Dark Romance | Mafia

Chapter Twenty-nine

Stella’s POV:

It was ten in the morning.

The day had already settled into a quiet rhythm, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft, golden streams, carrying the promise of warmth.

No alarms. No voices. Just soft light slipping through sheer curtains, brushing against my closed eyelids like a cautious hand. For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Then the scent hit me.

Leather. Wood polish. Something faintly masculine.

I opened my eyes.

The room was large and unfamiliar----cream walls, dark furniture, a chandelier hanging above like a silent witness. The bed beneath me was too soft, too luxurious, something I had never imagined for myself.
I sat up slowly, the silk sheets sliding against my skin.

Last night came rushing back.
AK. The mansion.
Mr. Romano.

My chest tightened as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet, grounding me. I stood there for a moment, steadying myself, before walking toward the window.

Outside, the estate stretched endlessly----gardens trimmed to perfection, fountains murmuring softly, guards stationed near the gates like shadows that breathed.

This wasn’t a house.
It was a palace.

A soft knock sounded at the door.
I flinched.

"Come in," I said after a second.

The door opened to reveal a woman in her early forties, dressed neatly in black and white. Her expression was calm, unreadable.

"Good morning, Miss Stella," she said gently. "I'm Sofia."

I nodded awkwardly.
"Good morning."

"Mr. Romano asked that you be comfortable," she continued, gesturing toward a chair where clothes had been laid out. "Breakfast will be served when you're ready."

I nodded again. I was never treated like that.

"Is Mr. Romano up?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Sofia smiled faintly.
"He's been awake since dawn."

That didn't surprise me.

She left me alone, and I changed slowly, my fingers brushing over fabric that felt too expensive to touch. When I finally stepped into the hallway, the mansion felt different in daylight----more beautiful as usual, yet no less powerful.

Sunlight flooded the corridors, revealing every polished surface, every careful detail. Everything here was controlled. Planned.
Just like him.

The dining room was quiet when I entered. A long table. Fresh flowers. Plates already set.

And at the head....
Mr. Romano.

He looked different. No tuxedo. No shadows to soften him.
He wore a simple dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair neatly combed back. A few strands rested on his forehead----effortless, dangerous.

His gaze lifted the moment I stepped in.

"Good morning," he said.

My heart betrayed me by skipping.

"Morning," I replied. "Sorry I couldn’t wake up to prepare breakfast."

"You'll no longer make breakfast."

"So you're firing me?"

"Nah. This home is yours too. You don't need to work here."

"I can't live here like this, doing nothing."