Engaged to my Bestfriend, The Mafia Boss

"Five million dollars, going once... going twice..."

The auctioneer's voice cracked like a whip through the room, and my heart beat slammed against my ribs hard. I stood motionless in the shadows at the back, my mask covering my flushed cheeks and the silk of my dark blue gown moving against my thighs. "Breathe, Sera. Just breathe."

"Sold! To paddle number twenty-seven."

The hammer fell. Applause rippled through the elite crowd. Underworld princes, tech billionaires with dirty money, collectors who killed for beauty the way my brothers killed for blood. My painting, The Ghost of My Heart, had just shattered every record for an anonymous artist in this underground circuit. Five million dollars for a canvas I'd poured my soul into at 3 a.m. while the rest of the Moretti estate slept.

I was Starry tonight. Not Serafina Moretti, the pampered mafia princess whose brothers would burn cities if they knew where I was. Just Starry. The woman who painted the things I couldn't scream aloud.

A dangerous little smile curved my lips beneath the mask as the rush hit me. My gloved fingers still carried faint traces of paint, but no one here cared. They only cared about the beauty and brutality I created into art and made it worth millions.

I slipped toward the side exit, heels silent on the floor. The air smelled of expensive cologne, gun oil, and old money. The Chandeliers shined brightly. I kept my head high, shoulders back, the way my mother taught me before I learned how to hold a pistol. "Never let them see you flinch."

But someone was watching.

I felt it the second I stepped into the service corridor. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I didn't turn. Instead, I moved through the crowd of departing guests, letting the movement of people carry me toward the underground garage. My driver, loyal, discreet, and paid enough to forget my face would be waiting three levels down. Three minutes. That was all I needed.

The masked stranger moved fast.

I caught his reflection in a polished brass panel: tall, broad shouldered, black domino mask hiding everything but a razor sharp jaw and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled. He moved with the grace of a man who knew exactly how many steps it took to break a neck. Not a collector.

My heart kicked harder. Not here. Not now.

I quickened my pace, weaving between a Russian tycoon arguing in a hushed voice and a Sicilian capo whose laugh boomed too loud. The stranger matched me step for step. Closer now. Close enough that I smelled sandalwood and something darker that smelled of gunpowder and rain. The scent punched straight through me, stirring memories I'd buried under twelve years of paint and rage.

No. It can't be him. He wouldn't be here.

I ducked into a narrow service stairwell, heels clicking faster. One flight. Two. My pulse thundered in my ears. Behind me, the door hissed open again. Footsteps measured, unhurried, lethal.

I reach the garage level, the cold air hitting my face. Rows of bulletproof SUVs and armored Maybachs gleamed under harsh lighting. My driver's black Mercedes waited in slot 47, engine already purring. I didn't look back. I yanked the rear door open, slid inside, and snapped, "Drive. Now."

The tires squealed before I even shut the door. The car surged forward, and I twisted in the seat, yanking the mask off. My dark waves tumbled free, sticking to my damp neck. Through the tinted rear window I watched the stranger burst out of the stairwell, scanning the garage like a wolf who'd just lost his prey. He spun, eyes locking on our taillights for one frozen second.

Then we rounded the corner and he was gone.

I exhaled a shaky laugh filled with victory and terror. My hands trembled as I peeled off the gloves. Paint still stained to the tips of my fingers. It's evidence I couldn't quite erase. Starry's signature. The only part of me that still felt real.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview. "Trouble, signorina?"

"Nothing I can't handle," I lied, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.

But my mind was reeling.

That scent. That walk. That split second stare.

It couldn't be Alessandro.

The city lights blurred past, glittering brightly. My phone buzzed in the hidden pocket of my gown. Three missed calls from Lorenzo. One text from Dante: "Where the hell are you?"

I deleted them without reading. I'd slip back into the Moretti estate like I'd never left. I'd be the smiling princess who let her brothers cage her in silk and security while they plotted alliances and spilled blood. But for now, I'm still Starry, five million dollars richer and one mysterious shadow closer to whatever storm was coming.

The car drove onto the coastal road, the sea shining and restless. I recall what happened earlier and the faint scent of sandalwood and I shivered.

Whoever that bidder was, he'd tried to follow me.

He'd failed.

But something in the way he moved told me he wasn't the kind of man who failed twice.

I closed my eyes, letting the engine's hum warm me. My masterpiece was gone, sold to a stranger who might never understand the blood and longing I'd poured into every stroke. But I was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting the only way I knew how. With color and canvas and a defiance no one could chain.

The estate lights appeared on the cliff above, warm and deceptive. Home. Prison. Both.

I tucked the mask into my clutch preparing for the earful I'm about to get.