Mafia Of Her Heart

Chapter 1

Elena's POV The blaring sound of her alarm jolted Elena awake, her heart hammering against her ribs as if she'd been yanked from the depths of a nightmare. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the noise to stop before remembering she had set five different alarms.

Blindly reaching out, she fumbled with her phone on the nightstand, her fingers finally silencing the shrill beeping. A second of peace. Then reality hit. “Sh*t!” Elena shot up, her sleep-deprived body protesting the sudden movement. A dull headache pounded at her temples, a reminder of the stupid choice she had made last night, reading vampire fictions until nearly four in the morning. 'Why?' she berated herself, throwing the blanket off as she stumbled out of bed.

She had gotten off work so late, exhausted and aching, yet somehow, the pull of fictional romance had been stronger than the need for sleep. Now, it was biting her in the *ss. Her apartment was freezing. She shivered as she rushed toward the tiny bathroom, stripping off her oversized T-shirt before stepping into the shower.

The water was lukewarm at best, but she didn’t have time to wait for it to heat up. By the time she stepped out, she was more awake. She hurried to her closet, grabbing the first decent outfit she could find: a pair of black jeans and a plain white blouse. She barely had the energy to put on makeup, so she settled for a few dabs of concealer under her tired eyes and a swipe of lip balm.

Glancing at the clock— 7:25 AM. No, no, no… She yanked her hair into a messy ponytail, snatched her bag, and rushed out of her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. The chill morning air hit her full force as she hurried down the steps of her building. The streets were already bustling, people moving about with purpose, but all Elena could focus on was getting to the bus stop in time.

Her legs ached from exhaustion, but she forced herself to keep going, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. When she reached the bus stop, her breath came out in ragged gasps. Then she saw it; the empty bus stop. Her stomach dropped. 'No, please, not today.' She glanced at her phone, checking the bus schedule. The one she needed was supposed to arrive at 7:30 AM. It was now 7:33. She was late.

A lump formed in her throat. She knew she couldn’t afford an Uber. Her first paycheck wouldn’t come for another two weeks, and every dollar she had left was already allocated to rent, groceries, and barely anything for herself. She shifted on her feet, anxiety clawing at her chest.

A few other commuters stood around, checking their phones or looking down the road. She wanted to ask someone if they knew when the bus was coming, but her throat felt too tight. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag, her vision blurring slightly. She inhaled sharply, blinking away the sting of tears. She was so, so tired. And now, she was going to get yelled at for something completely out of her control.

Finally, at 7:44 AM, the bus rounded the corner. Elena exhaled shakily, stepping forward as it screeched to a halt. She climbed on, swiping her card with trembling hands before finding a seat by the window. The moment she sat down, her body slumped forward, her head nearly hitting the seat in front of her.

The ride felt agonizingly slow. Every stop, every red light, every delay made her nerves fray even more. She checked her phone compulsively. 7:50 AM. 7:55 AM. By the time she finally arrived at the cafe, it was 8:20 AM. She was twenty minutes late. Panic set in as she rushed inside, the bell above the door jingling obnoxiously loud in the quiet morning rush. Customers were already seated, sipping their coffee, reading newspapers, chatting in low voices.

“Elena!” The booming voice of the owner, Mr. Collins, cut through the air. Her stomach twisted violently. She turned toward the counter, where he stood, arms crossed, his thick brows drawn together in anger. "You’re late. Again."

Elena swallowed hard, stepping forward. "I— I know. I’m so sorry. The bus—" "I don’t want to hear excuses," he snapped. "You’re supposed to be here at eight. Not eight-fifteen. Not eight-twenty. Eight sharp!" Heat rushed to her face in embarrassment.

She bit her lip, nodded, and forced out, "I’m sorry. It won’t happen again." Mr. Collins scoffed. "D*mn right, it won’t. Now get to work." She nodded quickly and rushed toward the backroom. As soon as she was out of sight, her breath hitched and her vision blurred again.

A few frustrated tears slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously. She couldn't cry. Not here. Not now. Sucking in a shaky breath, she grabbed her apron from the hook, tying it around her waist with trembling fingers. She blinked a few more times, forcing the tears away, before stepping back out into the cafe. Her voice had to be steady. Her hands had to stop shaking. She had work to do.

•|•

By the time Elena stepped out of the cafe, her entire body ached. Eight grueling hours on her feet, taking orders, balancing trays, dodging impatient customers, and enduring the ever-present scrutiny of Mr. Collins had drained every ounce of energy she had left.

The moment she was outside, she took in a deep breath, as if the cool air alone could cleanse her of the stress that clung to her skin. It didn't. But at least it was a small relief. She glanced at her phone. 4:32 PM. Not much time to dwell on her exhaustion. She had exactly fifty-eight minutes to get to the boutique for her evening shift.

With a determined sigh, she tightened her grip on her bag and hurried to the bus stop. The thought of another bus delay made her stomach churn uncomfortably, but luck seemed to be on her side this time. A bus arrived just as she reached the stop, and she wasted no time climbing in. By the time she arrived at 5:25 PM, a rare sense of pride swelled in her chest. She was early. After the morning disaster at the cafe, this small victory felt significant.

