Page 6 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

I watch her expression drop. Where her lips were stretched into a wide smile a moment ago, they’re now replaced with a small frown. My heart skips a beat at this but, thankfully, she doesn’t follow me.

I slip out of the hall and head outside. When I spot a small garden by the corner, I quicken my steps to it.

Greens invade my eyesight as I stop to take in the beauty of nature. Trees litter the surroundings in a circle shape and end with a single pink flower that invites me to the garden. In the center, there's a small, clear pond. And a little further from the green scape, there’s a small bench.

I sit down, then shut my eyes, and let out a huge breath. The sound of the music is now distinct, and the air is fresh… until it's slowly diluted with a rich-smelling cologne.

My eyes shoot open. What I see freezes me in my spot. Before me is Ezra Marino.

I know this man—everyone does. He is one of the leading businessmen in the country with very little scandal to his name.

Damn. The pictures I see in the media definitely don’t do him justice.

Observant green eyes flicker around the garden before landing on me.

Shit. My breath hitches in my throat. This man is gorgeous.

His dark hair mixed with grey strands is tousled as if he’s just run his fingers through it a few times. His nose is slightly crooked and rests on perfectly plump lips. A strong jaw frameshis whole face, making it seem like he was sculpted by Adonis himself.

He has olive tan skin that looks even more attractive with those tattoos inked against it. I can’t see where his tattoos start from, but I do see the lines peeking from the collar of his suit and reaching just to the space beside his delicious Adam’s apple. Something about his tattoos gives him this dark, regal look even without him trying.

I force myself to look away when I realize I’ve been staring for too long.

What’s he doing here?

My eyes drop to his hands. Long, thick fingers curl around a dainty lighter. On his other hand, there’s a cigarette and dark ink, like the one on his neck, that decorates the space between his knuckles. I squint my eyes and see that his tattoos are in short, cursive Roman numerals.

I know I should probably give him some space and head back to the party. As I stand and take a foot forward, his voice catches me off guard.

“Don’t leave.”

It’s embarrassing the way his voice affects me. It rings through my ear drum and settles in my stomach. I’ve not talked to many men, but I know that deep, piercing voices rarely happen. My insides are a sudden mess.

Ugh! C’mon Raven! Get yourself together!

When I realize he’s still looking at me, I clear my throat to fill the silence.Ummm. What should I say?

“Me?” That's the only stupid thing that leaves my mouth.

His lips part to let out thick air. My nervousness grows. He takes his time to light the cigarette, then slowly brings it between his lips. The movement is slow, like a drag, but the good kind as he inhales with a groan and exhales with a smile. The sounds once again do things to my belly.

“I don't see anyone else here.”

Right. My tongue saves the day when I press it against the roof of my mouth to curtail my blush.

Why am I suddenly flustered?

I say nothing again and only watch the tip of his cigarette turn bright as he inhales another smoke. His hair falls into his face as he smokes. Now that I’m seeing him in person, his age dawns on me.

According to the news, he’s a forty-five-year-old successful business tycoon. But they failed to add the gorgeousness. This man doesn’t look a day over thirty-five.

I trail my eyes from a perfectly chiseled jaw to his chest. Olive tan chest peeks out from his suit which fits him perfectly like asecond skin. As I watch his bicep tighten and relax, I have the urge to find whomever stereotyped dating older men and yell bloody murder at them.

Maybe I made a mistake. He wasn't carved by Adonis. HeisAdonis…

The silence is still thick, so I take my eyes off him and fix it on that pink flower. Just when I manage to calm the raging storm in my stomach, he groans. This time, it shoots past my belly to my core.

Instinctively, I give unwarranted information. “In 2020, approximately 125,070 people died from lung cancer in the US.”