Ares ; A Mafia Romance ||✓

Chapter 7

Callista Miller
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Feeling him move behind me as I faced away, a door creaked open, and I shuffled toward it, watching him disappear into the expansive closet. Sighing, I grabbed my bag and picked up my phone from the bed. It was already six in the evening. My entire afternoon had been wasted, though I couldn’t fault him given his state. He wasn’t in any shape to work on the project, but at the very least, he could have informed me. Despite not having my number, he could have had the maid relay the message when I arrived. There was nothing more to be done now; what had happened, happened. At least he was fine, and the bleeding had stopped. I had come perilously close to exposing my feelings—luckily, he had dropped the subject, sparing me from further embarrassment.

Determined to leave, I slung my bag over my shoulder. He emerged from the closet, now dressed in a black button-down shirt and black denim jeans, looking strikingly handsome. His fresh scent, reminiscent of a recently bloomed flower, took my breath away. My eyes were drawn to his figure as he moved about his black-themed room, a testament to his apparent preference for the color.

Turning towards me, he remarked, “You’re leaving.”

I found myself nodding, though it felt more like a statement than a question. Clearing my throat, I controlled my emotions and said, “Let me know if you’re ready to work on the project next time. I can handle it alone if needed.”

After a few seconds of silence, I looked up in surprise to find him standing directly in front of me, holding his phone and car keys. His voice was dense as he said, “Are you implying I can’t handle it?”

“Of course not,” I quickly replied. “That’s not what I meant. Given your injury and the wasted time today, I thought it best for you to rest.”

My heart raced as I fumbled for the right words, trying not to offend him while making my point. He raised an eyebrow, asserting, “Worrying about and caring for a stranger, especially one you see as a monster, is like jumping into a fire. You’ll either get burned or turn to ashes.”

I frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. He knew I cared and worried about him—was he telling me to stop? But why? Someone else might still care about him, so my concern seemed pointless. I found myself responding, “Even a monster deserves compassion.”

Taking a step closer, he looked into my eyes and said, “It’s foolish to burn for the nefarious.”

“For the right person,” I replied firmly, “it’s worth it.”

I couldn’t believe the confidence I had mustered to speak so freely in front of him, someone everyone feared. What I said came straight from my heart, without a second thought. His intense blue eyes bore into mine, and though he remained expressionless, I could sense the turmoil behind his gaze. After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, “I’m taking you home.”

Blinking, I protested, “It’s okay. I can go by myself. You should rest.”

Even though I would have to take the subway and endure warnings from cab drivers about the danger of DelaVegas, I didn’t mind if it meant he could rest. Ignoring my reluctance, he exited the room, and I hurried to catch up. He turned a corner away from the stairs, leading me to an elevator at the end of the hallway. We both rode down to what I presumed was his garage, indicated by the “G” button on the elevator’s panel.

The doors opened to reveal a lineup of luxurious sports cars and SUVs, each more impressive than the last. I was stunned, mouth agape, taking in the grandeur of his collection. Distracted, I almost missed him getting into a black Porsche. The honk from my left snapped me back to reality. Smiling sheepishly, I approached the Porsche, opening the passenger door carefully to avoid scratching the pristine vehicle. I climbed in, buckled my seatbelt, and felt the car glide smoothly out of the garage, passing through the mansion’s gates.

He didn’t ask for my address, already knowing where I lived. The scene felt like déjà vu, with me looking out the window as he drove, his gaze fixed ahead. The atmosphere in the car was serene, reflecting the orange and red hues of the setting sun. Despite my concern for his injury, the tranquility of the evening sky enveloped me in calm.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed him glancing at me occasionally. I smiled, and he, as if responding to my uplifted mood, drove faster.

When we arrived at my home, I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed my bag, and was about to exit when he stopped me. “Here,” he said, holding out his phone.

Confused, I looked at the phone and then at him. Noticing my hesitation, he said, “Your phone number.”

“Oh,” I replied, feeling embarrassed. I added my number to his phone and handed it back, my fingers brushing against his cold ones. A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt a jolt of electricity that he must have felt too, as he withdrew his hand and turned his attention back to the road. I took the hint and stepped out of the car.

I closed the door softly behind me and watched as he drove away, disappearing into the distance.

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