I don't know what time it is when I finally wake, but I do know I'm alone.

Yawning, I roll over, feeling a dull ache from every inch of my body. For a moment, I think the painkillers could have made me dream last night, but the smell of Milo is too evident on the other side of the bed for that to be true.

I inhale the faded scent deeply and groan into the pillow, mortified by my behaviour. I practically threw myself at him. I was a damsel in distress. I'm never a damsel in distress. How am I meant to face him now?

What am I supposed to say? Hey Milo, thanks for having a sleepover with me last night because I was too scared to be on my own?

I cover my face with my hands as I groan. I am so screwed.

Trying to rid myself of the embarrassment I feel, I sit up gently and check the time. It's just after nine and I hear a handful of voices coming from downstairs.

I have no idea who could be here, but I do know I look like shit, and there's nothing in this room to help me hide it except my designer dress that's too tight and formal to be appropriate for whatever's going on.

Fantastic.

Having no other options, I change back into it, wincing as I do so. The pain is excruciating, so I take more pills on an empty stomach, something I will most definitely regret later. I splash water on my face.

Is there any way I could get out of here without actually having to see anyone?

Unfortunately not, so I swallow my pride and head cautiously for the stairs.

Seated around the dining table are four men. I recognise one as Emilio from the other day. The other three are older and unfamiliar to me. They're terrifying; monsters disguised as men. Violence surrounds them all like a shield and their voices are hushed, urgent.

Milo stands at the head of the table. He leans against it with his hands pressed flat on either side of a document he's reading. The gesture causes his massive arms to flex even more than usual, a million different lines of muscle on display beneath his tattoos thanks to the white t-shirt he's wearing.

It glues to his torso in ways that should be illegal.

My stomach backflips all over again. I look away before he notices me. I have no idea how to act around him now.

Swallowing, I lock eyes with Amelia, who's standing in the kitchen. She gestures to the pot of coffee she's holding with cautious eyes, sensing my unease.

I nod gratefully, too scared to make a peep. She seems just as unsure as I do when I step towards her. Something's up.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, examining me as she hands me a fresh cup.

She looks as put together as she did yesterday, her incredible body on full display in the tight singlet and leggings she's wearing. She must work out two hours every single day to look the way she does, I'm sure of it.

"I'm good, thank you," I reassure her, noticing her smirk. She clearly doesn't believe me.

"You don't complain much, do you?" she asks.

I offer the best smile I can pull together, sipping the burning hot coffee eagerly.

I'm well aware Milo has noticed my presence, because my body has returned to the usual million-degree temperature it always does whenever he looks at me.

I refuse to take my eyes off Amelia. If I do, I'm certain I'll blush. My body won't be able to control itself.

"Is everything okay?" I ask quietly, too nervous to look back at the table.

Amelia lets out a soft sigh, her brows creasing enough to tell me my hunch is right. Something is wrong.

"Everything's fine. We'll be done soon, and then someone will drive you home," she says, clearly lying. But I don't blame her. She has no reason to trust me. I'm an outsider to her; to all of them.

"Everything doesn't seem fine," I admit in a whisper, gesturing over my shoulder to the brooding men at the table. Amelia holds my stare. It's becoming apparent I'm going to be a pain in the ass trying to figure out what's going on. "What happened with the apartment yesterday?"

"The deal was successful. I sent the paperwork through to the real seller last night," Amelia caves, shedding some light on the situation. "The contract you put together was perfect. Now we're trying to figure out how Dante found out about the property. Only a handful of us knew." She pauses, running her gaze over me. "Including you."

"And you assume I'm the one who told him?" I state the obvious.

"Yes," she says. "But Milo doesn't agree."

She swallows her coffee, staring into my soul like a human lie detector as I process her words.

Small steps. He's trying to trust me, even when the people surrounding him don't. My heart flutters in my chest at the thought.

I would bother trying to defend myself, but judging by the look on Amelia's face, nothing I say will be good enough. Her trust will have to be earnt.

"Happy's outside on the porch. Feel free to wait out there with him," she says.

Reading between the lines, I can tell this is her way of asking me to get away from whatever's going on in here, so I nod.

