The Mafia’s Only Collateral

CHAPTER 6 Rules I Never Asked For

Mid-morning light fills the room, bright and clear, and I’m still standing exactly where I was when they left — shoulders back, head high, hand resting light and steady over my stomach. I don’t pace, don’t fidget, don’t waste energy worrying. I’ve spent years learning how to wait, how to hold my ground, how to turn every room I’m locked inside into something I can handle. This house is bigger, fancier, better guarded than any place I’ve ever stayed — but it’s still just walls and doors and locks. And I’ve always been good at finding the gaps.

The door opens again, and this time it’s Declan — alone, face set like stone, jaw tight, every line of him thrumming with that same restless, burning mix of anger and claim. He walks straight in, shuts the door firm behind him, and stops right in front of me, close enough our shoulders brush, his heat wrapping around me thick and heavy.

“Come with me,” he says, short, sharp, final — no explanation, no choice offered. “You’re not staying cooped up in here all day. You’re part of this house now, whether you like it or not. People need to see you. Know who you belong to.”

I arch one eyebrow, slip my sketchbook safely under my arm, and step past him slow, deliberate, making sure he sees I’m not rushing, not following like a good little prisoner. “Oh, I belong to you now, do I? Funny how you keep saying it like repeating it enough will make it true. Newsflash, Declan — ownership’s something you earn, not something you grab just because someone’s dad was a coward and a thief. You’ve got my name on a list somewhere. You’ve got me under your roof. You don’t have me.”

He glances down at me, dark eyes flashing — half fury, half something sharper, deeper, that he won’t admit to — and his hand lands firm and warm at my lower back, guiding me forward, guiding me his way, heavy and impossible to ignore. “Keep talking. Keep pushing. I like your fire — don’t think I don’t. But don’t mistake it for freedom. Every step you take, every breath you draw, every heartbeat you have — all of it’s tied to me now. And that baby? That’s the strongest chain you’ve got.”

We walk through wide hallways, past polished floors, high ceilings, doors leading to rooms I’ll probably never see — and everywhere we go, people stop, bow their heads, step aside. Servants, guards, men in dark suits — everyone knows who he is, everyone fears him. And every single one of them looks at me: curious, wary, wondering who the hell I am, why the boss has me on his arm, why I hold my head like I’m equal to every bit of power in this place. I meet every stare straight on — cool, unafraid, daring them to judge me, daring them to see anything but strength.

We reach the main living area — huge, grand, leather sofas, dark wood, heavy curtains — and the other three are already there, waiting.

Elias sits on the edge of a table, arms folded, watching the doorway like he knew exactly when we’d arrive. His eyes light up the second he sees me — bright, interested, like he’s already got new notes to add to his mental file. He looks me over slow, from the set of my jaw to the way I hold my sketchbook tight, and his mouth curves into that calm, knowing smile — still treating me like the most complex, fascinating problem he’s ever tried to solve.

“Walking tall as ever,” he says softly, like he’s commenting on something he’s already studied for hours. “You carry yourself like you were born to stand in rooms like this… yet you’ve never been allowed to belong anywhere. Isn’t that interesting? You belong nowhere — so you belong everywhere. And nowhere can ever truly hold you. That’s the secret, isn’t it? That’s how you’ve survived everything.”

“Nice theory,” I reply, voice cool and sharp, dropping onto the nearest sofa like I own the place too — legs crossed, back straight, no shrinking back. “Shame it’s still just guesswork. You’ll keep digging, Elias, and you’ll keep finding walls. I told you — I’m not a story for you to read.”

“Walls are built to be explored,” he answers easily, unbothered, eyes flicking down to my stomach then back up — gentle, thoughtful, never cruel. “And yours? They’re built of protection. For you… and now for her or him. You’ve turned every hurt into a shield. Impressive. But shields can be heavy to carry all alone.”

