Mafia Lord's Mute Sweetheart

Chapter 26: Chapter 26 Where is Mateo?

Annie groaned and dropped her head onto the table, her forehead thunking against the wood. "I cannot deal with you right now."

Rhys watched her for a moment, his expression soft. Then he reached out and patted her head like she was a small child throwing a tantrum, his fingers gentle in her dark curls.

"There, there."

Annie’s voice was muffled against the table. "Touch me again and I will bite your hand."

Rhys pulled his hand back, his eyes wide with mock fear. "You would not."

Annie lifted her head, her eyes red, her cheeks flushed. "Try me."

Rhys held up both hands in surrender.

Annie looked at him. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. She had cried too much over Daisy in the past three years. She was tired of crying, tired of feeling helpless, tired of watching her best friend fade away while she stood on the sidelines.

"We need a plan," she said, her voice firm now.

Rhys leaned back in his seat. His bluishgray eyes studied her face, serious now, the playfulness gone. "A plan?"

"To help her!! To get her away from him!! To make him pay!!"

Rhys was quiet for a moment. He picked up his coffee cup, took a slow sip, and set it back down. "What did you have in mind?"

Annie’s jaw tightened. "I do not know yet, but I will think of something."

Rhys nodded slowly. "You always do."

Annie lifted her chin. "That is why I am the brains of this operation."

Rhys tilted his head. "And what am I?"

Annie’s lips curved into a small, sharp smile:"The brawn. Obviously."

Rhys rolled his eyes.

❀┈┈┈┈❀

The mansion sat alone at the edge of the forest, hidden from the world by a wall of tall trees. The road to reach it was long and winding, covered in shadows even during the day. Behind the house, a great mountain rose against the sky, its peak lost in the clouds.

The mansion itself was dark and grand. Its walls were made of gray stone, cold to the touch, rough in some places and smooth in others. The windows were tall and narrow, like eyes that never closed, reflecting the trees and the sky and nothing else. The roof was steep, covered in dark tiles that glistened when it rained and steamed when the sun came out.

A garden surrounded the house, wellkept and full of flowers. Roses grew in thick bushes, deep red and purple, their petals soft as silk, their thorns sharp as needles. Palm trees lined the stone path that led to the front door, their leaves rustling in the wind like whispers between old friends. Small white flowers grew along the edges of the path, scattered like stars fallen to earth.

Inside, the house was modern and beautiful but in a way that felt cold. The floors were polished wood, dark and shiny, reflecting the light from above.

The walls were painted in soft gray and cream, smooth and clean, without a single mark. Paintings hung in golden frames, scenes of oceans and storms and skies that went on forever but none of them showed people. Just empty places. Just nature without a soul.

The furniture was simple and elegant, made of leather and dark wood. Everything had its place. Nothing was out of order. A vase of white flowers sat on a table in the hallway, fresh and perfect but no one ever stopped to smell them.

Guards stood everywhere. Outside, they walked along the walls and stood by the gates. Inside, they filled the hallways and staircases silently. They stood at every door, every corner, every window. Their faces were expressionless and sharp. They carried guns and dangerous weapons.

The dining room was at the end of a long hallway, behind heavy wooden doors that creaked when you pushed them open. The room was large, bigger than most apartments, with ceilings so high you had to tilt your head back to see the top.

A long table ran down the center, made of dark wood polished until it shone like water at night. Around the table were high-backed chairs, their seats covered in deep red velvet, soft to touch but stiff to sit in.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its arms spread wide like a tree made of light. A soft golden glow fell from it, touching the plates, the glasses, the silverware, making everything gleam.

But the light never reached the faces of the people sitting below. It stayed above them, distant and cold like a sun that had forgotten how to warm.

Heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking out the night, blocking out the stars, blocking out the world. A fireplace sat against the far wall, dark and empty.

At the head of the table sat Alessio Ricci. His dark green eyes stayed on his plate. His face was icy and expressionless. He cut his food, chewed, swallowed. His jaw was tight. His shoulders were stiff. Every movement was exact, controlled, like a machine that had been built for one purpose and one purpose only. He had not spoken in a long time.

Beside him sat Rafael. He was filling Eva’s plate, pushing food toward her, making sure she ate enough. His hand moved gently, carefully, as if she might break, as if she were made of glass.

"Eat," Rafael said softly. "You barely touched your dinner last night. Or the night before."

Eva looked at her plate. The food sat there untouched, growing cold. "I am not hungry," she whispered. Her voice was small like a child’s.

Rafael’s brow furrowed. "You need to eat, Eva. You cannot live on air."

"I cannot."

Rafael sighed, a long, slow breath. "Try. For me. Please."

Eva picked up her fork. Her hand trembled slightly. She took a tiny bite. Chewed. Swallowed. It felt like swallowing stones.

Rafael watched her, his dark eyes soft with worry. "Good girl. Another bite."

Eva shook her head, "I cannot."

"Just one more. A small one. The smallest bite in the world."

She took another bite, smaller than the first. Her throat worked hard to swallow it down.

Rafael smiled. It was a tired smile. Eva had a food disorder, and when Alessio sat with them, she was even more nervous to eat. "Thank you."

Eva looked down at her plate. She did not speak.

At the head of the table, Alessio set down his fork. The sound was small, but in the silence it was loud and sharp, like a stone dropped into still water. Rafael looked up. Eva flinched, her shoulders drawing together.

"Where is Mateo?" Alessio asked. His voice was flat and empty. But beneath it there was something else: annoyance and worry.