Page 8

SERGIO

Mirella

“Gosh, she is so beautiful,”

The car hummed quietly as we drove, the city lights reflecting in Mirella’s expressionless face beside me. She looked out the window, jaw set like she had no intention of talking. I leaned back, fingers drumming the steering wheel, sneaking a glance every now and then. She had this effortless beauty about her, like she’d just walked out of one of those old-school Italian films. Even though her hair was tied back, a few strands fell around her face, catching the light in a way that made them almost glow. There was something different about her since we’d last met. A kind of quiet strength and an elegance that didn’t rely on any charm or words. She was…intriguing.

Clearing my throat, I tried to bridge the silence. “So, you excited for your first ‘mission’?” My tone was light, a little playful. She didn’t even look my way.

“Thrilled beyond words.”

Okay, so this was going to be more difficult than I thought. I glanced over again, catching her rolling her eyes slightly, which, somehow, was even more captivating.

I smirked. “Listen, Mirella, if we’re going to be working together, maybe we could—oh, I don’t know—try to stand each other’s guts?”

She finally turned, one brow raised in disbelief. “Work together? You’re here to babysit me, Sergio. There’s no working together in that.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Think of it as a mentorship program. Like, you know, one of those internships.”

She scoffed, her lips twitching into the smallest smile—like she couldn’t help herself. “Right, and you’re what, the star employee?”

I shrugged, leaning into my seat. “I like to think so. Don’t let the scowl fool you. I am a delight. You will be thrilled.”

She went quiet, and I let a beat pass before asking, “So…you plan to give me the cold shoulder the entire time?”

She looked at me with that sharp, knowing gaze of hers. “I can’t say I’m thrilled to work with someone who grew up entitled, spoiled, and without a clue about the real world.”

“Oh, really?” I shot back, feigning offense. “Spare me the rags-to-riches speech. You grew up just as well-off as I did, remember?”

Mirella’s eyes darkened, a small spark of anger flickering. “Yes, and five years ago, I lost it all. Stripped away, every last thing. I had to start over and survive on my own. No family support. No connections. No safety net.” She shifted her gaze forward, her tone cool. “So maybe don’t compare us.”

Her words struck something in me, the raw honesty of it. I leaned back, genuinely curious. “And you managed it? You survived it all?”

She gave me a small, humorless smile. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Silence fell between us. This version of Mirella was far more complex than the spoiled, helpless, rich girl I remembered. I’d underestimated her strength, and I had to admit, I respected her more for it. I tried not to let that show, but it was hard when she wore her strength like armor, this unbreakable resolve that was strangely alluring.

By the time we reached the warehouse, the tension had settled and was replaced with something closer to an uneasy truce. The warehouse had old and weathered brick walls and a faint glow of light spilling out from the high windows. Inside, it was a cavernous space filled with crates, shelves, and scattered equipment. The distant hum of machines and muffled voices echoed around us.

“This place,” I started, motioning around, “is one of the quieter operations. We handle shipments and distribution and manage a few things here and there—nightclubs and casinos. Legal stuff.”

Mirella raised an eyebrow. “And the illegal parts? Or are those kept ‘quiet’ too?”

I chuckled, impressed. “I’ll save that part for the advanced class. Today’s lesson is strictly above board.”

She gave me a look that suggested she didn’t buy my “legal” explanation for a second, and honestly, I wasn’t trying too hard to convince her. As we moved through the warehouse, I found myself observing her more closely. She had this way of moving, of knowing exactly where to step without hesitating, like she was at home even in a place like this. For someone out of the game, she hadn’t lost her edge.

“You know your way around here pretty well, don’t you?” I asked, watching her take in every detail.

“Let’s just say I learned a thing or two from my dad,” she replied, keeping her expression neutral but her eyes alive with challenge.

I leaned against a crate, crossing my arms, letting my gaze linger. “So, what exactly do you hope to get out of this little ‘job?’”

She gave me a long, assessing look. “I’m here to show your father that I’m trustworthy. That I can hold my own.”

I laughed a little too loud, earning a pointed glare from her. “Trustworthy? In this family? Good luck with that.”

She shrugged, undeterred. “Maybe I just like the challenge. Besides, it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Her words were true, but there was something more to them, something unspoken. “And yet, here you are, pretending you’re just another employee. I gotta say, I never pictured you being the workhorse type.”

She sighed, and for a brief moment, I caught a flicker of vulnerability before she looked away. “People change, Sergio. Sometimes, they don’t have a choice.”

I wanted to respond, to tell her she didn’t have to put on this front with me. But I knew that would be pointless. Mirella had built thick walls, and rightfully so. She wasn’t going to let them down for anyone, least of all me.

Clearing my throat, I pushed off the crate. “So, about those clubs I mentioned. They’re straightforward enough—big money-makers, no surprises there. I’ll give you the rundown on how we manage them. Just ignore anything that looks too shady.”

She smirked, glancing around. “Right. Because this place is the picture of innocence.”

Her sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed. “You know, sarcasm isn’t a great look on you.”

Her smirk deepened, and she tilted her head, challenging me. “Well, it’s not like I’m trying to impress you.”

I couldn’t help but grin at her defiance. She had that fire that was missing from most people I’d met, and it was refreshing, even if it came with a healthy dose of irritation. “Believe me, you’re doing a great job of not caring.”

She crossed her arms, eyeing me up and down with the same skepticism she’d given the warehouse. “And what exactly am I supposed to be learning here besides your unique brand of cynicism?”

I threw up my hands in mock defeat. “Alright, fine, I’ll give you the official tour. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

As we moved through the rows of shelves, I kept stealing glances, my mind fighting between focusing on business and the undeniable presence beside me. It was strange. Mirella had this way of commanding attention without even trying, and I found myself intrigued by her despite everything.