Silas is leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed, heavy boots propped on the hearth, that rough, hungry smirk plastered right across his face — eyes raking over me like he’s checking for cracks, looking for any sign that I’m tired, that I’m slipping, that I’m finally starting to fray. He huffs a loud, rough laugh when I meet his gaze head-on, unflinching.

“Look at her,” he jeers, tone loud and mocking — but underneath, there’s that same dark, eager interest, like I’m the only thing worth watching in the whole room. “Sitting there like a queen. Like she’s got every right to be here. You think you’re fooling anyone, tough girl? You think sitting pretty and talking sharp means you’re safe? You’re just waiting, same as everyone else — waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the hard parts to start. And believe me… they’re starting soon enough. That belly’s gonna grow. Your back’s gonna ache. Your temper’s gonna fray. And one day? You’re gonna snap. And I’ll be right there — front row — to watch it happen.”

I lean forward slightly, elbows on my knees, and smile right back at him — bright, sharp, dangerous, unshaken. “You’re obsessed, Silas. Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing. You spend every waking minute hoping I’ll fall apart, you talk about it like it’s your whole life’s work — and yet here I am. Still perfect. Still strong. Still exactly the same as I was the day you met me. Maybe you’re the one who’s gonna crack first, huh? Maybe you’re the one who’s gonna get tired of waiting for something that’s never, ever gonna happen.”

For a heartbeat his smirk falters — just a flash of surprise, then something darker, hotter, rising fast — and he pushes off the mantel, stepping closer, voice dropping rough and low. “Don’t push me too far, little girl. I like you with teeth — I do — but don’t forget who stands where. And don’t forget… I’m very good at finding the things people hide. And I’m very good at pushing until they break.”

Then — as always — Mateo.

He’s standing quiet in the shadowed corner, broad frame still and solid, hands loose at his sides, dark eyes fixed only on me — no smirk, no glare, no questions, no theories. He just watches. He sees how I banter back, how I don’t back down an inch, how every movement I make is deliberate, guarded, strong. He sees the way my hand rests soft and constant over my bump whenever I think no one’s looking. He sees everything — and says nothing.

When our eyes meet, he lifts one hand slow — same as before — taps once over his heart, then points straight at me. Clear, steady, unspoken: I see you. I know you’re not broken. I’m watching.

And this time… I nod back. Just once. Quiet. Only for him.

Declan steps between us instantly, blocking the view, his body turned fully toward me, presence overwhelming, voice dropping to that low, commanding rumble that fills every corner of the room. He’s still furious — still burning that same hot rage every time he glances at my stomach — but underneath it, there’s something shifting, something tightening, something he can’t quite stamp out.

“Enough,” he snaps, sharp and final, eyes sweeping over all of them before landing hard back on me. “She stays in this house. She stays within sight. She doesn’t leave the grounds without me — or one of you with her. Every door, every window, every way out — watched. And you three? You do not push her too hard. You do not scare her. You do not make her carry more weight than she already has. She’s mine — debt, secrets, baby and all — and I decide what happens to her. I decide how much she gets to handle.”

He turns back to me, leaning down close, face inches from mine, breath warm and sharp, expression fierce, possessive, tangled tight with frustration he can’t hide.

“You hear me? You’re under my protection now. Whether you want it or not. Whether you like it or not. And if you think I’m doing this because I care about you… you’re wrong. I’m doing it because you’re mine. And nobody — nobody — damages what belongs to me. Not even you.”

I tilt my head up, stare straight into his storm-dark eyes, and smile — cool, steady, unbowed.

“Funny way of showing you don’t care, Declan. Funny how hard you fight to keep me safe… when you’re still convinced I’m just a problem you’re stuck with. But fine — play protector. Play boss. Play whatever role helps you sleep at night. Just remember: you can lock me in, you can guard every door, you can shout your rules as loud as you like… but you still haven’t broken me. And you never will.”

Declan’s jaw clenches hard, his gaze dropping to my mouth, lingering there — heavy, hot, confused — before snapping back up to my eyes, fierce and unyielding.

“We’ll see, Lila Maeve. We will bloody well see.”