She exhaled, squaring her shoulders before stepping into the boutique. The warm scent of vanilla and expensive perfume filled the air, a stark contrast to the bitter aroma of coffee and grease from her first job. The boutique was beautiful and elegant, with soft instrumental music playing in the background, and racks of designer clothing perfectly arranged under warm white lighting.

“Elena! Right on time,” her boss, Margaret, greeted with a gentle smile. Margaret was everything Mr. Collins wasn't. She was kind, patient, and understanding. She never raised her voice, never made Elena feel like she was one mistake away from losing her job. If anything, she often reminded Elena to take care of herself, offering tea during breaks and telling her not to overwork.

And though Elena knew Margaret wouldn’t have scolded her even if she’d been late, she couldn't bear to disappoint another boss today. “I'm so glad I made it on time,” Elena admitted, unable to hide the small smile tugging at her lips. Margaret chuckled. “I had a feeling you would. Go on, get changed. I'll see you at the front desk.” Elena nodded and quickly disappeared into the backroom, changing into her boutique uniform which was a simple black dress with a name tag pinned to the left side. She smoothed out the fabric, exhaled, and made her way to her station.

As the boutique’s receptionist, her job was straightforward: greet customers, assist with inquiries, handle appointments, and occasionally organize paperwork for Margaret. A much calmer job compared to the madness at the cafe. But just as she was settling in, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new arrival.

A delivery man walked in, holding a large, neatly wrapped package. “Delivery for Margaret Wright,” he said. Elena stood, offering a polite nod. “I’ll take it. Thank you.” The man handed her the package, tipping his cap before exiting. The weight of the box wasn’t too heavy, but it was large enough to require both hands. Turning on her heel, Elena carried the package toward Margaret’s office, carefully nudging the door open with her shoulder.

“Margaret, I’ve got—” Her words stopped mid-sentence the moment she stepped inside. Margaret was seated at her desk, her hands covering her face. Her shoulders shook violently, muffled sobs filling the air. Elena’s breath caught in her throat. Margaret was crying. The sight was jarring. Margaret, who was always composed, always smiling, always radiating an aura of effortless grace, was now breaking down in front of her. Elena didn’t think. She simply reacted. Setting the package down on a nearby chair, she hurried to Margaret’s side, lowering herself slightly to be at eye level.

“Margaret?” Her voice was soft. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. Margaret sniffled, shaking her head. "I— I’m sorry, Elena. You shouldn’t have to see me like this."

Elena frowned. "Don’t apologize. Do you… do you want me to get you some water? Or maybe tea?" Margaret let out a wet, shaky laugh. "Tea won’t fix this, I’m afraid." Seeing her boss like this hurt. Margaret had been one of the few people in Elena’s life who had ever been kind to her without expecting anything in return. And now, she was breaking down in front of her.

Elena couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. Hesitantly, she reached out, placing a comforting hand on Margaret’s back. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

Margaret was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Yes. I think I need to."

Elena nodded back. "Okay. Give me a sec." She quickly excused herself, hurrying out of the office. She found one of her co-workers, Amanda, organizing a rack of handbags near the counter. "Amanda, can you cover the desk for a little while?" Elena asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "Margaret needs me."

Amanda glanced up, immediately noticing the urgency in her tone. "Of course. Is she okay?"

"Not really," Elena admitted. "But I’ll be with her."

Amanda nodded, and with that, Elena hurried back into Margaret’s office. Margaret had somewhat collected herself, but her eyes were still red, her cheeks damp. Elena gently closed the door behind her and took a seat across from her boss. "Okay," she said softly. "Tell me what happened."

Margaret inhaled shakily, wringing her hands together. "It’s my son." Elena blinked in surprise. She knew Margaret had a son, but she didn’t talk about him often.

"What about him?" Elena asked. Margaret let out a bitter laugh. "He just called me. Told me he doesn’t want to see me anymore."

Elena’s stomach twisted. "What? Why?" Margaret’s lips trembled. "Because… he thinks I was a bad mother." The words hung heavy in the air. Elena felt a pang of empathy so strong it almost knocked the breath out of her.

"I don’t understand," Elena said softly. "You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. How could he think that?"

Margaret let out a slow, pained breath. "When he was younger, I was always busy. I was building this boutique from the ground up. I worked long hours, barely spent time with him. His father… well, he left us when my son was five, so I was all he had. And now he says that I was never really there for him. That I cared more about my work than I did about him."

Elena swallowed thickly. She knew all too well what it felt like to crave love and attention from someone who was too busy to give it. But she also knew that Margaret wasn’t a bad person. "Margaret," Elena said gently, "have you told him how much you love him?"

Margaret gave a hollow chuckle. "Every chance I get. But it’s not enough. He’s made up his mind. He doesn’t want me in his life anymore."

