My Mafia Boss Let His Ex Stay in Our Home, So I Packed My Bags Before Morning

Vanessa’s face contorted in sudden, ugly rage.

"You don't know anything about his world!" she spat, her composure cracking completely. "Adrian belongs to the syndicate! He belongs to people who bleed! You're an outsider!"

"And yet," I said smoothly, "I'm the one whose bags he begged not to leave. While you had to steal his shirt off a laundry rack just to feel close to him."

Vanessa raised her hand as if she were going to slap me.

"I wouldn't," a dark, dangerous voice purred from the doorway.

Vanessa froze. Her hand trembled in mid-air.

Adrian stood in the open doorway of my studio. He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his coat unbuttoned, his gray eyes colder than a winter storm in the Atlantic. Behind him stood Marcus and four armed Vale guards.

"Adrian..." Vanessa gasped, lowering her hand quickly, her voice instantly shifting into a pathetic whimper. "She... she was threatening me..."

Adrian didn't even look at her. He walked past her as if she were made of glass, stopping right in front of me.

He looked at my face, checking every inch of me for harm, his chest heaving slightly as if he had run all the way from Manhattan.

"Are you alright?" Adrian asked me softly.

"I'm fine," I said quietly. "Your ex has terrible timing."

Adrian turned around slowly, looking at Vanessa. The sheer violence radiating from his posture made even her two guards outside take a step back from the glass.

"Marcus," Adrian commanded softly.

"Sir?" Marcus stepped forward.

"Take Miss Cole to the basement at the docks," Adrian said, his voice flat and terrifying. "We are going to have a very long conversation about her meeting with Moretti yesterday at four o'clock."