Page 17

SERGIO

The idea of leaving Mirella behind didn’t sit well with me. I hated it. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted us to talk through our feelings, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She’d asked for space, and I had given it to her, but every instinct in me told me to stay. The hotel was secure, and I trusted the staff, but I trusted Ryan more.

“Ryan, I need you to stay here,” I said, watching as his jaw tightened.

Ryan crossed his arms. “You sure about this? I’d rather be out there, covering your back.”

“I’m sure. I am just going to stake out the restaurant today. Then, we can come back and strategize. I need to know who I am dealing with first,” I explained firmly. “Ryan, please. She’s important to me, Ryan. If anything happens to her…”

He nodded before I could finish, his expression softening. “Got it. I’ll stay. But you owe me.”

I smirked. “Add it to the tab.”

I walked out of the hotel and into the waiting car. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mirella would be safe here. She had to be.

The restaurant was exactly as I’d expected—quiet, dark, and radiating exclusivity. If Raven wanted to make an impression, she was doing a damn good job. My instincts told me to keep a low profile, so I parked down the street and waited, watching the entrance.

The minutes dragged. Nothing happened. No one came or went. It was like the place was frozen in time.

I was about to call it a night when a shadow moved near the back entrance. A tall man dressed in black walked straight toward my car and stopped just short of the passenger window. I rolled it down, keeping my hand close to the gun at my side.

“The Raven wishes to have lunch with you,” he said, his tone neutral.

I raised an eyebrow. “Lunch? You sure about that?”

“She’s waiting inside.”

The man didn’t offer any more information, and I wasn’t in the mood to ask questions. This could easily be an ambush, but turning it down wasn’t an option. Not if I wanted answers, not when I wanted to get the shipments back.

I got out of the car and followed him toward the entrance, keeping my steps slow and deliberate. My mind was racing, running through every possible scenario. Would she be alone? Armed? Was this a trap?

The interior of the restaurant was elegant but understated. Candlelight flickered on each table, casting soft shadows against the walls. The place was empty, save for one figure sitting in the corner.

She was hard to miss. Dressed entirely in black, she wore a mask that covered her face completely, with detailed designs etched into the material. The mask didn’t even reveal her eyes, but it was the voice that threw me.

“Mr. Sergio, I appreciate your punctuality, even though I never got a memo about a meeting,” she said, her voice smooth but mechanical, altered just enough to make it unrecognizable.

I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, my eyes narrowing. “I aim to please.”

There was a pause before she spoke again. “Pleasing me wasn’t part of the game, but I appreciate the effort.”

I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. “Charming. Do you always hide behind masks and voice changers, or am I just lucky?”

Her posture didn’t shift, but I could feel the weight of her gaze through the mask. “Caution isn’t the same as hiding, Mr. Sergio. Surely, a man like you understands that.”

“Caution,” I repeated, leaning back in my chair. “And here I thought this was just lunch.”

“It is,” she said, gesturing toward the empty table. “Though I find conversation far more satisfying than food.”

“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not hungry.”

She tilted her head slightly, and I wondered if I’d hit a nerve. “Then let’s skip the small talk,” she said, her voice steady. “Why are you here?”

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. “Curiosity. Plus, you stole my shipment, that wasn’t nice.

“Stole?” she scoffed, “That is such a huge accusation. I hope you have proof to back up your boldness.”

“You’re not exactly subtle, Raven. People talk.”

“People talk about you too, Mr. Sergio. But I doubt you lose sleep over it.”

She had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Fair enough. So, what’s the real reason you invited me here? If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And if you wanted to negotiate, you wouldn’t need all this.” I gestured toward her mask.

“Perhaps I simply enjoy the company,” she said, her tone light but unreadable.

“Do you?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. “Because I can’t tell if you’re flirting or plotting.”

“Maybe both,” she teased without missing a beat.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“So, they tell me,” she said. “But we’re not here to exchange compliments, are we?”

“No,” I admitted, my tone turning serious. “We’re not. Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want, and is there a world where we come to terms, and you hand over my shipment to me, or do I have to ambush you too?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her gloved fingers steepling in front of her. The silence stretched, and I forced myself to stay still, to not react.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but deliberate. “What I want, Mr. Sergio, is control. The kind of control your father has taken from too many people. The kind of control I’m willing to fight for.”

I didn’t flinch, though her words hit harder than I expected. “And you think you’ll get that by meeting with me or by stealing our shipment?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps I just wanted to see the man behind the reputation.”

“And?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said simply.

