Under His Protection: A Dark Mafia Romance

1. The Shadow Returns

A year has passedsince Dexter Hawkins vanished, a year of wary peace built on stolen moments and whispered promises. Port Haven, once choked by the Veles Network, now throbs with hope. Or so it seems.

The silk of my dress whispers against my skin as I stand beside Alexander on the balcony of his mansion. The city lights sprawl before us like a million scattered jewels. The night air is thick with the scent of jasmine, a perfume my mother used to wear. It is a scent that always brings back memories, both bittersweet and tender.

A distant siren wails like a mournful cry through Port Haven. The police have declared the Veles Network dismantled, but their influence still stretches across Port Haven, from the bustling waterfront, where Alexander’s ships bring in illegal shipments, to the upscale boutiques where they control businesses. No one knows who”s behind it, but The Raven is spoken softly on every corner.

The pungent smell of salt and brine from the bustling fish market wafts up to the balcony, mingling with the jasmine. The Cabernet Sauvignon, usually flavorful, tastes like ash on my tongue. This city, this suffocating grip—it”s all I can taste.

Even though Dexter Hawkins isn”t in Port Haven, there”s still a stranglehold on the city. Violence is still a whisper that keeps the city on edge. People have started disappearing lately without a trace, their names deleted from public records as if they had never existed. Those loyal to Veles are smuggling drugs, weapons, and stolen art again.

I glance down the street, but the city lights are just a blur of white and yellow, a facade hiding a million truths. Lately, there”s been a feeling that the darkness is returning, this time with a different face.

Alexander”s arm tightens around my waist. He”s been on edge lately. I can feel it, not like his usual confident self. He”s quiet, jumpy. His usual storm of blue eyes is a little too sharp, a little too alert.

”What are you thinking about?” I ask.

”Just making sure you”re safe,” he murmurs.

I force a laugh, the sound catching in my dry throat. ”I”m always safe with you, Alexander. Aren”t I?”

He turns, his eyes capturing mine, but I see a flicker in their depths. ”I always keep my promises, Ava. But—” his voice drops ”—there are forces even I can”t control.”

My gaze darts across the street to where a black sedan sits, its engine idling. ”Like what?” I ask. ”What forces could be stronger than you, Alexander?” My mouth dries, and I see his hand move towards the gun tucked beneath his jacket. That look of preparation. That look of readiness for action. He acts like a force he can”t control is out there.

”I received a message today,” he says. ”A warning. From The Raven.” His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

The name ”Raven,” spoken like a curse, radiates a chill. The mastermind behind Veles, the phantom puppeteer who orchestrated so much chaos, is back. Alexander suspects the Raven is behind the disappearance of Boris Romanov, a Veles enforcer loyal to Dexter, who vanished last month. His car was found abandoned miles outside town. Once a friend of Alexander”s, Boris is now just another ghost in the city, a victim of the Raven”s game.

I frown and sip my drink.

And then there were the news reports of lately: The death of Irina Kovacevic, an accountant, found dead in her apartment. No signs of struggle, no witnesses, a clean kill. As if she simply ceased to exist.

The names keep piling up—Irina, Boris, and more people—connected to Dexter Hawkins, all gone without a trace. A phantom sweeping through the city, erasing the past. Like a silent predator, he is waiting, watching, and plotting.

”What did he say?” I whisper, my voice stolen by a fear I thought I”d conquered. Do you think he”s behind Boris” disappearance?”

Alexander”s gaze returns to mine, his eyes filled with a darkness I”d only glimpsed before. ”He says— he”s coming for what”s mine.” He pulls me close, his lips brushing against my ear. ”And you, Ava,” he says, ”are the most precious thing I possess.”

Alexander has been involved in the Veles Network for years, using his legitimate shipping company as a front to move stolen artifacts. Now, he”s trying to get out, but it”s easier said than done. He”s still a key player in the network”s illegal operations, a double life he never wanted, bound by a wish to protect his younger sister, Michelle. And now, I”m a part of it by choice.

He pulls me close, but his embrace, usually a haven, suddenly feels like a cage. I flinch away, my body recoiling as if struck. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin, and the familiar tightness in my chest returns. The shattered glass, the blood-soaked garden, the lifeless weight of Mendel in my arms—these memories haunt my dreams. The Raven killed Mendel, and Alexander couldn”t save him.

I love him with all my heart, a brutal, passionate love that burns with the fire of a thousand suns. Still, I can’t help but wonder: I’m under his protection, but can I trust him to protect me?

I watch him as he stands before me. The sharp lines of his jaw are softened by a mischievous smile, and the dark depths of his eyes sparkle.

”I won”t let him touch you; he”ll taste blood before that.”

My breath catches in my throat. Alexander is like a puzzle, a collection of pieces that don”t quite fit together. I feel a thrill of fascination, a need to understand the man behind the mask. Behind the ruthless exterior, there is a vulnerability. I can sense it; it is a fear that he hides so well. It is in the way his eyes flicker with a fleeting shadow, in the way his hand instinctively twitches towards the gun in his jacket. He is a man who carries a heavy burden, a burden of his own choices. It is a burden he carries alone, a burden he never shares.

”There”s something I need you to understand,” he whispers. ”This life—it”s not what you think. There are more dark things in my past. Things I don”t speak of—”

A cold wind rushes through the balcony, carrying with it the taste of salt and the scent of rain. I pull my arms around myself, seeking warmth, but I feel the chill seeping into my bones.

”Let”s go inside,” I say, trembling slightly. He turns to me and nods.

