Chapter 18 Mia
MIA
Enrico turned toward the window, one hand braced against the frame, the other curled loosely around a glass of whiskey.
“You said you wanted the truth.” He didn’t turn. “What will you do with it now?”
I swallowed hard. “Live with it, I suppose. I don’t get to un-know things.”
He half-smiled, but there was no joy in it. “Most people run.”
“Something tells me that if I somehow did slip through the cracks of this place… you’d find me again.”
That made him turn. The faintest humor flickered across his expression, gone before it could settle. “You make it sound like hunting.”
“Isn’t it?” I asked.
He came closer. “Maybe.”
The edge of the desk pressed against the backs of my legs. Enrico stopped. For a heartbeat neither of us moved. Then his hand lifted, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a care that contradicted everything about him.
“This life,” he murmured, “wasn’t supposed to touch you. My father used to say love is a liability. He was right. It clouds judgment. Makes a man weak.”
“Do you believe that?”
His gaze darkened. “I used to. Until you.”
The confession stole the air from my lungs. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth.
“Last night,” he said, “I thought if I kept you close enough, the world couldn’t touch you. But power has its own gravity, and I keep dragging you deeper.”
I should have pulled back. “Then stop.”
“You know I can’t.”
His hand slid to the nape of my neck, fingers curling there. Not hard—just enough to remind me who he was. The world narrowed to the space between us, the steady pulse beneath my skin.
“I don’t want to be afraid of you.”
“Then don’t be.”
He bent his head. His lips brushed my temple first—barely a kiss. A tremor shivered through me, half fear, half wanting.
“Enrico,” I whispered, meaning to protest, but his name came out like a prayer.
His mouth found mine before I could say more. The kiss was desperate. Every motion carried the weight of our contradictions—his control, my defiance, the inevitability pulling us together. When I gasped, he drew back just enough for air.
“You still could leave,” he said roughly. “You could walk out that door.”
“And if I did?”
His answer was a low hum that vibrated against my throat. “I’d follow.”
Something inside me broke open. My hands rose, curling in his shirt. The fabric was warm from his body, smooth beneath my palms. He was all edges and restraint, and yet the tremor that ran through him betrayed more than he’d ever say aloud.
“Why do you fight it?” he murmured.
“Because I don’t want to disappear into you.”
He stilled. For a long moment he didn’t speak, didn’t move, only stared at me with that unreadable expression.
“You won’t disappear.”
His mouth met mine again, slower this time, deliberately, as though memorizing the shape of surrender. The kiss deepened until the world tilted and the only truth left was the sound of our breathing and the steady pound of my heart against his chest.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against mine. “You don’t understand what you’ve done to me.”
“Then tell me.”
His laugh was low and broken. “You made me feel loved. For a long time, the empire has been the only thing that I focused on. Then you walked into the room that day, and suddenly, the only thing I thought more about than work was you. That’s how I knew you were the right woman for me.
That you were meant to stand beside me, not behind me. ”
The words were so raw they frightened me more than any threat could. I touched his cheek, the roughness of stubble, the heat beneath his skin. He leaned into my hand for the smallest moment, eyes closing as if the gesture cost him something.
“Don’t ever use that against me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
He stepped back then, reclaiming the space between us, rebuilding the walls that cracked. “Go with Catrina today. Spend some money. Repair what I broke. She has always talked about you in high regard, M. She only did what I asked.”
He turned toward the window again.
“Do you ever regret what you’ve built?”
He didn’t glance back. “Every empire is born from something broken.”
I took a step closer. “You could change it.”
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening. “Maybe you already are.”
The silence that followed was fragile. I could have left then. Should have. But my feet refused to move.
“You said you’d move heaven and hell for me. What happens when both come collecting?”
“Then we pay the price together.” He reached for my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips. “Go,” he said again, quieter now. “Before I forget why I’m letting you.”
I turned toward the door, the echo of his touch still thrumming through me. I gazed back once. For the first time I got a glimpse of the man beneath the mafia king—the one fighting ghosts and losing with grace.
Maybe that was why I stayed a heartbeat longer before opening the door. A truth resonated that neither of us could name: we were already bound, not by vows or fear, but by the dangerous hope that love could exist in a world built to destroy it.