"Thanks," I murmur softly. Happy is most definitely where I'd feel most comfortable right now. I've caused enough trouble for one day.

I grip my coffee tightly and turn on my heels. I walk towards the front door, right past the dining table, doing my best to seem composed and confident.

When the four men look at me, they assess me with stares that burn right through my soul, weakening my knees.  If looks could kill, I'd be dead.

The air is so thick with tension it makes the short walk to the front door feel like forever.

In a quiet yet assertive tone, Milo says something under his breath without taking his eyes off the paperwork in front of him. I don't know what he says, but all four men immediately look down at the table, allowing me the opportunity to run out of the door.

I don't dare look back as I step into the morning air.

"Good morning." Happy smirks from where he's lounging on the porch, swinging in the sun, also holding a coffee. He pats the spot next to him. His normality is a welcome distraction.

He's wearing denim jeans and a grey hoodie, his dark hair tousled across his face like it always is. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was just any other regular 18-year-old. But I do know better. This 18-year-old has probably seen things I can't bring myself to imagine.

"Sleep well?" he asks casually. I realise I've been too lost in my own head to remember to say anything.

He wriggles his eyebrows, grinning wider when I glare at him.

"How do you know?" I ask, too tired to bother lying.

He scoffs when I sit down beside him. "Let's call it a hunch." 

I screw my nose, swallowing my coffee and refusing to look at Happy's boyish expression.

"It's very serious in there," I murmur, glancing towards the window, desperate to change the subject.

Milo's arms are now folded across his chest, a scowl etched in his features. This only makes him look more terrifying, if possible. I dread thinking about what kind of person he must be to command the men in front of him so easily. They seem to hang off his every word.

As if sensing my gaze, I watch as his head turns towards where Happy and I are seated.

Quickly, I look forward and pray my cheeks aren't giving me away.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you about anything," Happy admits, sighing reluctantly at my pleading expression. "We might be going to war. That's how it seems to me at least. They haven't told me much yet." 

"War?" My heart thumps louder. "What war?"

Happy swallows more of his coffee before he answers. "Dante Bianchi is high up the food chain in the Russian crime syndicate."

I listen to Happy intently, deciding to keep my knowledge of Dante being their uncle a secret.

"I can't tell you the details of what happened with Dante, but trouble's been brewing for a while..." Happy trails off. He's phrasing all his words carefully, like he's treading on glass.

"Then Dante went after you last night and now—" Happy lets out a shallow breath. "Now Milo's latest decision will be the icing on the cake."

"What decision?" I sit up, turning to him when he shakes his head. He's said too much, I can see it in his expression.

"I can't tell you that, Adele."

"Does this decision have anything to do with me?" I push, my voice no louder than a whisper.

Happy doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I can see it in his expression when he swallows the rest of his coffee, refusing to look me in the eye.

"Is it bad?"

"Depends how you look at it I guess." Happy offers me nothing and I can see he isn't going to crack easily. "But you're safe, don't worry."

Don't worry? I can barely breathe. My lungs have stopped working.

"You alright?" Happy asks, watching me with knowing eyes, sensing my panic.

"No, I'm not alright," I wheeze, astounded by his composure. "How are you so calm right now? You just told me you might be going to war and you're out here drinking coffee with me like it's an ordinary day."

Happy bites back a small smile. "Being calm and level-headed is the only tool I have that they don't." He gestures to the beastly men at the table inside. "Freaking out won't get me anywhere."

I try to take on his advice, steadying my breathing before glancing back at the table. "Are they all as bad as they look?"

"Worse," Happy answers without hesitating. "The worst kind of people you can possibly imagine."

For once, there is a seriousness in his voice, and that terrifies me. I sink lower in my seat with a stiff nod, no longer in the mood for small talk.

Sensing this, Happy doesn't say anything else. He just sits beside me and rocks the swing we're seated on gently with his foot. I'm grateful for his company. I think I would be hyperventilating if he weren't here with me.

The idea that there could be blood shed because of a situation involving me makes a horrible sickness grow from deep within the pit of my stomach.

