Forced To Marry The Mafia’s Rival Heir

Chapter 7

Clara’s POV

The doorbell screen glowed with Robins' image, his blue eyes staring directly into the camera as if he could see right through the door, right into the chaos swirling in my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird, the anonymous messages still burning in my mind: “He's not who you think he is, Clara. Ask him about the night your mother died.“ The words echoed, twisting like a knife. What did they mean? Robins, involved in that nightmare? The car crash that had stolen her from us when I was just a girl; they said it was just an accident, but my father had always whispered of foul play, enemies in the shadows. Could Robins really be tied to that? No. It had to be a lie, a ploy to drive me away from him. But doubt crept in, cold and deceptive, even as I fought it back.

The buzzer rang again, insistent. I couldn't ignore him. Not now. Swallowing hard, I approached the door on tiptoe, peering through the peephole. There he was, in the flesh, looking every bit the quiet mystery; though something was different. His charcoal sweater was gone, replaced by a crisp white furry shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, paired with flared brown trouser pants that gave him an effortlessly stylish edge. He'd changed clothes? My mind raced. How long had he been following me?

His expression shifted as he caught sight of the peephole darkening, perhaps sensing my hesitation. "Angela?" His voice crackled through the door phone, laced with concern. "It's me Robins."

Robins. Hearing his name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood, forcing my trembling hands to steady. Fear gripped me, but I couldn't let him see it. Not yet. Not when every fiber of me still craved his touch, his voice, the way he made the world feel alive. I took a deep breath, plastered on a joyous smile; the kind that lit up my eyes and softened my features into something sweet and romantic and swung the door open.

"Robins!" I exclaimed, my voice pitching up with feigned delight, charming and loving as I tilted my head playfully. "You didn't tell me you were following me all the way home. Stalking much?" I teased, stepping aside to let him in, my heart still pounding but hidden behind the facade.

He chuckled, that low, warm voice that always made my knees weak, but his eyes scanned my face with sharp intensity. "Stalking? Hardly. Though I have to admit, the view was worth it." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his presence filling the apartment like a storm about to break. Up close, he was even more striking in the new outfit; the white fur of the shirt contrasting with his dark hair, the brown pants showcasing his lean frame. He smelled of fresh cologne, something woody and intoxicating, like he'd just stepped out of a high-end boutique.

I forced myself to keep the lightness in my tone, not revealing a hint of the threatening messages that had turned my blood to ice. "Seriously though, what's with the outfit change? You look... incredible." My gaze lingered on him, appreciative, letting the romantic pull between us simmer to the surface.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a rare sheepish gesture that made him seem almost boyish. "I stopped by the mall after our run-in at the library. Figured if we're doing a proper date later today, I should make a good impression tonight; test run the look, you know? Didn't want to head all the way home; it'd waste too much time. So I changed in the fitting room, stepped out... and that's when I saw your car speeding off down the lane. You looked panicked, eyes glued to the wheel like you were running from something. Or someone." His brow drawn together, concern deepening those ink-blue eyes. "I followed to make sure you were okay. Ended up here. Is this your place?"

Clarity washed over me; relief mixed with a fresh wave of paranoia. He hadn't been stalking; he'd been worried. "Yes, it is," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside. "Come in, make yourself comfortable."

He hesitated in the entryway, glancing around the spacious living room with its minimalist decor; neutral tones, abstract art on the walls, and those intricate carvings along the baseboards that my father had insisted on, symbols from our family's old crest. Subtle nods to the Black empire, hidden in plain sight. "Are you okay, Angela? You seem... off."

"I'm fine," I lied smoothly, just as my phone buzzed in my pocket with another notification. The sound was faint, but I felt it like a thunderclap. I silenced it quickly, praying he hadn't noticed. "Just tired from the day. Lectures, books, you know how it is."

He didn't look entirely convinced, but he stepped closer, his presence enveloping me. "If you're sure." Then, without warning, he leaned in, pulling me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me, strong and warm, the furry texture of his shirt soft against my cheek. I melted into him instantly, the fear dissolving in the heat of his embrace. God, he felt good, solid, real, like the only anchor in a sea of secrets. I buried my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. We stood there, locked together, neither wanting to let go. Time stretched, the world narrowing to the rhythm of his heartbeat against mine, steady and reassuring.

"You feel perfect," he murmured into my hair, his voice a low rumble that sent sparks down my spine. "Like I've been waiting for this all day."

I tilted my head up, our faces inches apart, those blue eyes drawing me in like a tide. The air crackled with unspoken desire, emotional and raw. Before I could think, he caressed my cheek with his thumb, gentle yet possessive, and closed the distance and before I knew it, our lips were smacking on each other’s. Our first kiss was electric, soft at first, his lips brushing mine with tentative sweetness, then deepening as I responded, parting my lips to let him in. He tasted like mint and promise, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. I lost myself in it, the romance of the moment overwhelming everything: the threats, the doubts, the shadows of our families. It was intoxicating, his touch igniting a fire that burned away the cold dread.

But then reality crashed back. My father's voice echoed in my mind; he could return any minute from whatever "business" meeting he was at. The estate guards might report seeing a stranger. I pulled away sharply, breathless, my lips tingling. "Robins... we can't. Not here. My... roommate could be back soon." It was a weak excuse, but I couldn't risk it. Not with the texts still haunting me: “Ask him about the night your mother died.” The words flickered in my thoughts, but I shoved them aside. No. This was real. He was real. I wouldn't let some anonymous coward poison this.

He searched my eyes, hunger still simmering in his gaze, but he nodded, respecting the boundary. "Okay. But that... that was worth the wait." His smile was slow, devastating, making my heart ache with want.

I needed space to think, to prepare, to reclaim control. "Why don't you head to that classy restaurant down the block? The one with the rooftop terrace. Wait for me there. Give me forty minutes to freshen up, and I'll meet you. We can turn this into our date tonight."

He arched a brow, intrigued. "Eager, are we?" But then his eyes drifted past me, landing on the carvings along the parlor walls; those intricate double-axe motifs, etched in gold leaf, symbols of power and legacy from my father's world. His expression shifted, the romantic haze fading into something sharper, more intriguing. A flicker of recognition? Memory? His jaw tightened subtly, like a puzzle piece clicking into place from some hidden past. Mafia missions, perhaps, whispers of alliances and betrayals that tied our families in knots. What was he remembering? Suspense hung in the air, thick and unspoken.

I noticed the change immediately, my pulse quickening. Whatever it was, I couldn't let it linger here, not in this space laced with my secrets. "Go on," I urged, gently guiding him toward the door with a hand on his arm, my touch lingering to soften the rush. "I'll be quick. Promise."

He blinked, pulling his gaze back to me, the intriguing shadow still there but masked with a smile. "Forty minutes. Not a second more." He stole one last quick kiss on my forehead, then stepped out, leaving the apartment feeling emptier, colder.

I closed the door, leaning against it as my breath came in shaky waves. Fear tried to grip me, what if he suspected something? What if hanging out with him was the biggest risk I'd ever taken? But passion overpowered it all. I was in love with him, intoxicatingly so, like he'd woven himself into my soul. I was willing to give this a shot, consequences be damned.

Turning back to the bedroom, I headed to prepare for our date selecting a dress that would make my green eyes pop, just as he'd asked. As I rifled through my closet, my phone buzzed once more. I glanced at it, dread pooling in my gut.

Blocked ID: Enjoy your evening, Clara. But remember: secrets have a way of unraveling. Especially when they're kissed away.

My hand froze on a hanger. Who was watching? And how close were they now?