Mob Prince's Forbidden Instalove (Sinful Mafia Vows #4)

Chapter One

Luna

I’m not supposed to be in this alley tonight.

My heels click on the rough pavement, echoing against the faded brick walls. It’s after midnight, and I’ve just finished a grueling day at the bank. My head is pounding, my feet ache, and I just want to crawl into bed. Yet here I am, cutting through a shortcut I vowed never to use again.

But my apartment is two blocks away, and I’m impatient.

It’s a terrible habit—taking a risk when I’m exhausted. My phone is nearly dead, my bank ID badge is still clipped to my blouse, and a sense of regret crawls up my spine. The alley is narrow, lit only by a flickering streetlamp at the far end. Even in my half-conscious state, I know this is the worst place to be at this hour.

I speed up. My breath rattles. My heart drums a frantic beat in my chest.

Then I hear it—footsteps behind me. One pair, or maybe two. The sounds echo, an unsettling rhythm that matches the adrenaline spiking through my veins.

Instinct says don’t look back, but fear forces me to glance over my shoulder anyway.

Two men. Dark clothes. They’re too close, coming up fast.

I curse under my breath and break into a run. My heels slip on a wet patch, and my tote bag bounces against my hip. Cold sweat pricks the back of my neck.

Faint moonlight glints on something in one man’s hand. A blade? I can’t see clearly. All I know is that my heart is in my throat, and I have to get away.

I lunge for the mouth of the alley. If I can just reach the main street, I might have a shot. There might be late-night cabs driving around. There might be people. Light. Safety.

But he’s faster. A strong hand grabs my shoulder from behind, yanking me back so hard that I stagger. I gasp, the bag slipping from my arm. My ID badge clatters to the ground.

“Where you going in such a hurry, sweetheart?”

The man’s voice is a low growl. He smells like stale cigarettes. His grip tightens, nails biting into my skin through my blouse.

I hate how my entire body locks with fear.

“Get—off—me.”

The words come out in a hiss as I twist, trying to yank free. It’s no use. His friend moves in, cornering me. I taste panic on my tongue.

They think I’m weak. Just a banker, an easy target.

My mind races. I consider flailing, screaming, begging. But something in me snaps. I won’t go down quietly.

I slam the heel of my shoe into the first man’s foot. He howls, releasing me. I stumble away, pivoting to face them, my fists clumsy but raised.

His partner chuckles. “Fiery little thing, aren’t you?”

Before I can retort, a third figure barrels into the alley, looming tall, broad shoulders and a commanding stride. The lamplight flickers over his face. He’s all hard angles, sharp cheekbones, and a controlled rage in his eyes.

I don’t know him, yet something about him seems oddly familiar. He’s wearing a black jacket, an expensive cut. Dark hair slightly slicked back. There’s something about his presence that screams danger. But in that split second, I sense he’s here for me, not them.

He steps between me and the pair. “You heard the lady,”

he says in a low, venomous voice. “Leave her alone.”

His tone isn’t a request; it’s a command.

The guy I kicked grimaces, hobbling on one foot. His friend brandishes a small knife, glaring at the newcomer. “Who the hell are you?”

My unlikely savior moves with lethal grace. He’s not just some random stranger. Every part of him signals he’s done this before. Possibly many times.

He narrows his eyes, ignoring the question. “Walk away, or you won’t be walking anywhere again.”

A wave of tension crackles through the alley. My pulse thunders. The two men glance at each other, then at him, and I can feel them weighing the odds. The one with the knife snarls something under his breath, but the stranger doesn’t flinch.

He actually smiles. A slow, confident curl of his lips that sends chills over my skin.

“Bad choice,”

he murmurs.

Everything happens quickly. The man with the knife lunges, but my savior ducks, seizing the attacker’s wrist. With one brutal twist, the knife clatters to the ground. The thug screams.

His partner tries to grab him from behind, but the stranger slams an elbow back, catching the second guy in the gut. It’s a smooth, practiced motion that leaves the thug doubled over and gasping for air.

Suddenly, both men are scrambling to get away. I expect the fight to continue, but they break free, stumbling toward the exit. They glance behind them, and for a moment, I see raw fear in their eyes.