I walk inside, my gaze lingering on the Renaissance piece above the fireplace. The painting chills me, reminding me of my mother. Her canvases were a world of escape, a refuge from the pressures of everyday life. I wonder if this painting is real or another one of Alexander”s acquisitions. To him, it”s probably just another piece of art, another commodity. To me, it evokes a different kind of memory, a bittersweet reminder of my family.

I put on some Beethoven, the grand chords filling the room. I get lost in the music, letting it wash over me, and stare at Alexander. I could get lost in the intensity of his gaze for hours.

The last sip of champagne fizzles on my tongue, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. I sink into the velvet sofa, its plush cushions swallowing me whole. My mind writhes and twists, its thoughts a tangled web.

A year has passed since the Veles Network fell, and our lives are still scarred by the chaos—

I sigh, a wave of exhaustion washing over me as Alexander settles beside me on the couch. His dark hair, tousled as if by a phantom wind, falls forward, framing his face. His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, and a warmth spreads through me, but it”s a warmth that shivers with an undercurrent of something colder, something prickly. His touch feels hesitant, almost tentative as if he is studying a map he doesn”t fully understand. The scent of his cologne, normally a blend of cedarwood and leather, suddenly seemed sharp and metallic, like the smell of rain mixed with blood.

His lips brush against mine in a tender kiss. The electric jolt that courses through my body when his fingers trace the curve of my collarbone sets me ablaze. I crave him with a raw, primal hunger. He”s intoxicating.

I try to relax into his touch, but my body feels stiff and unyielding. My fingers clench into fists, and I grab the fabric of the couch. He must sense my tension because his touch lightens. Then, a shadow crosses his face, a flicker of something—

”Ava,” he says and cups my face. ”There”s something I need you to understand. ”I”ve done things— things I can”t take back—”

His voice, a sudden, sharp gust of wind that whips through the quiet, leaves me breathless and yearning for more. I trace the intricate pattern of the Persian rug beneath my feet, the plush pile soft against my bare toes.

”What are you talking about?” I ask. ”The Raven? I”m not scared, Alexander.”

”Maybe you should be scared.” He sighs, ”scared of me—scared of the Raven. Ava, I”m a curse you can”t escape.”

”Alexander? Tell me, what”s wrong?”

Why is he talking like this?I shiver and study his worn features.

”It”s about my family — we – I haven”t told you everything.”

His words are like smoke, swirling in my mind, leaving a haze of confusion behind.

The sudden, sharp ring of a phone cuts through the quiet air, jolting me from our moment. Alexander stifles a sigh, his expression hardening as he reaches for his pocket and gets up. He answers, his voice low, barely a murmur.

I listen from a distance, the low hum of his voice blending with the classical music playing in the background. It”s a conversation I can”t make out, but the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw clenches as he speaks tells me it”s not pleasant. His face pales slightly with a chilling intensity.

”Yes, I”m aware of the delay. The shipment needs to be secured. I need to know they”re in place. The artifacts on that cargo ship are coming in today. Make sure everything”s ready. Don”t fail me this time.”

He hangs up, his hand clenching into a fist before he drops it onto the table. He turns to me, his expression softening like the melting of a glacier. But his eyes, those dark pools of ice, hold a flicker of something else— a fleeting shadow that retreats just as quickly as it appeared.

”I”m sorry,” he says, his voice softer now, but the tension in his shoulders remains. ”That was business. I”m still trying to tie up some loose ends.”

My jaw tenses and my nails dig into my palms. I imagine a ship gliding through the expanse of the Atlantic, its containers filled with stolen art. The EverBlue logo, the symbol I designed, now feels like a curse.

Let it go, Ava. You choose this life with him. With the man you love.

I reach out, taking his hand in mine. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and his muscles tense. ”I”m here,” I whisper, pulling him closer. ”You don”t have to do this alone.”

I sniff his neck, inhaling his scent.

”But I do,” he says, his voice low. ”No one can harm you, Ava. Not again.”

The clock on the mantelpiece seemed frozen in time, a reminder of how much I don”t know.

”No one will harm me, Alexander.”

His lips press down on mine, hard and demanding. His touch sends jolts to the apex between my legs, making me shiver with delight. His right-hand pushes up my back to meet him as he hovers over me, pressing me down.

For now, there”s only the promise of this moment, and I want this man.

A sudden tension ripples through him. His entire body stiffens, his shoulders tightening, and his gaze snaps toward the window like a hawk searching the sky.

He”s listening.

I can feel it in how his head cocks, eyes narrow, and breath hitches. I follow his gaze, drawn to the window, my pulse throbbing in my temples.

My feet move instinctively, following him as he walks to the window. The cold glass chills my fingertips, but I barely notice. My gaze is drawn to the sleek black car parked across the street. A beast crouched in the shadows—the sedan from before.

The driver is a silhouette against the harsh glare of the headlights, his features obscured, a masked figure in the night. Something about him, the way he sits so still, sends an adrenaline rush through my veins.

A low growl escapes Alexander”s throat, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun. His gaze turns toward me. His expression hardens like a granite mask.

”Don”t worry. I”ll handle it,” he says.

But even as he speaks, a flicker of fear dances in his eyes, a raw, primal fear that runs deeper than the shadows we”ve already encountered.

He pulls out his phone, and the sharp, insistent beeps as he dials the number make my jaw tighten.

”Isaac, the street – there”s a black sedan, a possible hostile,” Alexander barks into the phone.

Moments later, four figures exit the gates like shadows emerging from the house. The sleek black car”s headlights, suddenly burning with a new intensity, speed away.

I let out a breath I didn”t realize I”d been holding, the tension in my body easing slightly.

But the air is thick with a new kind of fear, a realization that has sunk its teeth into my consciousness: This isn”t a game anymore. This is real. Someone is hunting us. A man without a face, a man they call The Raven.