We stepped into the storehouse, and the heavy smell of oil and metal hit me, a scent I’d grown used to in places like this. Row upon row of neatly stacked weapons lined the walls, each piece polished and ready. Mirella scanned the room, her eyes sharp, taking in every detail with a blend of curiosity and cautious interest.

She glanced sideways at me, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “So, Sergio, can you actually shoot, or are you just the one who shows off the guns?”

I laughed, crossing my arms. “Are you kidding? I’m the best shot here.”

Her eyebrow lifted in an unimpressed arch, and I couldn’t resist. I leaned back a little, the ghost of a memory flitting through my mind. “I’ve been shooting since I could walk and a military stint right out of high school. I did two tours, actually.”

Her smirk softened slightly, curiosity replacing the challenge. I paused, feeling the old bitterness rise up, but I pushed past it. “My mom died when I was young, as you remember. I enlisted to keep myself from…” I shrugged, leaving the words hanging. It wasn’t something I talked about, not usually.

Mirella’s face softened, her eyes lingering on me, and for the first time, I saw something beyond the cool mask she usually wore. It was unexpected, intriguing, even.

“I got this, too,” I added, glancing at her with a half-smile and tapping the spot over my heart where I used to wear my badge of honor after being wounded in combat, “Purple Heart. Not that it means much in this line of work. But hey, for what it’s worth, I’m not exactly entitled.”

She held my gaze, her expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper. “Impressive,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, her eyes lit up again, that playfulness reappearing. “Well, then, Mr. Purple Heart, care to teach me how to shoot?”

My eyebrow shot up. “You want me to teach you? Think you can handle it?”

Mirella laughed, rolling her eyes. “Are you just going to talk, or are you going to show me how?”

I shook my head, grinning. “Fine. But if you’re terrible, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I handed her one of the guns, a small piece, just enough for a beginner. “Alright, grip it like this.”

She took it, but her hold was too loose, and her posture was all wrong. Suppressing a smirk, I moved behind her, reaching out to adjust her hands, guiding her fingers over the metal grip. “Here, like this,” I murmured, my voice low, and she stilled, her eyes locked on mine.

There was a sudden closeness between us, a quiet sort of tension, and I felt her breath catch slightly. I moved her hands into position, my own fingers lingering maybe a second too long. Her perfume was light and fresh. She smelled like cherries and somehow out of place in this dusty storehouse. The scent lingered in the air, and I found myself leaning closer, just enough to feel the warmth radiating from her. I wanted to spin her around, to have my hands wrap tighter.

“You don’t need to do too much when holding a gun,” I whispered, her gaze shifted and locked on mine.

“I don’t feel there is ever a thing like too much,” she whispered, her breath hitched and mingled against mine. She was daring me. She knew how much the sight of her drove me crazy. She knew she was the object of my desire, and her eyes told the very story mine did.

I want you.

I did. I wanted to feel my tongue intertwined with hers with every breath in me. Like that night, I wanted to touch every inch and curve of her.

“What next, teacher?” she asked, her voice not just teasing me, but daring me.

There was nothing I wanted more to do now than pin her against one of those barrels, against the crates, to have my face buried in her neck, kissing it, trailing all the way to her shoulders, which were bare because of the sleeveless dress she effortlessly wore.

“Now, keep your shoulders steady,” I whispered, watching as she took a slow breath, her gaze never breaking from the target. But my gaze was on her. She remained composed, though I could feel her heart racing a little bit faster. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the gun in her fingers or my hands on her body.

“Like this?” Her voice was barely audible, more of a murmur than a question.

I adjusted her stance, my hands on her shoulders now, guiding her carefully. “Just like that. But keep your focus steady.” Her hair brushed against my cheek as she turned her head slightly, and I had to clear my throat, pushing aside whatever was stirring in the air between us. “Ready?”

She nodded, eyes narrowing on the target, and pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, completely missing, and she laughed a little too easily, tilting her head up to look at me. “Beginner’s nerves.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well, I didn’t expect a bullseye, but come on. I thought you’d at least hit the target.”

She nudged me playfully. “Care to bet on the next one?”

“Alright,” I said, playing along. “What are we betting?”

She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “If you win, I’ll admit you’re not just another spoiled, entitled kid. If I win, you have to admit I’m the better shot.”

I raised a brow, accepting the challenge with a grin. “Deal. Good luck, rookie.”

She took another shot, this time aiming with more focus. The bullet sliced through the air and, to my surprise, hit dead-center. Mirella lowered the gun, casting me a triumphant look. “Guess it’s beginner’s luck.”

I laughed, unable to hide my surprise. “Beginner’s luck, huh? Well, color me impressed.”

She shrugged casually, her eyes sparkling. “Guess I’ve got hidden talents.”

“Hidden gems,” I murmured.

“You say?” she asked, her eyes widened.

Just then, Ryan entered, his footsteps echoing through the space. He gave me a quick nod, his expression tense. “Shipment’s ready, Sergio.”

I straightened, the hint of playfulness vanishing from my face. “Good. Mirella, get ready. We’re heading out on a little road trip tomorrow. Hope you’re up for the task.”

She flashed me a smile, looking unfazed. “I’m up for it. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

She left, the echo of her steps fading, and Ryan gave me a hard look, raising his brows. “Careful, Sergio. She’s…well, she’s going to be your father’s wife.”

I forced a chuckle, waving off his concern. “It’s just work, Ryan. Nothing more.”

But even as I said it, I knew it sounded hollow. There was something about Mirella—something that lingered long after she was gone.

She was going to be the death of me.