Oops, I Accidentally Adopted A Mafia Boss

WARNING: This story contains mature, sensitive, and explicit content. Reader discretion is advised.

SASHA ROSARIO'S POINT OF VIEW

A year ago, a man with no name and no memory knocked at my door. I called him Angelo, gave him my spare room, watched him fold himself into the narrow gaps of my life until there was no space left he hadn't filled. We loved like divers surfacing for breath-each touch a current pulling us closer, each word a gasp we'd been holding too long.

Then he was gone.

One morning the sheets were cold as river stone, his things wiped clean from every shelf and hook, and I've waited since. Ache lives in my bones now. Love does too.

So why am I curled in the back of a van, blindfold tight enough to press shadows into my eyes, my shoulder grinding against metal as we bound over potholes wide enough to swallow a jeepney whole? I've spent thirty-two years trying to tend to the world around me-feeding strays from my own plate, slipping money under my neighbor's door when her water bill is late, saying my prayers even when the words taste like dust.

Why did I have to be the one pulled from the crowd on Market Street?

"Please-just let me go. I'll pray for your souls to the Lord Himself. Rosario's my name-you know what that means? I'll hold my rosary up to the sky and He'll hear me clear as church bells on feast day." My voice wavers while my mouth stretches into a grin, shoulders pressed flat against the cold wall.

Laughter rumbles through the van's metal frame, deep and rough as unpolished wood. I bite my lip until copper coats my tongue. Alright. The holy card routine isn't moving them.

God above. I've been good. Am I really about to end up in some back-alley room, carved apart for parts?

"You need to shut your mouth, Miss. I don't like noise."

His voice settles low in my chest-smooth as melted chocolate, gritty as gravel under bare feet. "Wow. You could narrate romance films for a living. You're way too pretty to be snatching people off sidewalks." I force a chuckle, though sweat is already slicking my palms against my jeans. "Want me to pray for you to get a screen test instead? Hehe."

A fist slams against the wall beside my head. Metal rings out sharp enough to make my teeth throb. I flinch so hard my shoulders climb to my ears. "Jesus Christ! Don't touch me-you'll answer for this when we stand before Him!" My threat is thin as broken porcelain. More laughter follows.

"Then shut it. You talk too much. Wanna die right now?"

I shake my head until hair tangles in my mouth, the taste of coconut shampoo and raw fear thick on my tongue. Who wants to die young? I curl into the corner, knees tucked to my chest, and strain to make out words between the men up front.

"Damn, you sure this is who the Boss asked for?"

"Looks nothing like his usual type, man."

My brow furrows under the cloth. "Hey! What boss? What 'type'? I'm gorgeous-thank you very much!" I puff out my chest, even though no one can see me. "Though my organs are probably shot all to hell. So just let me go, yeah? Hehe."

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?!"

I yelp and squeeze my eyes shut behind the blindfold. "Okay! Okay!"

Ugh. Why can't I keep my mouth shut? If I die here, it'll be because my tongue moves faster than my brain can think.

"You don't question the Boss. This woman is exactly who he wanted."

Exactly who he wanted?

They're going to be in so much trouble when their boss sees they grabbed the wrong girl. I'm just a woman with a heart too big for her ribs-and a few bad habits-not whatever prize they're hunting for.

Time crawls by before the van rolls to a stop. The engine cuts out, silence heavy as wet wool over everything. Hands haul me up, rough but not cruel, guiding me forward by my arms. I drag my feet until a gentle push sends me stumbling.

You've got this, Sasha. Same as stepping off a crowded bus.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

My hands are free. I tense every muscle, ready to bolt. Did they really think I'd let them slice me open?

Please. I'm God's favorite troublemaker. I was born to survive.

I huff a quiet giggle, slowing my pace until I can match the rhythm of their footsteps behind me.

One.

Two.

Three-"RUN!"

The word tears from my throat before thought can catch up. I rip off the blindfold and spin to find them stumbling, eyes wide with shock-then lunging after me.