Elena’s heart clenched. She didn’t know what to say. How could she possibly fix something this deep and painful? So, she did the only thing she could. She reached across the desk and took Margaret’s trembling hands in hers.

"You’re not alone," Elena said firmly. "I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re not. And I don’t believe your son really means what he said. He’s hurt. Maybe he just needs time."

Margaret stared at her for a long moment. Then, with a shaky sigh, she squeezed Elena’s hands in return. "Thank you," Margaret whispered. "I needed to hear that." Elena smiled at her.

—--------------------------------------------—

The night air was cold as Elena stood at the bus stop, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for her last ride. Her breath fogged in the cold air, her body aching from the long day. She was tired. Margaret’s laughter still rang in her ears.

The older woman had gone from heart-wrenching sobs to snorting with laughter after Elena shared an embarrassing story; one about how she’d once tripped over a mop bucket at the cafe, flailed like a bird, and crashed into a stack of freshly folded linens. It had been humiliating at the time. But tonight, it had been worth it.

By 10:50 PM, Elena was on the bus, her eyelids heavy, barely keeping herself upright as the vehicle rattled through the streets. When she finally reached her apartment, she could already picture herself collapsing into bed, curling under her worn-out blanket, and sleeping for twelve hours straight. But as she stepped closer to her door, a familiar sight made her pause.

The door was unlocked. Elena didn’t panic. There was only one person who could enter her apartment so freely. She pushed the door open. A high-pitched squeal rang out before she could fully step inside.

"El!" A head of dark-brown hair and the smell of a familiar expensive perfume rushed toward her. Before she could react, Flora crashed into her, wrapping her in a hug that nearly knocked the air out of her lungs.

Elena stumbled back, laughing. "Flora, I swear, one of these days you’re gonna break my ribs."

"Well, maybe if you didn’t disappear for two whole weeks, I wouldn’t have to hug you this hard!"

Elena chuckled, finally pulling back to get a proper look at her best friend. Flora was radiant, as always. Her long wavy hair fell over her shoulders, styled to effortless perfection. She wore a silky white blouse and a fitted black pencil skirt.

They had been best friends since childhood, even though their lives had been vastly different. Flora had grown up with wealth and privilege, while Elena had known struggle from the start. Their families had only met because of a twist of fate.

One day, when they were around age 6, Flora had been kidnapped by some dangerous men who sought to extort money from her parents. She had been terrified, trapped in an alleyway with no way out, until Elena’s father came to her rescue.

Elena could still remember that day. She had clung to her father’s hand, watching in awe as he fearlessly confronted the men. He had fought them off and saved Flora, bringing her back to her family unharmed. From that moment, Flora’s parents had been eternally grateful. They had forged a friendship with Elena’s family, and the two girls had been inseparable ever since. But life had not been kind.

When Elena was twenty, both her parents passed away. It was the hardest time of her life. Flora’s family had done everything to support her, covering her college expenses and ensuring she had a place to stay. But when she graduated and couldn’t find a job, she refused to let them do more. She had drawn a line. Flora’s family had already done so much for her.

Elena had insisted on standing on her own two feet, no matter how hard it was. And so, when she finally got a job at the cafe, they had helped her get this small apartment. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was what she would allow them to get her.

"Elena," Flora sighed, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You slimmed down," Flora accused, squinting at her like she had committed a crime.

Elena snorted. "Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear after a sixteen-hour shift."

Flora crossed her arms. "You haven’t been eating properly, have you?"

"I eat," Elena defended. "Mostly."

Flora gasped, horrified. "That’s it. You’re getting fed. Right now."

Before Elena could protest, Flora grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the kitchen. Elena groaned. "Flora, I just worked for hours. I need sleep."

"You need food first." Flora was already rolling up her sleeves, pulling out ingredients like she was about to compete in a cooking show. Elena sighed, but deep down, she was grateful. Flora was an insanely good cook, better than most chefs Elena knew. Despite growing up in wealth, she had spent just as much time in the kitchen as in business classes.

"Are you sure you’re not secretly a five-star chef?" Elena teased as she leaned against the counter.

Flora smirked. "What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents." As the scent of spices filled the air, Elena felt a warmth settle in her chest. No matter how exhausting life got, no matter how many long shifts, bad days, and endless struggles, coming home to Flora’s unannounced visits always made things a little better.

Luca’s POV

Morning arrived with its usual quiet luxury in Luca Romano’s mansion, but he had already been awake long before the sun began its slow ascent.

Luca was not a man who indulged in the luxury of oversleeping. Discipline ran in his veins. In his world, weakness meant death, and complacency was just another word for failure.

The massive bedroom was bathed in golden sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sparkling white marble floors and the minimalist yet expensive decor. A king-sized bed, its dark silk sheets untouched on one side, sat in the center of the room.

Luca stood by the full-length mirror, buttoning up the sleeves of his clean white shirt. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the raw power beneath, while his black slacks fit perfectly, tailored to complement his tall, well-built frame.

His curly jet black hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, keeping