ACCEPTED MAFIA CEO

MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT

The sun came up and I still hadn’t slept.

The Blackwood Penthouse was too quiet. Too clean.

Last night’s broken glass was gone. The blood on the marble floor was gone. Even the smell of gunpowder had been scrubbed away by people I never saw.

But my body remembered. Every sound made me flinch.

I was on the couch in the guest room, still in the clothes from yesterday.

I hadn’t changed. Didn’t feel safe enough to.

At 5:43 AM the door opened.

Damian.

He looked like hell. Shirtless. Sweatpants. Hair a mess. That bandage on his arm was fresh.

But his eyes were sharp. Awake. Dangerous.

He had two mugs of coffee. He handed me one. Black.

"You’re up," he said.

"Did you sleep?"

"No."

We stood there in silence. The city was waking up 80 floors below us. Glass walls. Nothing between us and the drop.

"Eat," he said, nodding to the kitchen. There was toast. Eggs. Fruit.

"I’m not hungry."

"You will be. You need energy for tonight."

Tonight.

The word hit me like a stone.

"The meeting," I said. My voice was rough.

"Yes."

"You said I’m coming with you."

"I did."

I set the coffee down. My hands were shaking. "Why? You could leave me here. With guards."

"I could," he agreed. He leaned against the counter. "But Marco wants to see what I’m protecting. If you’re not there, he thinks I’m hiding something. Or someone weaker."

"So I’m a statement."

"You’re my fiancée," he corrected. "In public, in private, in war. That’s the deal we signed."

The deal. The contract. The vow.

Clause 10. _Blood for blood. Life for life._

"Damian," I said his name carefully. "What if he hurts me?"

"Then I kill him," he said simply. Like he was talking about the weather. "And then I burn everything he owns to the ground."

I should have been terrified.

Instead, I felt... safe. Which was the most terrifying part.

He pushed off the counter. "Get ready. We leave at 7 PM. Wear black. Comfortable. No jewelry. No heels."

"For running?"

"For fighting," he said, and walked away.

*6 PM. Getting Ready.*

The clothes were already there. Laid out on the bed.

Black jeans. Black sweater. Black sneakers. And a small pistol.

I stared at it.

A note was tucked under it. Damian’s handwriting. Sharp, angry strokes.

_Don’t use it unless you have to. And if you have to, aim for the chest._

My hands shook as I picked it up. It was heavier than I thought.

Two female guards came in to help me. They didn’t talk much. Just checked me for wires, for trackers. Professional. Cold.

"Mr. Blackwood wants you downstairs in 20," one of them said.

I looked in the mirror. I didn’t look like the girl from the hospital anymore. I looked like someone who belonged in Damian’s world.

That scared me more than the gun.

*7:15 PM. The Drive.*

We didn’t take the Bentley. We took an armored black SUV.

4 guards. Damian drove. I sat in the passenger seat.

No one talked.

The radio was off. The only sound was the engine and my breathing.

"You’re quiet," Damian said finally.

"I’m thinking."

"About?"

"About whether I’m going to die tonight."

He glanced at me. "You’re not."

"How do you know?"

"Because I said so."

That was it. That was his answer.

Arrogant. Infuriating. And weirdly... comforting.

We drove through the city. Past the Ritz where I was announced. Past St. Mary’s where Lily was sleeping with 4 guards.

Everywhere I looked, I saw Marco’s men. Or maybe I was just paranoid.

"The docks," Damian said. "Abandoned shipping yard. Section 4."

"Why there?"

"No cameras. No witnesses. And 3 ways out."

He pulled into a lot full of rusted containers. The smell of salt and diesel hit me immediately.

Only one light was on. Hanging from a crane, swinging slightly.

And under it stood Marco DeLuca.

*7:30 PM. The Meeting.*

He was surrounded by men. 10. Maybe 12. All in suits. All with guns.

Marco himself looked like a magazine cover. Gray suit. Silver hair. Smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Damian cut the engine.

"Rules," he said to me. "Stay behind me. Don’t speak unless I tell you to. If shooting starts, you run to the second SUV. Got it?"

"Got it."

We got out. The cold air hit my face.

"Damian!" Marco called out, spreading his arms. "My favorite headache."

"Marco." Damian’s voice could have cut glass. "You brought a crowd."

"I brought insurance," Marco said. His eyes slid past Damian and landed on me. "And you brought the star of the show. Aria Hale."

I didn’t curtsy. I didn’t smile. I just stood there.

"Pretty," Marco said, looking me up and down. "Too pretty for this life. Shame."

"Get to the point," Damian snapped.

Marco sighed, like we were old friends. "Fine. The point. I want 40% of your shipping. I want your arms routes. And I want the girl."

