CRAVED BY MY EX'S MAFIA FATHER

Three

I walked out of Ricardo Moretti’s office with my pulse thundering in my ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. My heels clicked sharply against the marble, echoing louder than they should in the grand hallway. Maybe it was just me, maybe it was my mind replaying his voice over and over again.

“She’s mine.”

I didn’t know which part rattled me more, whether it was arrogance, certainty, or the fact that for a terrifying heartbeat, something inside me reacted to it. Like a chord strummed against my ribs, sharp and unwanted.

“Miss Torres.”

A deep voice stopped me again before I could reach the front doors. A wall of muscle disguised as a man stepped into my path, one of Ricardo’s bodyguards. He was tall, clean-cut, and his sharp eyes made it clear he wasn’t simply muscle. His presence radiated control.

“I said the interview is over.” My voice came out colder than I felt.

He didn’t flinch. “Mr. Moretti doesn’t like guests walking out without—”

“She can go.” Ricardo’s command rolled across the space, deep and absolute. The kind of voice you didn’t argue with. Even his men didn’t dare.

The bodyguard moved back immediately, as if the air itself had shifted.

I stared at Ricardo in disbelief. He was standing at the top of the staircase, perfectly at ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark tailored trousers. Watching me.

Almost amused.

My confusion only burned hotter. Men like him didn’t let people walk away. Everyone in the city knew that once Ricardo Moretti wanted you in his orbit, escape wasn’t an option. So why me? Why now?

He tilted his head, studying me like he was peeling back layers. “Go, Nina. If that’s what you really want.”

There was something cruel about the way he said it, like he knew damn well walking away wouldn’t silence the storm he’d lit inside me.

I left. I had to. My dignity depended on it.

The city lights blurred past as my cab sped away from Moretti’s estate, but my mind refused to leave with them. I could still feel his eyes on me. I could still hear the way he told his men to let me go, as if he owned both them and me.

I should’ve felt free. Instead, I felt cornered.

Because beneath all my anger, there was a part of me whispering one dangerous truth I wanted to know why.

Why did he claim me?

Why did he let me go?

And why the hell his presence felt more real than anything in my life for years.

Immediately I got home, I threw my recorder and notes on the table, pacing like a caged animal. The blinking red light stared back at me, reminding me the interview was incomplete. My editor would s*******r me for walking out.

But how was I supposed to sit across from Ricardo Moretti, knowing what I knew now?

He was Adrian’s father.

Adrian, my ex, the man I once thought I’d loved. The man who broke me with his lies and left me with nothing but scars and questions. I remembered the photo in his dorm room years ago, the one he brushed off as “my dad, always traveling for business.” Business. Right. He hadn’t mentioned that “business” meant being the most feared man in the city.

And now that same man had looked at me like I belonged to him.

I pressed a shaking hand against my temple. No. I couldn’t do this. I needed distance. I needed to bury this entire mess before it swallowed me.

Except my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I almost didn’t answer. Almost.

“Nina.” His voice slid through the line, deep and dangerous, and I froze.

“Mr. Moretti?”

“Ricardo,” he corrected smoothly. “If you’re going to talk to me, use my name.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “How did you get my number?”

A low chuckle. “There’s very little I don’t have access to.”

Of course he did.

“What do you want?” My voice cracked, but I forced it steady.

“You walked out before your questions were answered,” he said, as though I had simply inconvenienced him.

“Come back tomorrow.”

“I’m not coming back.”

“Yes, you will.” His certainty set my teeth on edge.

“You’re not the kind of woman who leaves a story unfinished. And you’re not the kind of woman who can ignore me.”

I almost hung up. Almost. But I didn’t. Because the truth was, he was right because my boss would definitely need a storyline soon.

And that terrified me.

The next day, I didn’t plan to go. I swore I wouldn’t. I even turned my phone off to stop myself from seeing any calls from numbers I didn’t recognize.

But as I sat in my office, staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, all I could see was him. The danger, the power, the impossible pull. My editor wanted a profile on the untouchable mafia king, and here he was, practically daring me to step into his world.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. But so was hunger.

So when my phone buzzed again but this time with a simple message: Three o’clock. You know the address.

I hated myself for it. But at two forty-five, I was back in a cab heading to his estate not like I had a choice

My career is waiting on the line

Ricardo was waiting.

This time he didn’t meet me in his office. Instead, I was ushered into a private dining room. The table was already set with crystal glasses, silver cutlery, the kind of elegance that felt at odds with the violent legacy attached to his name.

He rose when I entered, his suit perfectly cut, his presence filling the room before a word left his mouth.

“Nina,” he said, like my name was something he tasted.

“This isn’t an interview,” I muttered.

“No,” he agreed, his lips curving faintly. “This is dinner.”

I blinked. “I didn’t come here to—”

“You came here because you couldn’t stay away.”

My breath caught. Damn him. Damn his certainty.

“You think you know me?” I snapped.

“I know enough.” His gaze locked with mine, dark and unflinching. “I know you’re the kind of woman who wants truth more than safety. Fire more than comfort. And I know…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky promise. “…that walking away from me felt like cutting out a part of yourself.”

My chair scraped against the floor as I stood abruptly.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us. Then his smile shifted. Colder. Sharper.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly. “I know everything.”

I froze, pulse skipping. What was he talking about?