it dies almost immediately when I catch Ethan’s glare.

“No,” I shake my head and smile, “I was just explaining to Mr. Cross that you hired me for the event.”

“Ah, yes,” Anthony nods as he slings an arm around my shoulder. It’s almost too natural, and I don’t notice until he makes a sweeping gesture from me to Ethan.

Ethan’s scowl is still on, like a CD frozen in place. He could do better without it, but it doesn’t affect his appearance, so who am I to judge?

Anthony snaps his fingers, his face lighting up as if suddenly remembering. “My bad. I forgot to tell him. Ethan—” He grins “—meet Natalie Monroe. She comes highly recommended. She’ll be overseeing the party on Saturday. I told her she has free rein over everything because, well, the budget is unlimited. Right?”

Right?

Ethan sighs, the sound low and deliberate, as if Anthony’s words are a minor inconvenience in a much larger world of problems .

For the briefest moment, I catch a flicker of something in his expression—an eyebrow twitch, maybe, or a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. His gaze shifts in my direction, and for a second, it feels like the air between us grows heavier.

Then, just as quickly, his attention snaps back to Anthony.

“You’re in charge,” Ethan says with a shrug, his tone detached. “I have other things to worry about.”

Without another glance, he turns on his heel and walks away, his broad frame cutting an effortless path through the yard.

I watch him go, the encounter leaving a strange mix of curiosity and unease in its wake. I’m almost certain that there was something in his parting look, but I doubt it was anything friendly.

He looks incapable of it.

Before I can dwell on it, Anthony pulls me closer, lowering his voice as he leans in conspiratorially. “Don’t take it to heart,” he says with a reassuring smile. “Ethan’s like that with everybody. It’s not personal, I promise.”

“Oh,” I force a laugh and wave my hand, “it’s nothing. I didn’t introduce myself properly when he showed up.”

Anthony laughs and pats my shoulder. It’s almost as if physical contact and making everyone feel like they’re part of some family comes naturally to him.

“You’re a good sport. I knew I did the right thing by hiring you.”

At least I passed someone’s first impression.

“The party is in three days,” he says as he rubs his hands together. “The crew I hired is running late, but they’ll be here in no time. If you need anything,” he shoots me a finger and clicks his tongue, “just let me know. My resources are at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” I say .

He nods with a smile, then tucks his hands into his pocket and does a one-eight with a flourish, going the same way his cousin went. I let out a breath when he disappears through the gate, my smile falling off.

“That went well,” I mutter.

My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, rolling my eyes when I see Danielle’s name on the screen. Is this perfect timing or terrible timing?

“Hey, girl,” she gushes, “how is it going? Did you meet him?”

“No,” I lie. “Apparently, he’s out of the country.”

She sighs in disappointment. “That’s something. Maybe he’ll show up tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed; you just might run into him, and your luck will change.”

I glance down at my hand to make sure my fingers are uncrossed.

Good. I’m not leaving anything up to fate.

Now that I know the rumors are true, I’ll do my best to stay away from Ethan Cross. Anthony Cross might be warm and friendly, but he’s not going to take my side over his cousin’s if Ethan decides to fire me.

And since he’s the billionaire in the family—the head of Cross Industries—my resume revamping depends on him.