Then they vanish into the darkness.

I’m left trembling in the flickering light, heart pounding against my ribs. The stranger stands there, fists half-clenched, breathing hard. Slowly, he turns to face me.

“Are you okay?”

he asks, voice tight. His eyes roam over me, as if checking for injuries.

I swallow. “I… I think so. Yes.”

He’s closer now. I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his broad chest rises and falls with each breath. He studies me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.

When I manage to speak again, my voice is shaky. “Thank you.”

He offers a short nod, stepping closer. He lifts my bag from the ground and holds it out to me. “You dropped this.”

I notice his hands are steady. Calm, despite what just happened.

I take the bag with both hands, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you,”

I repeat, clearing my throat. “I don’t— I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

His gaze flickers to my ID badge, which is lying face-down on the concrete. He stoops to pick it up, and I realize he’s scanning the bank’s logo.

He holds it out. “You work at Quicksilver Bank?”

I swallow. “Yes. Junior Loan Officer.”

He tilts his head, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he extends the ID badge, letting me take it. My hand brushes against his, and electricity zips through me. It’s instantaneous, like a shock.

I almost drop the badge, my cheeks flushing.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment on my reaction. Instead, he looks around the alley, as if assessing any remaining threats. “You’re safe now,”

he says. Then he looks back at me, his expression turning more gentle. “Let me walk you home.”

I’m not sure it’s wise to trust a stranger, no matter how protective he seems. But the alternative is trekking alone, still trembling, in the dark.

A single thought jumps into my mind: I don’t even know his name.

“Um… you don’t have to,”

I say softly, even though a part of me wants him to.

He arches an eyebrow. “I want to.”

There’s a firmness in his tone that makes it hard to argue. Something about his stance—shoulders squared, chin raised—tells me he’s used to giving orders.

I press my lips together. Maybe it’s insane, but I find myself nodding. “Alright. Thank you.”

He offers his arm, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. Warmth radiates from him, and I catch a hint of his cologne—rich, woodsy, and enticing.

We step out of the alley. My heart is still pounding, but with each step, I start to calm. Streetlights glow along the sidewalk, giving me a clearer look at him.

He’s tall, muscular, with a refined edge that suggests money or power—maybe both. He moves like a predator at rest, as though every muscle is coiled for action. The tension in my shoulders eases when I realize he’s scanning the surroundings, ready to pounce on any threat.

“Thank you again,”

I murmur, more quietly. “I know it sounds repetitive, but I mean it.”

He looks down at me, his dark eyes catching the light. “You’re welcome. But you shouldn’t be walking alone at this time of night, especially around here.”

I bristle slightly. Yes, I know it was a stupid choice, but I’m not a child. “I got off work late,”

I explain, fighting to keep my tone neutral. “It’s not like I planned to be mugged.”

His expression flickers with apology. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scold you. I just—”

He inhales. “Anyway, I’m Enzo.”

Enzo. The name rolls in my mind, foreign and yet perfectly fitting the man by my side.

“I’m Luna,”

I say quietly.

“Luna,”

he repeats, almost testing my name on his tongue. A shiver travels across my skin. He says it with a gentle rasp, like a promise. “Beautiful name.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Thanks.”

For a moment, we walk in silence, the sounds of distant traffic weaving around us. My building is up ahead, a tall, slightly run-down complex with chipped paint and flickering hallway lights. Not the nicest area, but it’s what I can afford on a junior banker’s salary.

We reach the entrance, and I pause. My instincts say this is where I should thank him one final time and go inside. But I don’t let go of his arm yet.

He looks at the building, then back at me. “Is this where you live?”

“Yes, right here.”

I gesture toward the double glass doors. A lone overhead light buzzes and flickers.

“I’d walk you up, but…”

He trails off, as if unsure whether I’d welcome the gesture.

I actually consider it. My mind is doing backflips. I just met this man. I should be cautious. But that quick spark of electricity when he touched my hand lingers in my memory.

But reason wins out. “I’ll be okay from here,”

I say, though my voice wavers slightly.