“Good or bad?”

“Both,”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re full of surprises, Raven.”

“So are you,” she whispered.

Her voice, distorted as it was, still carried a strange kind of confidence. It wasn’t just the mask or the words she chose. It was the way she carried herself and the way she controlled the room without lifting a finger.

I watched her. Something about her felt familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. The way she tilted her head, the way her gloved fingers tapped softly against the table—it was like I’d seen it all before.

“You know,” I said, leaning forward again, “for someone who likes control, you’re giving me very little to work with here.”

“Am I?” she asked, her tone almost amused.

“Yeah,” I said. “And I don’t think that voice is yours, either.”

For the first time, she hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. It was subtle, but it was there.

“What makes you think that?” she asked.

I smiled, letting the silence hang for a moment before answering. “Call it a hunch.”

She didn’t respond right away, but I could tell I’d hit a nerve. Whatever game she was playing, I wasn’t going to let her win that easily.

The longer I sat across from her, the more I felt like I was being drawn into something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. This wasn’t what I expected. The Raven was supposed to be ruthless and calculating—a shadow in the night. Instead, here she was, speaking with a calm, refined elegance that felt out of place in a world filled with gunfire and betrayal.

And yet, it wasn’t out of place at all. It was striking. She was striking.

“Let’s talk about the shipment,” I said, leaning forward, my fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. “Why take it? You know that’s a declaration of war.”

She tilted her head slightly, like she was weighing her response. The way she moved was deliberate, almost theatrical. Every gesture, every pause, felt calculated, yet it wasn’t cold. It was fascinating.

“It’s not personal,” she said finally, her voice smooth and even. “It’s just business.”

“That’s the cliché answer,” I countered. “Come on, give me something better. Humor me.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the calmness in her voice. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Sergio. Surely, you’ve learned by now that in business, emotion is a liability.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re dodging the question.”

“Am I?” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“Yeah, you are.”

She leaned back slightly, and for a moment, the flicker of a candle caught the edge of her mask. The designs on it shimmered faintly, giving her an almost ethereal quality.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said suddenly.

It caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of curiosity. “A question?”

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head again. “Unless you’re afraid of answering.”

I laughed softly. “All right, ask away.”

“If you were given a chance to be someone else—someone other than the son of a ruthless Mafia family—who would you be?”

I blinked, taken aback. It wasn’t the kind of question I expected from her. Hell, it wasn’t the kind of question I expected from anyone.

“Who would I be?” I repeated, stalling for time.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady. “If you could strip away the title, the power, the violence, who are you underneath it all?”

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. It was a simple question on the surface, but the weight of it was heavy. Who would I be? I hadn’t thought about that in years.

“Maybe a firefighter,” I said after a moment.

Her head tilted again, a motion that was quickly becoming familiar. “A firefighter?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her gaze—or at least where I imagined her gaze to be behind that mask. “I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of rescuing people. Running into danger when everyone else is running out.”

She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I’d said something ridiculous. Then, she spoke, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. “How noble.”

I laughed softly. “Noble? I’m not sure about that.”

“Rescuing people in danger,” she said. “It’s a selfless ambition. Rare in a world like ours.”

“Fair enough,” I responded, leaning forward again. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. If you weren’t The Raven, who would you be?”

Her gloved hands stilled, and for the first time, I felt like I’d caught her off guard. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there.

“There was a time,” she began slowly, “when I wasn’t The Raven.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What were you then?”

“Lost,” she replied simply. “But someone once asked me who I would rather be. And so, I became what I would rather be.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I studied her, trying to piece together the puzzle she was offering me.

“And now?” I asked. “Is this who you want to be?”

Her posture didn’t change, but there was a quiet strength in her silence. It wasn’t a refusal to answer—it was an answer in itself.

“You’re something else,” I broke the silence after a moment. “I don’t meet many people who can make me question things. You’ve got a talent for it.”

“Thank you,” she responded, her tone polite but not dismissive.

The conversation could have ended there, but I wasn’t ready to let it. There was something about her—something I couldn’t quite place but didn’t want to let go of.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“That depends,” her voice laced with a playful tease, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Will you ask politely?”

I smirked. “If I must.”

She gestured lightly with her hand as if to say, go on.

I leaned forward, my voice dropping slightly. “Show me the face behind the mask.”

For the first time, her poise faltered—just for a split second. It was so unpretentious that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But I did.

“Why?” she asked, her voice still altered but carrying an edge of curiosity.

“Because I want to know who The Raven really is.”