He was the most feared villain in all of new Orleans, ruthless and spiteful but in spite of all that he wasn't happy because he had all the wealth and connection a person could only dream of but was lacking in one area, LOVE She was a bookstore owner, a nerd and good Samaritan. when a stranger break into her house at midnight hurt and injured she has two choices call the cops or help him. Find out which choice she chooses on the mafia wants my heart
Lihat lebih banyakDave’s POVThe whisky burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest.He hadn’t touched a drink in years, but after what happened at the library, self-control felt like a joke.He paced his apartment like a caged animal, heart thudding in his ears. The moment Mia turned and saw Marco, something in her face shifted. Relief. Like she’d been rescued.From him.“She made me believe…” he muttered, gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. “All those late-night book talks. The way she laughed when I told her she was the only one who actually got me…”He grabbed the glass again and downed the last of it, staring into the empty bookshelf across the room. It used to be filled. Now, only a few titles remained—ones he couldn’t bear to part with. Her favorites.“I was there for her. Not him.” His voice cracked. “I listened. I cared.”But none of it mattered now. Because Mia had chosen Marco. The billionaire. The threat.Dave’s hands curled into fist
Mia’s POVThe sky had long darkened, and the golden hues of dusk gave way to deep indigo. Inside the bookstore, the soft lamplight cast a cozy, flickering glow on the wood-paneled walls. It smelled like old paper, fresh espresso, and cinnamon muffins—the comforting signature scent of Chapters & Coffee.Marco.He just stood there, the city lights reflecting off his dark coat, hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times. There was something almost wild in his eyes. Not violent—just intense. Caged. Like he was battling something inside him that didn’t want to stay quiet anymore.My mom, bless her timing, gave him a suspicious once-over from behind the counter before murmuring, “I’ll be back in ten. We’re out of milk.” She gave me a tight smile—one that said we’re going to talk about this later—then slipped out the door.The air shifted. The moment she left, it felt like the entire store sighed into stillness.Marco moved closer, hands in his coat pockets, his gaze never le
Marco’s POVThe sun had dipped behind the skyline, casting the city in a gold-tinged gloom as I watched from the driver’s seat of the black Aston Martin. The hum of the engine had gone cold. I hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes. Not since she walked out of that glass building—Luxe Visions—like she was carrying a thousand invisible bricks on her back.Mia Cruz.The woman who made me question every rule I’d lived by, every line I’d drawn to keep people out.Her shoulders were tense beneath the tailored beige coat she wore, the collar flipped up like armor against the late evening chill. Her steps weren’t rushed, but they weren’t steady either. Each one looked like she had to convince herself to take it. I watched as she paused at the corner, her head tilting toward the sky for just a second like she needed to remind herself how to breathe.She didn’t see me.Didn’t know I’d been here since noon—since just after I left her standing in that diner, after I told her I couldn’t walk away
Mia’s POVThe bus stop was quieter than usual, just the low hum of the city waking up around me. I pulled my coat tighter against the chill, wishing it could somehow shield me from the thoughts that kept circling my mind like vultures. Marco Valentino wasn’t supposed to be a part of my life—he wasn’t supposed to be anything at all. And yet, here I was, thinking about him when I should be focused on the day ahead.I stepped onto the bus when it pulled up, the scent of fresh coffee and early morning newspaper clippings mingling with the stale air of the crowded ride. I grabbed a seat near the back, hoping for a quiet ride before the chaos of work took over.The bus jerked to a stop as we hit traffic, and I glanced over to see Dave standing in the aisle. His tall frame loomed just behind a man in a dark suit, his posture stiff. He caught my gaze, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. But then his face softened, like he was trying to be
Marco’s POVShe had no idea what she was doing to him.No fucking idea.Marco sat alone in his penthouse, lights dim, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, staring out at the city that knelt beneath his feet like it belonged to him.Because it did.Everything he wanted, he took.Everything he desired, he owned.Everything he touched, he marked.That was the world of Marco Valentino.Until her.Until Mia.The little waitress with fire in her eyes and a softness in her soul that made him feel…Unsteady.Off-balance.Human.And God, he hated feeling human.He wasn’t supposed to want someone like her. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Broke. Ordinary.But ordinary had never looked so fucking beautiful.Ordinary had never smiled at him like she had — without fear. Without expectation.Mia was the first woman in his entire cursed existence who didn’t want anything from him… except maybe for him to leave her alone.But it was too late for that.Way too fucking late.He’d crossed the line the moment