He nods, stepping back, but not before reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a business card, pressing it gently into my palm.

“If you ever need help,”

he says in a low voice, “call me. Day or night.”

I glance at the card. There’s just a phone number, no name, no business logo. Mysterious.

When I look up, I realize he’s already turning away, disappearing into the darkness. A swirl of questions floods my mind. Who is he? Where did he come from so suddenly? And why do I feel this powerful pull in my chest, like some invisible force wants me to run after him?

I clench my fist around the card. I can’t chase after strangers who rescue me in alleys. That’s how all the bad romance novels I’ve read start. Right?

My cheeks burn at the idea that I’m already daydreaming about some random man. Some random, tall, dangerous man who’s obviously used to fighting. Possibly with criminal ties. Maybe I’m overthinking.

I push open the door to my building and hurry inside. The lobby is dim and stuffy, but at least it’s safe. I punch the elevator button and wait, heart still fluttering.

Finally, the rickety elevator arrives, and I ride it up to the fifth floor. As soon as I step out, I can’t wait to kick off my heels, throw my bag on the couch, and sink into the bathtub.

I open the door to my apartment. It’s small: a kitchenette crammed next to a modest living room, a single bedroom that doubles as my office space, and a bathroom with questionable water pressure. But it’s home.

I flick on the lights, toss my keys onto the side table, and lean back against the door. Letting out a shaky breath, I stare at Enzo’s card in my hand. No name. Just a phone number.

I plug it into my phone, labeling it “Enzo (Alley Hero).”

Then I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. My life is as boring as it gets—banking, spreadsheets, reading. I’m the feisty one at the office, but out here on these streets, I’m nobody special.

Why would a man like Enzo pay any attention to me?

But I can’t deny the electric jolt that shot through me. Or the way his presence made me feel safe. Protected.

I try to shake off the thought as I walk to the bathroom. Even from here, I can see my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a tangled mess around my face. My blouse is rumpled and has a slight tear at the shoulder where that thug grabbed me. My eyes are wide, pupils still dilated with adrenaline.

I hurry to turn on the bathtub faucet. The water sputters, then warms up. Steam curls into the air, and I let it fill the small space, hoping it will calm the tension in my muscles.

Sliding out of my work clothes, I sink into the tub. Heat seeps into my bones, soothing me. I close my eyes, letting the ripples lull me into a calmer state.

But my mind is stuck on Enzo.

He’s the kind of man I usually only read about in romance novels. Tall. Dangerous. Confident. The way he handled those thugs—there was no hesitation. He’s probably the kind of person who’s used to living in a world of violence.

That triggers a whole new set of concerns. What if he’s involved in something illegal? Maybe the mafia. The thought crosses my mind, as crazy as it seems. His demeanor screamed authority of a different kind. A protective vibe, but also darkness.

I exhale slowly, pressing my palms over my face. Why am I thinking about him so much?

I force myself to refocus. Tomorrow is another day at the bank. I have an early meeting with a potential mortgage client, a single mother who needs a loan. I have to be fresh and ready to be the calm, collected professional that I am.

Yet as the hot water cradles me, I can’t stop a tiny secret thrill from dancing through my chest. For once, I’m thankful for the adrenaline. I’m alive, and I was saved by a man who made my heart race in a way it never has before.

Eventually, I drag myself out of the tub, wrap up in a towel, and curl into bed. I glance at my phone, half-expecting to see a text from that unknown number. But there’s nothing, of course. Enzo wouldn’t call me. We don’t know each other.

I close my eyes, telling myself that I’ll never see him again, that it was a one-time rescue. But a spark of hope lights up inside me. Maybe, just maybe…

I drift off to sleep with that thought.

Morning arrives too soon.

My alarm shrieks, and I jolt upright. My mind replays the events of last night in a disjointed blur—work, the alley, the attack, Enzo. For a second, I can’t tell if it was all a dream. Then I see the tear in my blouse, lying on the chair, and my stomach twists.

It happened.

I shake off the lingering sense of danger and hurry through my morning routine. Coffee. Toast. A rummage through my closet for something professional yet comfortable.

