Her Dog Escaped Into The Mafia Boss’s Penthouse — She Had to Join His Family Lunch to Get Him Back

Chapter 8

“It means the man who targeted you yesterday has not lost interest,” he said calmly, handing her her leggings. “You can stay here as long as you need. You will be safe behind these doors.”

“I can’t live in your guest room, Matteo. I have a job. I have a life. I have a dog who needs to go outside.”

“Otis is being walked by Dario. He’s fine.”

“I want to go home,” she insisted, stepping into her leggings, feeling the frantic need to reclaim boundaries that had dissolved overnight. “I appreciate the protection. But I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not part of your world. I’m just a freelance artist who lives in 9C.”

He watched her struggle with her shoes, expression unreadable. “You can go back to 9C,” he said finally. “But I’m offering to move you somewhere quieter. More secure. Uptown.”

“No,” Lena said firmly, standing and facing him, feeling small in her socks against his height but locking her knees to stop them shaking. “I am not running away. I’ve spent my whole life running from things that scared me. I’m not letting some invisible thug chase me out of my own apartment.”

Something flickered through his dark eyes — respect, unmistakable. “Very well. But understand this. If you stay across the hall, you stay visible. I cannot pull my men back now — if I withdraw security, it signals weakness. There will be eyes on you. Always.”

“I don’t care,” she lied. He stepped aside. As she brushed past him, he caught her arm, gentle but firm.

“Lena.” She stopped, not looking at him. “Last night,” he murmured, voice dropping into that register that made her stomach turn over. “Do not call it a mistake. Call it what you like — fear, adrenaline, curiosity. But do not lie to yourself.”

She pulled her arm free and fled across the hall, back into her own apartment, where Otis waited on his bed, looking well-fed and traitorously happy.