Blue; The Mafia's Angel

Chapter Four: Plan

Blue POV

Days had passed since I’d seen Leo Greg. That night he’d swept out of the mansion for some shady deal. I’d fallen into a routine—cleaning, eating with the servants, dodging Madam Bam’s sharp glares. The bruise from Dad’s fist was nearly gone, but his words still cut: “You’re useless, Blue.” I wasn’t useless. I was surviving, keeping my head low in this fortress of a mansion, where guards patrolled and maids like Rosa whispered about the master. I still figured Leo was just another boss like Vincent, probably cold and cruel despite his young face.

That first day in the inner chamber, his gray eyes and smirk had burned into me, but I hadn’t seen him since, and I tried not to think about it. Tried.

That morning, I sat in the staff dining room, the air thick with coffee and quiet fear. Rosa was across from me, her hands steadier now, but her eyes flicked to the guards by the door.

“Master’s back today,” she muttered. “Be careful.”

“Thanks,” I said, swallowing dry toast. My ribs still twinged from Dad’s belt, a reminder to stay sharp. Leo being back did not change my job: clean the inner chamber, don’t screw up. I pictured him barking orders, like Vincent, not… doing what I’d seen him do with that girl.

My face warmed, and I shoved the thought down. Madam Bam met me at seven, her gray bun tight as always.

“Inner chamber,” she said, her voice clipped. You know the rules. "Don’t touch the master’s things.”

“Got it,” I said, trailing her to the lion-carved doors. She swiped her card, and I grabbed my bucket and clothes, expecting the room to be empty, like every other day.

Madam Bam didn’t come in, just nodded and left. I pushed the doors open, the hinges silent, and stepped inside. The inner chamber was dim, the silky sheets on the bed catching faint morning light. I set my bucket down, ready to scrub, when a soft scratch stopped me cold.

My heart lurched. I turned, and there he was—Leo Greg, at a small table in the corner, his back to me. He was sketching, pencil flying over a pad, carving out a jagged city skyline with sharp, precise lines.

His dark hair fell onto his face, and his shoulders were taut, like he was pouring himself into it.

I froze. Nobody had said he’d be here. Nobody had said he sketched. It felt like a secret, something private I’d stumbled into.

I took a quiet step back, hoping to slip out, but the floor creaked under my sneakers. Leo’s head snapped up, and in a heartbeat, he was on me. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed my arm, and slammed me against the wall, his body so close I could barely breathe. My bucket crashed to the floor, water soaking my shoes. His gray eyes locked onto mine, cold as ice, hard as steel.

“You saw nothing,” he growled, his voice low and deadly.

“You tell anyone about this, and you’re done. Understand?

”I nodded, my throat tight, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

His lips were inches from mine, full, sharp, and dangerous, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I imagined them crashing into me, rough and relentless, biting my skin, claiming me in a way that was all hunger and heat. I pictured him pinning me harder, his mouth devouring mine, teeth grazing my neck, pulling me into a raw, primal dance I’d never escape. His breath was hot on my cheek, his grip bruising my arm, and my body burned, a wild ache pulsing low and deep. I wanted those lips to ruin me, to drag me under until I forgot my name, forgot this mansion, forgot everything but him. It was wrong, so wrong, but the thought consumed me, raw and filthy, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“Do you understand?” he snapped, his voice cutting through, sharper now.

“Y-yes,” I stammered, my face on fire. I won’t say anything. I swear.” He held me there, his eyes searching mine, like he was weighing my soul. His scent—sandalwood and smoke—wrapped around me, and I fought the urge to lean closer, to chase that heat.

Then he let go, stepping back fast, his face a blank mask. He grabbed the sketchpad, shoved it into a drawer, and stormed out, the doors slamming behind him.I stood against the wall, my breath ragged, my arm still tingling where he’d touched me. The room felt too big, too quiet. I shouldn’t have been thinking about those things—his lips, his hands, the way he could break me and I’d let him. He was a mafia boss, probably worse than Dad, dangerous in ways I couldn’t imagine. But that moment had set me on fire, and I couldn’t put it out.

I grabbed my clothes and scrubbed the floor, but my mind kept replaying it, dirty and unstoppable.

The day dragged on, Madam Bam barking orders, Rosa warning me about the guards. I worked through it, my thoughts tangled in Leo. By night, I had bigger plans. I had to meet someone, someone I couldn’t tell a soul about. It was risky, but I had no choice. The mansion was a cage, and I needed out, even for a few hours.

After dinner, I waited until the servants’ quarters went silent, the clocks hitting eleven. I slipped on my dark jacket, tucked my hair under a cap, and crept down the hall. The mansion was still, but guards roamed outside, their radios crackling. I’d memorized their routes, timed the gaps. The kitchen’s side door was my shot—no cameras, one lock I could pick with a pin. My hands shook as I worked the lock, the click loud in the dark. I eased the door open, cold air hitting my face, and stepped into the courtyard.

The gate was fifty yards off, past the guard post. I crouched low, darting between shadows, my sneakers silent on the gravel. My heart pounded, but I was close. One last sprint, and I’d be out. I reached the gate’s shadow, my fingers grazing the latch, when a flashlight beam cut the dark, inches from my feet.

“Who’s there?” a guard barked, his radio hissing. Footsteps crunched closer, and I froze, my breath trapped in my chest.