I settle on a gray pencil skirt and a pale pink blouse, smoothing my hair into a tidy bun. I apply a touch of lipstick, then glance at the clock. If I leave now, I’ll catch the next bus.

Today is going to be better, I tell myself. No dark alleys. No near-mugging. No random rescues by handsome strangers.

I step outside my apartment and lock the door behind me. The hallway is quiet. Most of my neighbors are either at work already or still sleeping. I hustle to the elevator. My heels click on the old linoleum floor.

The elevator dings, and I enter. One other passenger stands inside: a tall man with broad shoulders, wearing a crisp black suit. He has short, dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass. He’s facing the doors, so I only see him in profile.

When he turns his head, his eyes lock on mine through the faint reflection in the elevator doors. My heart stutters.

It’s Enzo.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the elevator starts to descend. The doors close, and we’re alone, the fluorescent lights humming overhead.

My pulse jumps to my throat. I look at him, wide-eyed, trying to form words.

He dips his head in acknowledgment, offering a faint smile. “Good morning, Luna.”

I have no idea how to respond. A part of me wonders if he followed me here. But that’s impossible… or is it?

Wait a minute.

I gather my courage. “What are you doing here?”

He meets my gaze, his expression unreadable. “I live here.”

My mind reels. “Here? In this building?”

He nods. “Just moved in. Fifth floor.”

My mouth opens and closes in shock. He’s on the same floor as me. He’s my next-door neighbor?

That’s impossible— I know the old guy who used to live next door left about a month ago.

Then it clicks: The landlord must have found a new tenant. And that tenant is… Enzo.

He’s studying my reaction, an amused twist to his lips. “Small world,”

he says softly.

My heart thrums. This is insane. I’m trapped in an elevator with the man who rescued me last night. A man I thought I’d never see again, who apparently lives a few steps away from me.

I swallow. “I— wow. This is unexpected.”

He nods. The elevator pings at the lobby, and the doors slide open. We both step out, the tension palpable.

I clutch my bag, feeling strangely self-conscious. “Well… thanks again for, you know… last night.”

He dips his head, letting me move ahead. “Anytime,”

he murmurs.

Outside, the morning sunshine is bright, a sharp contrast to the surreal conversation we just had. People bustle around. Cars honk. Life goes on, oblivious to my pounding heart.

I turn to him, still trying to figure out how to act normal. “So… are you new to the city?”

He shrugs, eyes scanning the busy street. “Sort of. I have business here. Needed a place in town.”

“What kind of business?”

The question slips out before I can stop it.

He pauses, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. His lips flatten slightly. “Import and export,”

he says. A vague answer that could mean anything. “My family’s in… shipping.”

There’s a finality to his tone that suggests he doesn’t want to elaborate. A prickle of suspicion works its way into my thoughts. Shipping could be legitimate, or it could be code for something else.

A black SUV glides down the street, windows tinted. I catch Enzo’s gaze flicking to it. For a moment, I think he’s about to flag it down, but he doesn’t. It roars past us instead.

He looks back at me with a grin. “I won’t keep you from work,”

he saysgently. “But I want you to know—if you need anything, if you feel unsafe, just knock.”

I feel the strangest rush of both comfort and unease. I can’t imagine I’ll be needing a mafia-type rescue again so soon, but who knows?

“Thanks,”

I manage to say.

Then he gives me a short nod and heads off, disappearing into the crowd.

I stand there, heart fluttering, trying to process this bizarre twist of fate. A million questions circle in my head. Why do I feel drawn to him? Why am I not running in the opposite direction if he might be dangerous?

I check my watch. My bus is due in a minute. With a quick shake of my head, I force myself to move, hustling to the stop.

The morning at the bank is chaotic. Meetings, paperwork, phone calls. I settle in at my desk, spreadsheets open, going over a potential refinance for a middle-aged couple. My boss calls me into the conference room to finalize some details on a mortgage. It’s the usual routine, but my mind keeps drifting to Enzo.

I’m answering emails when my co-worker Farrah sidles up, resting her elbows on my cubicle wall. “Hey, Luna, you okay? You look distracted.”

I blink, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just had a… weird night.”

She arches a brow. “Weird how?”