His men shifted. My stomach dropped.

"She’s not negotiable," Damian said.

"Everything’s negotiable," Marco smiled. "That’s business. Give me 24 hours with her. As collateral. To prove you’re serious about peace. And I’ll only take 20% instead of 40."

"Peace?" Damian laughed. It was an ugly sound. "You shot up my penthouse last night."

"That was a warning," Marco said. "This is a negotiation."

He gestured and one of his men threw a folder onto a metal crate. It landed with a thud.

"Sign that. Give me the girl. And we all go home."

Damian didn’t move to get it.

"And if I say no?"

"Then we have a problem," Marco said. "A big problem. See, I know about the sister. Lily, right? At St. Mary’s. Room 312. Cute kid."

Rage. Hot and sudden.

Before I could think, the words flew out of me. "Don’t you talk about her—"

"Shut it," Damian said. Low. To me.

But it was too late.

MarCo’s smile got wider. "Oh. She talks. She cares. That’s adorable." He looked at Damian. "That makes her your weakness, Damian. And you know what we do with weaknesses."

The air went dead still.

I could hear the water slapping against the docks.

Damian took one step forward. "You touch her, you touch me. And I don’t negotiate with terrorists."

"Careful," Marco said. "You’re outnumbered."

"Am I?" Damian asked.

And then all hell broke loose.

*7:32 PM. Gunfire.*

I didn’t see who fired first.

One second it was tense talking. The next it was chaos.

"DOWN!" Damian yelled. He grabbed me and threw me behind a container.

Gunshots cracked through the air. Muzzle flashes. Screaming.

My ears rang.

"Stay here," Damian ordered. He had a gun in his hand now. Black. Silent. Professional.

"Damian—"

"Don’t move."

He leaned out, fired twice, and pulled back.

"Can you run?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"Good. On my go. 3... 2... 1... GO!"

We ran.

Between containers. Bullets pinged off metal. A guard near us went down. I didn’t look. I couldn’t.

"Keep moving!" Damian shouted. His hand was tight around mine.

We reached the second SUV. One of our guards was already in the driver’s seat, bleeding from his arm.

"Drive!" Damian shoved me in, then got in after me.

The moment the doors closed, the driver slammed the gas.

Behind us, Marco was screaming. "AFTER THEM! DON’T LET THEM LEAVE!"

Tires screeched. We fishtailed out of the lot.

In the rearview mirror I saw men running after us. Shooting.

I was gasping. Shaking.

"Are you hit?" Damian was already checking me. Hands on my shoulders, my arms, my face. "Talk to me. Are you hit?"

No, I managed. "No, I’m okay."

"Good girl."

That word again. Good girl.

This time it sounded like prayer.

The driver took 3 sharp turns, then hit the highway. We lost them in traffic.

For a long time, no one spoke.

Just breathing. Heavy breathing.

Finally, Damian leaned back. Ran a hand through his hair.

"He won’t stop now," he said quietly. "Not after tonight. I embarrassed him."

"What do we do?"

"We go to the safehouse. And we prepare." He looked at me. "You did good. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t scream."

"I wanted to."

"But you didn’t." There was something like pride in his voice. "That’s why I brought you."

We drove for 40 minutes in silence. The city lights blurred past.

*9:10 PM. The Safehouse.*

It wasn’t the penthouse. It was a smaller building. No windows. One door.

More guards.

Inside it was sparse. Couch. Table. Kitchenette. Bedroom.

"You’ll stay here tonight," Damian said. "With 6 guards. I’m going to handle some things."

"Where?"

"Where Marco won’t find you."

He was about to leave when I grabbed his arm.

"Don’t go."

He stopped. Looked down at my hand on him.

"Aria—"

"I’m scared," I admitted. "Not of Marco. Of being alone again."

Something in his face softened. Just a fraction.

He sat down next to me on the couch. Close. Not touching.

"You’re not alone," he said. "You have me. You have Clause 10."

"The vow."

"The vow," he repeated. "Blood for blood."

He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so gentle it didn’t fit the man who just shot at people.

"I picked you for a reason," he said. "You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than most people in my world."

I looked at him. Really looked. Past the Don. Past the monster.

To the man who sat in a hospital for 6 hours to watch my sister sleep.

Thank you

,I whispered. "For tonight. For... everything."

"Don’t thank me yet," he said. "The war hasn’t even started."

He stood up. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we sign the final papers. And then we fight."

He walked to the door. Paused.

"Aria."

"Yeah?"

"Wear the red dress again sometime. It looked good on you."

Then he was gone.

I sat there in the quiet safehouse. With a gun on the table and 6 guards outside.

My heart was still racing.

But for the first time since this started, I wasn’t afraid of Damian.

I was afraid of losing him.