The Mafia Man Wants My Heart

ipped out, needing a moment to gather herself. She had done it-delivered her pitch with poise, answered every question with confidence. But none of that matter

, meant influence. And in the world of business-especially Gravitas's world-that was everything. Which meant she had no choice but to ensure that Marco Valentino remained interested. No matter how dangerous that felt. She inclined her head. "Yes, sir." Satisfied, Mr. Gravitas turned on his heel and strode down the hall, his presence as commanding in departure as it had been upon arrival. Mia exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The tension in her chest refused to ease. She returned to her desk, sinking into her chair, but the familiar comfort of her workspace did nothing to settle the unease simmering beneath her skin. She stared at the blank document on her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, but her mind refused to focus on numbers or projections. Instead, it kept replaying the moment Marco's gaze had locked onto hers. That brief, electric moment when recognition had flickered in his eyes. Had she imagined it? No. She had seen the way his brows had drawn together, the way his lips had parted slightly, as if he had been about to say something before catching himself. Marco Valentino had looked at her like he knew her. Like he remembered. Her hands curled into fists. No. He doesn't remember. He can't. She had spent years burying that night in Chicago. But it seemed the past was finally catching up with her. Hours passed in a blur of emails, spreadsheets, and mindless tasks, but no matter how hard she tried to focus, her thoughts kept drifting back to Marco Valentino. To the way he had looked at her. To the unshakable feeling that he knew something she didn't. She had met countless powerful men in this industry. CEOs with their perfectly tailored suits, their sharp, predatory smiles, their carefully calculated words. But none of them had ever unsettled her the way Marco did. None of them had ever made her feel like her past was a ghost, creeping closer with every glance. She tried to shake it off. Tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination, that her nerves were playing tricks on her. But that didn't explain the way her pulse had spiked when his gaze lingered. Or why, even now, sitting in the sterile quiet of her office, she could still feel the weight of his stare. Mia exhaled sharply and turned back to her screen, forcing herself to focus. The numbers, the contracts, the tedious reports-these were things she could control. Things that made sense. Unlike the suffocating sense of unease that had settled deep in her bones. She typed. Deleted. Re-typed. Scrolled through spreadsheets she had already checked twice. Nothing stuck. The numbers blurred