Should I tell her about almost getting mugged and my hot neighbor rescuing me? Probably not. My co-workers already consider me the ‘feisty one’ because I negotiate hard with clients. They’d never believe I nearly got attacked or that some dark, handsome stranger saved me.

“Nothing major,”

I lie. “Just didn’t get enough sleep.”

She narrows her eyes, unconvinced, but doesn’t press. “All right, well, if you need coffee, I’m heading out for a run in ten. Want anything?”

“Just a latte,”

I say, grateful for the change in topic.

She nods, disappearing down the hall. I refocus on my screen, but the numbers blur. My mind replays the memory of Enzo in the elevator. That calm, self-assured posture.

It’s in the back of my thoughts all day. By the time I clock out, I’m more eager to get home than ever, though a small whisper of fear reminds me of last night’s ordeal.

I take the bus again—no shortcuts. When I reach my building, the sun is setting. My nerves tingle the moment I step through the front doors. I look around, half-expecting to see Enzo in the lobby or by the mailboxes.

He’s not there.

The elevator is empty when I ride it up. I walk down the hallway, each step echoing.

Then I see him.

He’s standing in front of the apartment next to mine, fiddling with the lock. A sleek black duffel bag rests at his feet.

My breath catches. I try to summon the confidence that usually helps me handle tough clients. “Hi.”

My voice comes out softer than I intend.

He glances over. The tension in his face eases into something like warmth. “Hey, Luna.”

I pause near my door, keys in hand. “Just got back from work?”

He nods, stepping back from the lock. “Yeah. I’ve been running around all day. Needed to drop some things off.”

We lapse into silence, and I hate how awkward I feel. He’s my neighbor, for goodness’ sake. This shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking.

I clear my throat. “So… how are you settling in?”

He shrugs. “Not much furniture yet. But I don’t need much.”

Something about the way he says that reminds me he might not be here long. Or maybe he just travels light.

I watch as he picks up the duffel bag, the muscles in his arms flexing. My cheeks heat, and I scold myself internally. He’s just a man, Luna. Calm down.

“Do you want help?”

I blurt before I can stop myself.

He smiles then, a slow curve of his lips that makes my stomach flip. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I appreciate the offer though.”

I nod, fumbling with my keys as I unlock my own door. Part of me wants to invite him in—maybe to say thank you with a cup of coffee or a beer. But that feels too forward, too soon.

I push my door open and slip inside. Before I shut it, I glance back at him. He meets my gaze, and there’s a flicker of intensity.

“Good night, Luna,”

he says quietly.

The door closes, and I’m alone in my small apartment. Yet I can’t shake the tightness in my chest, like an invisible wire connecting me to the man on the other side of the wall.

I change into sweats and try to make dinner—pasta with jarred sauce, nothing fancy. My phone buzzes, and my heart leaps, wondering if it’s him. But it’s just Farrah, texting a reminder about tomorrow’s staff meeting.

Disappointed, I set the phone aside and swirl noodles around in the pot. The truth is, I hardly know him. But I can’t deny the pull. An instant attraction that defies all logic.

I eat my dinner in silence, occasionally glancing at the wall I share with his apartment. Is he there? Maybe he’s unpacking. Or stepping out to run errands.

Forbidden romance. The idea drifts into my head like a whisper. He’s not from my world. He exudes danger, mystery. Could I really get involved with someone like that?

My phone buzzes again. This time, the number is unfamiliar. My heart spikes.

I snatch it up, swiping the screen. A single text:

Unknown: Hey, neighbor. I hope you made it home safe tonight.

A silly grin stretches across my face. My heart flutters. It’s him.

I reply:

Me: Yes. Safe and sound. Thanks for checking in.

A moment later, three little dots appear, then vanish, then appear again.

Unknown: Good. Let me know if you need anything.

I chew my bottom lip. My mind races with possibilities. Is he texting me just to be nice? Or is there something else there? I remember the first time I looked into his eyes. That intensity. It wasn’t just polite concern.

Finally, I type back:

Me: Thank you, Enzo. Maybe we can get coffee sometime? I owe you for saving me.

