His Forbidden Heiress, Mafia Love Story

Rome

Sienna’s POV

You know what’s terrifying?

Realizing your father and ex-fiancé were actually plotting to shove you back into a marriage contract like you’re a defective return that could be brought back in at any time. Talk about a joke and that was my life.

For the past week, Damian had been blowing up my phone with a mix of threats and apologies like he couldn’t decide whether to beg for me back or send people to murder me.

Meanwhile, my father was giving his best impression of the controlling bastard he was. Booming commands, guilt trips, and constant reminders of how I had shamed the family name by leaving my engagement party half way, and standing Damian up on what was supposed to be our wedding day.

He was like a bad radio that wouldn’t stop cussing me out.

He probably wanted me to feel guilty. Well, that wasn’t working. Not even a little bit .

But I was terrified. Because men like my father don’t lose. And Damian? He wasn’t the kind of man to let his pride take a beating without planning revenge.

So naturally, I did what any desperate, cornered, slightly unhinged woman would do. I started job hunting.

Not only did I need money, I needed to leave Los Angeles as soon as possible. I had dreams that I needed to fufil too. And with my father acting this way, fleeing was the best option.

My phone rang again for the...of course I've lost count. Of course it was my father. I've lost count of how many times he and that ex of mine called me today. They literally wanted to blow up my phone.

I quickly clicked the dnd button and slide my phone down. I wasn't going to allow them mess my head up anymore.

Scrolling through listings on my laptop, while I muttered to myself. “Okay, Sienna, time to rebuild your life. New chapter. New you. Strong, independent, and definitely not obsessing over a man whose name you don’t know.” I was determined to get a job in a distant location as soon as possible and leave Los Angeles.

I expected my father to withhold my allowance, so I wasn't even banking on that.

Of course, Mara overheard from the couch. “You mean Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hotter than the devil?”

I glared. “I don’t even think about him anymore.”

“Uh-huh.” Claire leaned against the doorframe, eating cereal straight from the box. “Which is why you stared at that note he left for twenty minutes last night like it was some puzzle into Disney land.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s called reflection.”

“It’s called obsession,” Mara shot back.

I ignored them both, because the truth was ugly and they were both right. I hated to admit that.

I clicked on another listing, my jaw dropping. “Wait a second…” The ad was vague. Too vague.

High pay, high confidentiality, international travel. Location: Rome.

Rome. My pulse spiked. It was perfect. Too perfect. It was far away from my father and his troubles.

“Don’t apply to that,” Claire warned, peeking at my screen. “That screams mafia.”

“Or human trafficking,” Mara added helpfully.

I closed my laptop with a snap. “Relax. It’s just an opportunity. A chance to escape.”

Two weeks later, I was on a plane to Rome. My hair was a bird’s nest, my under-eyes looked like crime scenes, and the Italian sun was usually way too bright for a girl who had only slept four hours by the time I landed.

But Rome? Rome was breathtaking. Golden light spilling over the people here, cobblestone streets winding, a heartbeat of history in every stone.I almost convinced myself this was a clean slate. A fresh start.

Because everywhere I went, I felt watched. The hair on my neck stood up in my home, the reflection of dark cars lingered too long in shop windows, and sometimes, I swore I saw the same faces over and over.

Paranoia? Maybe. But deep down, I knew. Perhaps my father was following me?

The office building was sleek, modern, glass and steel rising above the old city like arrogance carved into architecture.

The receptionist smiled too politely when I arrived. “You’re here for the interview?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Sienna Cross.”

She buzzed someone, then handed me a visitor badge. “Top floor. He’s expecting you.”

He?

Weird. Usually job interviews involved HR reps who looked like they lived off coffee and despair. This felt… bigger.

I smoothed my dress in the elevator, giving myself a pep talk. “Okay, Sienna. You are capable. Professional. This is your new beginning. Do not think about mysterious strangers. Do not think about how he smelled. Do not…”

The doors slid open with a ding and my pep talk died.

The office looked like a set from a movie. It had dark wood, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows spilling golden light across marble. Luxury dripped in the air, heavy and suffocating. And then the chair behind the massive desk swiveled.

My heart stopped. It was him.

The man from the club. The stranger who beat Damian into the floor. The ghost I had been chasing without admitting it.

Mr dark and emotionally unavailable.

He looked even more lethal in daylight. A tailored suit stretched across broad shoulders, his jaw sharp enough to cut, those dark eyes steady and merciless.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. My brain scrambled, tripping over itself.

Oh my God. It’s him.

Of course it’s him. Because the universe hates me. Because fate has a twisted sense of humor. Do I faint? Do I run? Do I throw myself at him?

Oh God, he looks even hotter in Rome.

Finally, he spoke.“Have you been stalking me?”

The words sliced through the silence, cold and precise.

I blinked, heat rushing to my face. “Excuse me?”

“You show up at my club,” he said evenly, his gaze pinning me down, “and now here you are. In Rome. Sitting in my office. What am I supposed to think?”

My jaw dropped. “Your club? First of all, I didn’t show up at your club. I was dragged there to have a good time. Second, I didn’t even know you existed until you decided to go full Batman on my ex. And third…”

I stopped, damn! The bartender lied. He knew him!

His brow arched. “Batman?”

I wanted to melt into the marble floor. “Forget I said that.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. “So. You’re saying it’s all a coincidence?”

“Yes!” I said too quickly. “Total coincidence. An absolute accident. Fate just likes screwing with me.”

His silence stretched, heavy, calculated, making my skin prickle under the weight of it.

Then, with unnerving calm, he said, “Sit down, Miss Cross. Let’s see what you are capable of.”