Engaged to my Bestfriend, The Mafia Boss

lars, going once.

t my ribs hard. I stood motionless in the shadows at the back, my mask covering my flushed ch

ddle number

r beauty the way my brothers killed for blood. My painting, The Ghost of My Heart, had just shattered every record for an anonymous artist

cess whose brothers would burn cities if they knew where I was. Jus

oved fingers still carried faint traces of paint, but no one here cared. They only

gun oil, and old money. The Chandeliers shined brightly. I kept my head high, shoulders back, t

one was

moved through the crowd of departing guests, letting the movement of people carry me toward the underground garage. My drive

stranger

ing everything but a razor sharp jaw and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled. He moved

d harder. Not

. The stranger matched me step for step. Closer now. Close enough that I smelled sandalwood and something darker that smelled o

be him. He wo

. One flight. Two. My pulse thundered in my ears. Behind me, th

bachs gleamed under harsh lighting. My driver's black Mercedes waited in slot 47, engine already

ark waves tumbled free, sticking to my damp neck. Through the tinted rear window I watched the stranger burst out of the stai

d the corner a

led off the gloves. Paint still stained to the tips of my fingers. It's evidence I

me in the rearview.

" I lied, pressing my fo

ind was

t walk. That sp

n't be A

buzzed in the hidden pocket of my gown. Three missed calls

ncess who let her brothers cage her in silk and security while they plotted alliances and spilled blood. But for

ing and restless. I recall what happened earlier

der was, he'd tr

fai

moved told me he wasn't the

ht never understand the blood and longing I'd poured into every stroke. But I was still here. Still bre

n the cliff above, warm and

clutch preparing for the