I hit send, my heart hammering. The three little dots pop up again.

He replies:

Enzo: Coffee sounds good. Let me know when.

A thrill runs through me. This is crazy. It’s too soon, right?

But something about Enzo sparks a feeling I can’t ignore. It’s more than just gratitude. It’s like he awakened a need in me—something primal and immediate.

I stare at our brief text exchange, the corners of my mouth still curled into a smile.

Tonight, I fall asleep with my phone clutched in my hand.

Hours later, a noise jolts me awake in the middle of the night. I sit up, heart racing, eyes adjusting to the darkness.

For a second, I think it’s just the old pipes in the walls. This building makes all sorts of weird sounds. But then I hear it again— a muffled crash, followed by a deep voice cursing.

I slip out of bed, tiptoeing to the door. Another bang resonates, this time louder. It’s coming from next door. Enzo’s place.

I put my ear to the thin wall. My pulse thuds in my ears. Is he in trouble? Is someone else in there with him?

Without thinking, I throw on a robe and quietly step into the hallway. The corridor is dimly lit by a single bulb. My bare feet make no sound on the worn carpet. I move toward his door, listening hard.

A low voice rumbles from within, tinged with anger. My stomach knots.

Raising my hand, I knock softly.

Silence. Then a rushed whisper.

I press my ear to the door. I know this is reckless, but I can’t walk away if something’s wrong.

I knock again. “Enzo? Are you okay?”

I keep my voice low but urgent.

For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then the handle turns. The door opens a crack. His face appears, shadowed by the lack of lights.

His expression is grim, eyes wild with frustration. And something else: fear.

His gaze flicks over me, surprise mingled with concern. “Luna, it’s late. Go back to bed.”

I peer past him, but can’t see much. “I heard noises. Is everything all right?”

He hesitates, muscles tight, as if he’s holding something—or someone—back. “I’m fine,”

he insists, but his voice is strained. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My heart clenches. “Let me help you?—”

His eyes narrow. “No. Go home. Now.”

Suddenly, a loud thud reverberates through his apartment, followed by a sound like glass shattering. My eyes go wide. Enzo’s jaw clenches, and he tries to shut the door.

But it’s too late.

I catch a glimpse of a figure behind him, sprawled on the floor. Blood on the carpet. A man in a suit, moaning softly. My stomach lurches.

Enzo tries to block my view, stepping forward. He places one large hand on the frame, effectively keeping me out. There’s a flicker of desperation in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Go, Luna,”

he repeats, voice low, dangerously calm.

My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear. Fear and confusion swirl in my head. I open my mouth to protest, but the words get stuck.

Another groan from inside. Then I see it—a gun lying on a table. Its black barrel catches the faint hallway light. My blood runs cold.

I’m face-to-face with a secret I don’t understand. A mafia secret, or something equally dangerous, right next door.

My instincts scream at me to run. But my chest tightens at the thought of leaving him like this.

He looks at me, that same fierce, protective glint in his eyes. “Please,”

he breathes, “go inside. Lock your door. Don’t ask questions.”

I swallow hard, adrenaline spiking. Terror battles with concern.

My mind races: He saved me last night. Now he’s in trouble. Or maybe he’s the trouble.

A lump forms in my throat. “I—okay,”

I whisper.

He closes the door softly, shutting me out. I stand there, heart hammering, staring at the peeling paint of his door. My entire body trembles.

Something bad is happening in there. Something I probably shouldn’t be a part of. And yet, I’m already in too deep. My mind is a swirl of fear, attraction, and a thousand questions.

Slowly, I back away, returning to my own apartment. I lock the door behind me, turning the deadbolt with shaking hands. My lungs burn, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

I lean against the door, pressing my palms to its cool surface. I can still hear muffled noises from next door—movement, harsh whispers. Then silence.

My head spins. Something about Enzo is bigger and darker than I imagined. I want to know more, but I’m also terrified.

I slide to the floor, heart racing, eyes wide, unsure if I’m trembling from fear or something else entirely.

One thought crashes through my mind, unrelenting:

I’m falling fast for a man I barely know. A man with secrets that could destroy me.

And I don’t know how to stop.