Under the Mistletoe... with the Mafia King.

Chapter 7 - We meet again.

R H E A

The moment Cassie and I climb into the SUV, the difference between this vehicle and the one we had been kidn*pped in becomes immediately and overwhelmingly clear, because instead of cold metal and rough seats and the suffocating darkness of tinted windows, we are met with smooth leather and soft interior lighting and the faint scent of something expensive that lingers in the air like a quiet promise of safety after hours of terror.

The seats cushion us the moment we sink into them, and there is a warmth humming through the car that makes the trembling in my body slow down slightly, though not enough to stop it completely, because the shock remains lodged deep inside my chest like a stone that refuses to move. Cassie sits so close to me that our thighs touch the entire time, her fingers gripping mine tightly, as if letting go might pull one of us back into the nightmare we barely escaped.

The doors close with a gentle thud, so unlike the violent slam of the van earlier, and the engine starts with barely a sound, the entire vehicle gliding forward with a smoothness that almost feels unreal after the chaos of the last hour. I exhale slowly, my breath shaky, my chest still tight, and I watch outside pass me by in a steady motion. Cassie leans her head against my shoulder, and I feel her breath hitching every few moments, a reminder that she is trying so hard to hold herself together even though her world has been shaken apart just as violently as mine.

Alex sits in the front, quiet, focused, his eyes forward as he speaks softly into a small device clipped to his collar. I cannot hear the words, but I can see the seriousness in his posture, the sharp attention of someone who has been trained for far more than mixing drinks behind a bar. Every so often, he glances back at us, his expression softening just slightly, and even though I barely know him, even though he is still a stranger in so many ways, the look he gives us contains something that feels reassuring, and safe.

Time stops feeling real after a while. The ride seems endless, a long stretch of darkness and silence broken only by the sound of tyres on asphalt and the faint murmur of Alex’s voice up front. Cassie squeezes my hand again and again, sometimes in panic, sometimes just to feel my presence. I squeeze back every time.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, the SUV slows down, turning through what I assume is a gate because I hear metal shifting and sliding behind us. The path becomes smoother, wider, and then, very suddenly, the car rolls to a stop as Alex turns in his seat to look back at us.

"We are here," he says quietly.

Here. Wherever that is.

The doors open, and cool morning air rushes inside, brushing over my skin and sending a soft shiver through me. Cassie takes a deep breath before climbing out, and when I follow, the sight in front of me pulls the air right out of my lungs.

A mansion rises before us, enormous and elegant, built of pale stone that reflects the sunlight like frost. The structure stretches wide across the property, with tall windows and pillars so tall they look like they were carved to impress royalty. There is a long driveway curving behind us, lined with trimmed hedges and flowers, like something out of another world, something unreachable and untouchable, something meant for people who exist on a different level entirely.

People like Micheal Vescari.

Alex gestures for us to follow him, his footsteps steady on the stone steps that lead up to the front entrance. Cassie stays close to my side, her hand clutching the sleeve of my shirt as if she is afraid we might be separated in a place this vast. The doors open before Alex even reaches them, pulled open by two men in dark suits who stand straight and tall, their faces neutral yet curious. They step aside respectfully, their eyes following us not with suspicion but with protective attentiveness.

"This way," Alex says, his tone warm yet professional, and he leads us into a foyer so grand it makes my breath catch again.

The interior is breathtaking, with high ceilings that stretch upward like a cathedral and floors made of polished marble that natural cool sunlight fills the atmosphere and bounces off the white walls. A massive staircase curves upward in a sweeping arc, and the walls are adorned with artwork that looks original, priceless, and old. Everything is quiet, so quiet it. Makes each breath feel magnified, like we have stepped into a place where every emotion, every thought, every heartbeat becomes louder.

"Boss, we are back," Alex calls out as we suddenly step into the living room, his voice echoing softly across the foyer.

