The Mafia Boss Desired My Love Again

The moment those words echoed in the air,

he raised his left eyebrow, taking the bag. A series of emotions flickered through his eyes when he saw a red lacy bra in the bag.

But when he saw my calm expression, he mumbled, "I'll ask her to stop being careless."

Undoubtedly, he sensed my low mood so he said, "I can give you a ride to work today."

Silently I nodded my head in agreement, reminiscing the fact that we had been together for seven years. And he never drove me to work, no matter how bad the situation was.

He tended to separate his professional life from his personal life. But his every rule changed when it came to Angelina. Even on her first day as his assistant, he drove her.

I was about to stand up when Vincent's words stopped me."Something important came up. I will give you a ride next time."

As I kept sitting at the dining table, thinking about the stark difference between how Vincent treated Angelina, his assistant and me, I accidentally knocked my fork off the table.

My fingers trembled as I bent down to pick it up. When I straightened, I saw Vincent standing at the entrance along with Marco, the second in command after Polo.

I winced at the sight as I remembered the events of last night. Vincent was still having the same unreadable, cold and distant expression.

The gun was holstered beneath his suit jacket. That weapon symbolised the power he held — over the city, over the syndicate, and over me.

Without looking back at me, he threw a glance at the wall clock and said, "See you later."

His tone was devoid of warmth as he turned and walked out the door, bodyguards following close behind.

Half an hour later, I sat in the office of Knight Financial Firm. It was the front of the darker business which Vincent used to run.

Meanwhile, my colleagues gave me a pitiful and terrified gaze. No one dared to speak about Vincent with me openly as they knew that it would haunt them. They knew who I was to him and the risk involved.

So, when I was in the cafeteria, filling my water bottle, I overheard two whispers. Both of the women had their backs on my face.

"So, it's true, Mr Knight ditched Scarlett for Angelina, his assistant?" One asked in a hushed tone.

"It seems like. I mean you should have seen today's morning. Angelina had a bloodstain on her dress, and he carried her out of the meeting in front of everyone." She paused. "Word is, she was there when that rival from the Martian family got taken out,” the other replied, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

My grip tightened around the bottle, hands shaking. Anger was rushing through my veins, and before I could maintain my composure, the bottle slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the floor.

The room went silent as water pooled around the broken pieces.

I crouched down to gather the glass, ignoring the sharp pain in my hands as I threw them into the trash.

Later, I ended up working late in the night. It was past ten. The building was nearly empty when I heard footsteps approaching.

Before I could turn around, a heavy coat draped over my shoulder. It was Vincent.

"Scarlett," he said in a low tone. "Why didn't you reply to my messages?"

Instead of saying anything to him, I absent-mindedly picked up my cell phone and scrolled through his messages.

Which flavour of cake do you prefer?

Seeing that, I recalled our conversation years ago, when I asked him for a pineapple cake after one of his business meetings and he taunted, "Cake? Scarlett, you're almost over 30 and you're just being childish."

Now he was standing behind him, as if everything was good between us.

However, I focused my attention on the computer screen, ignoring the sweet delicious aroma of chocolate cake.

My hands trembled slightly, but I continued typing, drowning out the memories of Vincent's words from years ago.

"You used to beg me for this," he mumbled, having a drastic change in his facial expression.

"It's past ten in the night. If I eat this now, I won't be able to sleep," I reasoned.

Within a minute, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. Let's go home together."

Without waiting for my reply, he turned around and went away. Barely after thirty seconds, his phone buzzed on my desk. It was a message from Angelina.

"You stupid! Who sends dozens of cakes all at once? Do you want me to put it on?"

I gritted my teeth. My eyes were blazing with fire. My fingers hovered over my keyboard, but now it was hard to focus. I didn't want to stay in the same place as Vincent now.

Before I could stand up and leave, a loud bang erupted from the hallway. My head tried to spot the real reason. Moreover, that wasn’t just the bathroom door slamming—it was the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

A second later, Vincent rushed into the office. He was holding a gun. His veins filled with rage. His suit jacket flared open.

Three of his men rushed in, their guns raised and ready, faces cold and ruthless.

"Move from the back door," he said and held my hand to push me into the back seat of a sleek black Mercedes Benz.

"Is everything alright?" I asked to which he replied, "Nothing to worry!"

Silence followed by. A little after 11 we reached home, I directly went to my room and started packing my stuff as I didn't have much time.

A few minutes later, Vincent walked out of the bathroom. His chest is naked, revealing the tattoos and scars that showcased his life in the Mafia.

In no time, his eyes turned towards my empty vanity. He knitted his eyebrows together but it seemed like he didn't bother.

"Next week, I'm going on a business trip to Paris. If you want anything, make a list, I will bring that for you."

Without a delay, I replied, "I don't need anything. Thanks for asking."

We are leaving so what was the need to ask him to bring things for me?

Now he stepped closer, and asked, "What this?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "You’re upset because I didn’t bring you the right breakfast this morning? Is that what this is?"

No words came out of my mouth. I was tired and this time I didn't want to give any kind of explanation.

"I can’t stand women like you—acting like drama queens." His voice dripped with contempt. "You’re crossing your line, Scarlett."

Afterwards, he walked out of the room and went to the study.

Unlike every time going and apologising to him, I simply turned off the bedside lamp and waited. Neither he came back nor I went to him.

The next morning, I woke early and made breakfast as usual, going through the motions. At that time, Vincent walked out of his study, his phone in hand, already making orders to his men.

"Take the day off,” he said without looking at me. “By 5 p.m., I need you to make me an identical fondant cake for the picture I am providing you!"