Mia barely heard a word Dave was saying.Her mind was still stuck in him.Marco Valentino.That look in his eyes.Those words.Mine.She shivered — except it wasn’t from the cold.It was from the way her body remembered the heat of his presence even after he was gone.Get a grip, Mia.Dave was still rambling awkwardly beside her, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he was about to get whacked in broad daylight.“…seriously, Mia. That guy’s intense. Like, mafia movie final boss level intense.”She almost laughed.If only he knew.But all she managed was a small, exhausted smile.“I’m fine, Dave.”“You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure he wanted to rip my head off.”Mia sighed. “He didn’t.”“Not yet,” Dave mumbled under his breath.That actually made her chuckle.Soft. Tired. But real.Her feet ached from standing so long, her head throbbed from everything that just happened, and the idea of squeezing herself into an overcrowded bus after surviving Marco Valentino felt
The rain had picked up again, soft droplets clinging to the diner windows, turning the world outside into a blurry haze. Inside, the lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a warm glow on the silver table where Mia sat, nervously tracing the rim of her glass.Dave was talking — about books, about some ridiculous historical fact that normally would’ve had her full attention — but tonight, her mind was elsewhere.Marco.Her phone sat in her lap, buzzing occasionally like it was mocking her.I’m on my way to the diner.Her heart skipped for the hundredth time.Was he serious? Would he really show up here?“Mia,” Dave’s voice broke through her thoughts, softer this time. Almost careful. “You’re somewhere else tonight.”She blinked, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry. Just… distracted.”Dave gave a short chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His eyes flickered down to her phone like he already knew exactly who was distracting her.“That friend of yours?” His tone was light — but God, the bite b
Mia sighed, running a hand through her hair as she stepped into her bedroom. As much as she wanted to linger in the quiet morning with Marco, today was still a workday. Reality was waiting.She pulled open her wardrobe, grabbing a fresh outfit. Behind her, she could hear Marco moving around the living room.By the time she emerged, dressed in a fitted blouse and tailored pants, he was standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and steady as he spoke.“Come back now,” he told the driver. A brief pause. Then, “Yeah, the rain’s lighter. Just be careful.”Mia glanced outside. The heavy storm had passed, leaving behind a soft drizzle. The streets glistened under the muted morning light, damp but no longer flooded.Marco ended the call and turned toward her, his sharp gaze raking over her appearance. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t comment.“You’re heading to work,” he stated rather than ask
Mia woke to the soft patter of rain against the window, the storm from last night reduced to a gentle drizzle. For a moment, she stayed still, letting the warmth of the bed and the steady rhythm of Marco’s breathing beside her keep her grounded.Then it hit her—Marco was still here.Her eyes flickered open, and the first thing she saw was him. He lay on his side, one arm resting beneath his head, the other draped loosely over the duvet. His face, usually hardened with intensity, was relaxed in sleep. The sharp angles of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the slow rise and fall of his chest—it was a side of him she’d never seen before.A flutter stirred in her stomach.Carefully, she shifted, trying not to wake him. But as soon as she moved, his eyes cracked open, dark and unreadable.For a second, they just stared at each other.Then his lips twitched. “You’re watching me, little mouse.”Heat rushed to her chee
The moment I stepped off the train and into the cool Chicago air, a shiver ran down my spine. The city was alive—too alive. Streetlights flickered in the fading evening light, illuminating the busy sidewalks where businessmen hurried past, laughter spilled from a nearby bar, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts lingered in the air. Yet, beneath the surface, something felt… off. I pulled my coat tighter around me and shifted my overnight bag higher onto my shoulder. I wasn’t here for sightseeing. I was here because my mother, Emily Cruz, practically forced me to attend a book club event in her place. The thought made me sigh. “Mia, it’s important to keep connections alive,” she had said. “You never know when you’ll need them.” As the owner of Cruz’s Bookstore—one of New Orleans’ oldest independent bookstores—my mother was obsessed with building literary networks. I, on the other hand, had no such ambitions. I just wanted to survive the night and catch my flight home in the m...
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