Last night I fell right into Milo's arms, and I felt safe doing so. It makes no sense. He's a mafia Don, a mobster, the devil bad men fear. He rules a dark, twisted world with no mercy, and I was craving him with more desperation than I've ever felt before.

And I can't deny that feeling is still there.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What was I thinking? What the hell am I still doing here? Why haven't I run away and disappeared?

"Adele," says a low voice. His voice.

I force my eyes open. Milo stands only a few feet away on the porch, his posture rigid and his gaze heated, focused on me.  "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Mustering my courage, I offer a small nod and stand, walking wearily towards him and away from Happy.

Milo gestures for me to follow, walking down the porch steps to the side of Amelia's house. As I walk behind him, my eyes lock on all the security cameras mounted to the 8ft high fence surrounding the boundary.

Nervousness creeps over me as I stand before Milo, doing my best to seem unbothered by everything going on.

His eyes roam over me, assessing my injuries with a clenched jaw. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," I admit, focusing on the ink covering his right arm rather than the intensity of his gaze. The tattoos disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt, their intricate design captivating me for only a second before I'm pulled back to reality.

"How are you?" I offer, shifting my weight from left to right.

Milo is rattled, that much is obvious to me. He hides it well, but there's an unsettledness to his demeanour that I'm not used to seeing.

"I have to go back to Italy this morning," he says, by way of explanation. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, maybe a week, but I want you to know that you're safe."

He pauses, and my breath catches in my throat when he steps towards me, gazing downwards.

"I have another piece of land I need you to get. Amelia will email you the information. All of the information," he clarifies. "No more being left in the dark on deals."

His words send a buzz through me. "What are you going back for?" I ask.

I don't mention the information Amelia and Happy told me, the last thing I want to do is throw them under the bus.

Milo releases an uneven breath. His shoulders, rigid with tension strain beneath the fitting t-shirt he's wearing. If I weren't so worried about what's going on, I don't think I'd be able to concentrate any longer.

"Small steps," I offer, retracting my earlier question. "You don't need to tell me. Thank you for giving me more information on the deal this time round. I'll make sure it's sorted."

I can't expect him to unravel his entire world to me in less than twenty-four hours. Especially when the people around him think I'm some kind of rat.

Milo nods with an expression I can't read. "I meant what I said about your safety. I'm leaving Matteo in charge of your security team here. There's no one I trust more." He gives me a pointed look. "Do me a favour and listen to him while I'm gone."

"Security team? Is that really necessary?" I ask. Sure, one or two might people be a good idea given what happened, but an entire team? "Aren't your resources better used elsewhere?"

Perhaps in a war.

My heart skips a beat at the thought, but Milo shakes his head.

"I have plenty of resources. I won't be able to focus if I'm worried about you," he says the words so casually, unaware of the effect they have on me.

My internal body temperature climbs as one of his men rounds the corner, examining us both with a hard expression.

"Sorry to interrupt," he apologises to Milo without looking at me again. "Plane is ready, boss."

"Thank you, Gio," Milo's voice changes when he answers, filled with an authority that makes me stand taller. In a beat he returns to the confident leader I'm used to seeing.

Gio doesn't move as Milo takes a step away from me. The tension in the air is thick and prominent. It sends a chill straight down my spine and drills fear into my bones.

"See you soon," I offer in my most professional tone, feeling the full force of Gio's stare on me.

Milo gazes at me with a gentle nod but promises nothing as he turns and leaves with the burly man at his side.

That's not what I wanted. I wanted him to agree, to confirm he would see me soon. That everything is okay. But it isn't.

My mind races. I find myself replaying the few pieces of information I now have.

Dante's is Milo's uncle, and the man who betrayed Milo's family and got his father killed. Somehow, Dante must've fled to America and got caught up with a Russian crime syndicate. Why he wanted Jordan killed, I'm not sure. And I can't even begin to unravel how Milo's older brother fits into everything.

All I know for sure is that they're on the brink of war, and I'm involved in it.

I have a handful of parts of a one-thousand-piece puzzle.

A puzzle getting more complicated by the second.