"AUGH! LORD ALMIGHTY-GIVE ME HIGH STAMINA! AHH! STOP CHASING ME! AHHHH!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my legs pumping hard over dirt and grass toward a tall iron gate.

"Hey! Get back here!" That deep voice thunders behind me, close enough I can feel the vibration in the ground.

I glance over my shoulder-he's eating up the distance fast. "NO! I'M NOT READY TO DIE! YOU WON'T GET A SINGLE USEFUL THING OUT OF ME!" I shout before leaning forward and sprinting harder.

I burst through the gate, gasping so hard my chest burns like hot coals-only to see a sleek black car bearing down on me. My feet won't stop; they fly over the ground like they have minds of their own.

God. It's all up to You now.

Can I outrun a car?

Yes. Yes, I can.

The vehicle doesn't slow. Fine. I'll just leap over it. Easy. Hehe.

But as I tense to jump, my foot catches on a loose stone. I crash to the ground, my face scraping against gravel until skin goes raw and stinging. The car's front tire stops one inch from my forehead-I can feel heat rolling off the rubber, can smell burnt asphalt and rain-soaked earth.

My head throbs. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding together like watercolor on wet paper. Exhaustion pulls me down like water filling my lungs, and everything goes black.

DALLIUS ALEXANDRONOVICH SERGEVEV'S POINT OF VIEW

"I told you to bring her unharmed. It seems your ears still need attention-you nearly let her be run over."

I stare at them, shoulders set, hands folded at my waist. I want them to feel the weight of it-every ounce of my anger, every promise that carelessness where she's concerned will not be tolerated.

"Hey. Easy. It wasn't on purpose-she's wilder than a street cat." Percival, my second-in-command, holds up his hands, a half-smile on his face.

I let out a sharp breath, my gaze cutting across each man in the room. "The next time this happens, you'll be lucky if only your eyes remain intact." I turn and grab the leather vest I'd tossed over a chair, the material cool and heavy in my hands.

"Where is she, Percival?"

"She's in the guest room... and..." He trails off, and my brow creases.

"And what?" I press, but he only shakes his head and laughs.

"Just see for yourself, Boss."

I click my tongue and stride down the hall, my boots silent on the marble floor until we reach the door. When I push it open, I freeze.

Chaos. That's all the room is.

"Percival... am I imagining this? Are those men crying?" I say it low, my eyes fixed on three of my guards huddled on the floor in a circle. They stare up at a chair in the center of the room. Sasha is tied to it, blindfolded again.

"Nope. What you see is real."

My attention locks on her. I clench my jaw as I look at her-her shoulders are sharper than the last time I held her, her hair shorter now, pulled back in a messy knot.

"W-Who even is your boss, huh? Don't you feel bad for me after I told you about my life?" Her voice trembles, but I can hear the fire underneath-the same spark that made me stay long past the week I'd planned.

"You're still so stubborn," I murmur under my breath.

"I'm just a simple woman-or I used to be. I drink too much, smoke too much, and live on soda more than water. So trust me-my lungs are tarry, my liver's stubborn, and my kidneys are probably tired of my nonsense."

"Pfft." Percival chokes on a laugh.

What in the hell is happening here?

"I know organs cost a fortune these days. Can you tell your boss he'll get nothing out of me?"

She hasn't changed. Not one bit. The woman who'd given me a name that was everything I am not. Angelo. Gentle. Kind. A lie I'd let her believe so Percival could finish our work in her country.

I'd planned to stay seven days. Instead, I'd lived in her small house for months.

"And if he wants my heart..." She pounds a fist against her chest, the sound solid and true. "It's already broken. Smashed to pieces since my hot-I mean, handsome-boyfriend left me without a word."

I can't stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

What am I going to do with you, Sasha?

How will you react when you learn that one year ago, you accidentally adopted a mafia boss?

We've got a long road of chaos ahead before we find our way to anything close to a sexily ever after.

Will you stay? Or will you run from me again?