MAFIA'S THORN

CHAPTER THREE

FLARIE’S — POV

This is yet another private party I'm invited to. The courtyard of the compound is covered with wide slabs of polished stone that shine under the afternoon sun.

My heels click against the surface as I walk beside the tall, lean man who brought me here.

He said he needed a companion. Someone who will arrive with him, walk beside him. Smile if necessary. That was the agreement, nothing more.

'This compound is enormous, too large to simply be called a house.' People are everywhere.

Some gather near the pool, holding glasses of shiny liquor and speaking in low voices. Others stand on the lawn in small groups, their laughter quiet, as if they’re careful not to attract too much attention.

Everyone here looks rich, important, powerful, but something about the atmosphere feels restrained. You can tell that everyone is pretending this is a normal party.

My companion’s posture stiffens slightly beside me as a group of men walks past us, they barely glance our way, yet he subtly steps aside to let them pass. 'Interesting.'

His hand suddenly slides to my waist. I stop walking immediately stepping away.

“No,” I say calmly, though my tone leaves no room for misunderstanding. “This was not the agreement.”

He blinks at me, surprised.

“I agreed to walk beside you,” I continue, meeting his eyes. “No physical contact.”

Shock flashes across his face. “I just thought—”

“That was not the agreement,” I say through gritted teeth.

He opens his mouth again, clearly trying to recover his dignity, but then his attention shifts over my shoulder. His expression brightens, “Ah,” he says. “I know that guy.”

Without another word, he walks away toward someone.

I exhale slowly 'better' I mutter to myself, looking around. Now I can actually observe this place properly.

Heading toward the pool, I weave between small groups of guests. As I get closer to the water, I notice several men standing around the edges of the courtyard, dressed in black suits.

Their posture is too alert to be guests, they might be security. Their eyes move constantly, scanning the crowd.

I lean slightly against the edge of the pool and glance back toward the house. The building rises three stories high, its windows glowing with the sun. 'Elegant.'

Just as I turn back toward the courtyard, someone crashes into me. Cold liquid splashes across my chest…

“Oh no!” a woman’s voice exclaims.

I look down with a groan. Instantly, the silk absorbs the liquid, the red fabric darkening as it clings to my skin.

“I’m so sorry!” The waitress in front of me looks horrified. “That was completely my fault!”

I sigh, the dress is ruined.

“There’s a room upstairs,” she adds quickly. “You can fix it there.” She gestures toward the house.

I hesitate for a second, I don’t know anyone here. Is she allowed to direct guests upstairs?

Glancing down at my damaged dress again, "Okay," I say reluctantly, with no choice. She leads me inside through the large double doors. The party is ongoing inside as well.

The waitress moves quickly, guiding me to the staircase. We climb to the second floor, then the third. The music from downstairs barely reaches the hallway here, the sound of my heels completely absorbed by the carpet beneath it.

Every door along the hallway is closed. Stopping at the last door, the waitress opens it.

“You can use this room,” she says. “The closed door inside is the bathroom.”

She fidgets briefly. “I’ll make sure your dress gets cleaned.”

“Thank you,” I reply, noticing her nervous movements. She nods quickly and leaves, closing the door behind her.

I stand in silence observing the room. Then my eyes lands on the massive bed at the center. Lying neatly on the bed is a dress. My eyebrows raise. I step closer, studying it.

It’s a burnt orange, long, backless gown that isn't folded, but arranged carefully on the bed. It looks intentional, someone wanted it to be seen.

I consider leaving, but remember my own dress is soaked.

With resignation, I unzip it and slip out of the soiled fabric. Then I pick up the orange gown, the material feels soft beneath my fingers. I step into the dress and pull it up, guiding my arms into the straps as it settles into place. The dress fits perfectly against my body, as if it was made with my measurement. It looks good, really good.

I head for the door. As soon as I step into the hallway, shutting the door, I turn around. That’s when I see him.

The man I spilled drinks on two days ago. He’s standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall.

His gaze runs down the length of the dress, then back to my face. Something unreadable settles in his expression that involuntarily flips my stomach. I move to leave.

He pushes off the wall and strides toward me. My back meets the door before I realize I’ve been moving backward, there’s nowhere else to go.

He stops inches away from me. The memory hits all at once, the glass slipping, the whiskey soaking into his shirt, his man pulling me away from him.

My heartbeat intensifies, but I don't react. I can't always be a nervous wreck whenever am close to this man.

His eyes move slowly across my face. Those same steel gray eyes that reveals nothing but coldness.

“We meet again,” he says.

My brain begins to analyze, the dress, the room together with the timing. All these arent random its definetly planned.

Lifting my chin, “looks like you were expecting me.”

He responds with silence.

Then I feel his hand on my bare back. It starts a trail of caress, moving from my lower back up to the nape of my neck.

“A new guy you’re with tonight?” he asks calmly.

I shudder from the contact. “He’s not my guy.”

The silence stretches, his hands still moving and those gorgeous eyes still locked on mine. “No,” I say after a beat. “We barely know each other.”

His gaze drops to my lips, then returns to my eyes, and my breath hitches.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

He doesn't respond. Suddenly I get goosebumps, it's time for me to leave. I try to move past him.

His hand slides into my hair, holding my head in place and opens his mouth to say something. But instead without permission, he crashes his lips into mine.

My mind goes completely blank from shock yet I can't seem to pull away from him. He runs his tongue between my lips and gives a gentle bite to my lower lip.

I let out a yelp, giving him access, his tongue invades my mouth. As his tongue strokes mine, my fingers curl into his shirt.

That’s all it takes. His other hand grips my waist, anchoring me against him as the kiss deepens into strokes. His tongue presses harder against mine.

My breath breaks as I respond without thinking, everything else disappears into just his mouth.

My arms lift instinctively. But he catches my wrists firmly, pinning them above my head against the door, as his mouth moves against mine.

The angle pulls at my shoulders, pain shoots through me.

I flinch, he stops instantly. His eyes focus on my face “What is it?”

“My arms,” I say quietly. “They hurt from being twisted by your man.”

His grip loosens immediately, releasing my wrists. He doesn’t move. Something dark flashes across his face.

Rushed footsteps sound down the hall, men round the corner.

“Boss,” one of them says. The moment break.

I recognize him instantly. Its the blond haired man who twisted my arms. His blue eyes widen when he sees me.

But the attention of the man in my front doesn’t leave me, not even for them.

“There’s a situation,” The blond adds quickly.

Still, he doesn’t look away. “Take her home,” the gray eyed guy says after some time.

Two men step forward. I glance between them and the man in front of me, unsure if I should go with them.

Finally I let them guide me away. After a few steps, I look back. He’s still standing there, watching.

Without warning, he grips the shoulder of the man beside him forcefully, holding him in place.

The man stiffens. I turn forward again, heart racing.

I came here tonight expecting nothing. Just another job like any other day. But this, this isn’t something you walk away from.