Accidentally Rob a Mafia Don

Blood and Ashes

The night smelled like gasoline and gunpowder.

Bianca sat on the edge of the worn leather couch, her knees pulled to her chest, trying not to replay the warehouse chaos in her head — the deafening gunfire, the screams, the way Lorenzo had pinned her to the wall to shield her.

Her fingers still tingled when he’d touched her.

She hated that.

She hated him.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Across the room, Lorenzo was a shadow carved from steel, his back to her as he spoke quietly with Matteo and two other men. He was calm. Too calm. And that was what made him terrifying

.

When he finally dismissed them, the others left quickly, grateful to be anywhere but near his wrath.

Bianca thought she was free to breathe again — until his gaze cut across the room and found her.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

“Now.”

She hesitated.

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk,” he said simply, turning and heading toward his office without looking back.

Bianca considered bolting. Running. Escaping into the night.

But her legs carried her after him anyway.

The office door clicked shut behind her, trapping her in the thick scent of leather, smoke, and something darker — him.

Lorenzo leaned against his desk, arms crossed, steel-gray eyes pinning her where she stood.

“You nearly got yourself killed tonight.”

Bianca blinked, stunned.

“Me?” she scoffed. “You’re the one who dragged me there like some— some bait animal!”

His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed quiet, measured.

“And yet, here you are. Alive. Because I was there.”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “I’m alive because I got lucky. Don’t act like you care.”

Something flickered in his eyes — something sharp, dangerous, and fleeting.

“Careful, Dolcezza,” he murmured, his voice low. “You have no idea what I care about.”

Her heart thudded painfully.

She hated how close he made her feel to the edge of something she wasn’t ready to name.

So, she pushed back.

“Then maybe you should stop treating me like a pawn in your stupid mafia war!”

That finally broke his calm.

Lorenzo moved fast, caging her against the wall before she could blink. One hand braced above her head, the other gripping her chin — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to demand attention.

“Pawn?” he growled softly, his breath brushing her lips. “You think I’d risk my empire for a pawn?”

Bianca froze, her breath caught between them.

The silence stretched, tight and heavy, until he finally exhaled and stepped back, releasing her.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow,” he said flatly, as though the argument hadn’t happened.

“Again? To where?” she demanded.

“A meeting. Another trap.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Are you insane?!”

“Probably,” he said dryly. “But this time, I need you.”

She blinked at him, stunned into silence. He wasn’t lying. And she hated how much that unsettled her.

The following night, Bianca sat in the Maserati again, tension thrumming through her veins like static.

Lorenzo was silent beside her, his profile sharp under the passing streetlights.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“If this goes south, we’re both dead, aren’t we?”

“Most likely,” he said without looking at her.

“Wow. Comforting.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips — gone as quickly as it appeared.

When they arrived at the abandoned dockyard, the Mancinis were waiting, flanked by twice as many men as before.

Lorenzo’s hand settled on the small of Bianca’s back, guiding her forward, possessive and grounding all at once.

“Smile, Dolcezza,” he murmured without moving his lips. “Let them underestimate you.”

Bianca managed something between a smile and a glare.

The conversation was tense from the start. Too many veiled threats, too many loaded glances. And then, all at once, everything exploded.

A single gunshot cracked the night, and chaos erupted.

Lorenzo shoved Bianca behind a shipping container, barking orders in rapid Italian as bullets screamed through the air.

“Stay down and don’t move!”

But Bianca wasn’t built for obedience.

When she spotted one of the Mancini gunmen circling toward them, she didn’t think — she grabbed a loose brick and swung.

The man went down hard, groaning.

Bianca panted, adrenaline buzzing in her ears — and then she heard Lorenzo curse behind her.

She turned and saw blood blooming across his ribs.

Back at the safe house, Lorenzo sat shirtless on the kitchen counter, jaw clenched tight as Bianca cleaned the shallow gunshot wound.

“Hold still,” she muttered, dabbing alcohol on the cut.

“I am holding still,” he bit out.

“Oh, right, sorry, I forgot you always glare like you want to murder someone when you’re relaxed.”

His lips twitched — the barest flicker of amusement.

“You’re getting mouthier,” he said quietly.

“Maybe I’m not scared of you anymore,” she shot back, though her trembling hands betrayed her.

Lorenzo noticed. Of course, he did.

Without warning, his hand shot up, catching her wrist.

“Careful, Dolcezza,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Keep touching me like that, and I might forget who I am.”

Bianca froze. The air between them was molten, heavy, impossible to breathe.

Her gaze dropped — to his lips.

His eyes darkened instantly.

He leaned forward, just enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek, his hand sliding slowly from her wrist to her fingers, lacing them together.

For one endless heartbeat, the world stopped.

And then he pulled back abruptly, shoving her hand away as though burned.

“Go to bed,” he said hoarsely, standing and walking out before she could reply.

Bianca sat there, heart racing, her skin still tingling where he’d touched her.

Hours later, Bianca wandered the halls, sleepless.

She paused when she heard voices behind a closed door.

“It wasn’t Mancini,” Matto said.

"The traitor’s inside. Someone feeds them information. Someone knows her.”

Bianca’s stomach dropped.

Before she could process it, a shadow detached from the wall behind her.

“Eavesdropping again, Dolcezza?”

She spun to find Lorenzo there, silent and predatory.

He stepped closer, pinning her gently against the wall without touching her, his voice a low growl.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

His jaw flexed.

“You’re mine to protect,” he said darkly, eyes burning into hers. “And God help anyone who tries to take you from me.”

Bianca’s breath caught — because it sounded less like a threat, and more like a promise.