For a moment, nothing happens. The silence lingers like an inhale held too long, and then a voice answers from deeper inside the mansion, smooth, dangerously calm... and all too familiar.

"Alexander." He calls out, his voice now sending a different kind of chill through my body, one that is not entirely fear but something electric, that pulls at the centre of my chest with a force I cannot understand.

The man standing alone in the living room finally turns around to face us, his steps slow and confident as he walks toward us. He is dressed differently than the night we met, wearing a tailored black suit that clings to the strong lines of his shoulders, the fabric perfectly fitted, the collar open slightly to reveal a hint of the skin at his throat. His dark hair is slicked back with careful precision, and the lighting hits his face in a way that makes his features look sharper, more intense, more mouthwatering. He carries himself with the effortless air of someone who owns everything in his view, someone who does not need to raise his voice to exert authority, someone who has lived in darkness long enough to become comfortable in it.

"I see you were successful," he says, glancing first at Alex, then at Cassie, and finally at me, his eyes locking onto mine with a force that makes me feel heat rising slowly up my spine.

"Yes," Alex replies. "And we were right. It was the Samorva men. Knox made a run for it before we could apprehend him." He speaks out, stepping forward before keeping his hands at his back.

"I see," Micheal says in a low voice, the kind of smooth tone that can be gentle or lethal depending on his intention.

He steps closer, his gaze sweeping over the two of us slowly, carefully, almost as though he is assessing every detail of us in order to understand the extent of what happened. "Are you ladies alright?" he asks softly, and the genuine concern in his voice throws me off balance because I expected coldness or dismissal or distance, but not this.

Cassie and I both open our mouths to answer, but neither of us manages to speak immediately, the words trapped by everything we have just endured. He notices, and as soon as he does, his expression softens.

"I can see you are both shaken. This must all be very confusing and frightening, but I assure you that you are safe here," he says, and his voice is so steady that it pulls at something inside me, something I have been holding tightly since the moment that gun was pressed against the deliveryman’s head.

He takes another slow step toward me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Cassie step slightly away to give me space, as if she senses that the energy around us has shifted into something heavier and more intimate.

"We meet again," Micheal murmurs, stopping directly in front of me. He towers above me, close enough that I can feel the faint warmth radiating from his body, close enough that my breath stutters the moment I tilt my head back to look up at him.

"Uh… hi," I say in a small, shaky voice, immediately hating how tiny it sounds but unable to do anything about it.

His eyes soften in a way that makes my chest tighten. "Are you sure you are alright?" he asks quietly, his voice warm and low.

I swallow, feeling the tension in my throat. "Yes... I am..."

He holds my gaze for a long moment, his expression curious, and then he speaks again, his tone gentler. "I realise, you and I don't even know each other's names."

He gives me the faintest smile, one that is barely there but enough to send a spark of warmth through me. I nod a little too quickly. "Right. I-I'm sorry... tha'ts Cassandra, or Cassie..." I begin, motioning to Cassie who is standing close to Alex.

"And I'm Rhea. Rhea Anderson." I answer shyly.

That's when he smiles at me softly.

"Rhea." He repeats my name softly, almost like he is trying it on his tongue, and something about the way he says it makes my knees feel weak.

"Lovely to meet you again," he says, and then he reaches down, taking my hand slowly and carefully, as if giving me a chance to pull away if I want to, even though I do not even think of doing so. His touch is warm yet fiery, and when his fingers close around mine, a shiver runs through my entire body.

"My name is Micheal Vescari." He answers that's when he steps closer to me, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of my palm, causing the breath in my lungs to escape quickly, just as a series of chills runs through my entire body. Hearing the full name, spoken by the man himself, sends a rush of awareness crashing through me. This is the man whose reputation has been whispered about in corners of the city, the man who can silence rooms without speaking, the man whose world I had accidentally stepped into with a kiss under falling mistletoe...

And now I am standing in his home, holding his hand, unable to look away...