Loving the Ruthless Mafia Man

Prologue (Part 3)

Prologue (Part 3)

Lia

My heartbeat quickened as the steps grew closer to me.

This was a stupid idea.

I should have run back with Maeve. I should have tried to get back to the party, but the thought of Maeve in the clutches of Darragh… that didn’t sit well with me.

It didn’t help that my mouth tended to work faster than my brain in these situations.

I took a deep breath and turned around to face the men.

I couldn’t recognize either of them. The one who had spoken to me was tall and built like a tank. He was covered in tattoos from head to toes and a long bread. The other man was shorter, not as muscular, and bald, but had a gun in his hand.

“Damn,” the shorter one whistled, “She is a fine piece of ass. Think Darragh will share her?”

Bile rose in my throat as my stomach churned as he smiled at me, revealing a row of missing teeth.

“Shut up Jack. Darragh will rip you apart if he finds out what you said.” The tall one growled.

Jack looked me up and down and it took everything in me too not shiver out of disgust at the look he was giving me. “Fine then, let’s get on with it. I don’t want to be tempted to long.”

Jack was disgusting. I wanted to kill him. If that gun had been in my hands, he would have been dead by now.

The tall one stepped forward and studied me. “You’re coming with us. As long as you don’t resist, you won’t be harmed. Understood?”

I nodded. I knew the drill. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I had been kidnapped, this wasn’t even the second.

“Good. Now let’s go.” He said while gesturing towards Jack, who had now raised his gun and was waving it as a warning.

I narrowed my eyes at it as Jack the slimeball spoke again. “I bet you haven’t ever held a gun, right? Pretty little princess been sheltered, am I right?”

I wasn’t Maeve.

It took me all of three seconds to decide.

As the distance between me and Jack closed- his gun waving in the air - I took a single, deliberate step forward. He didn’t flinch.

That was his mistake.

In one sharp motion, I slammed my elbow backward into the stomach of the man behind me. He let out a grunt, doubling over just enough. Without hesitation, I snapped my knee upward into Jack’s groin. He let out a strangled cry, his body folding as he instinctively reached down.

That was all the opening I needed.

I wrenched the gun from his hand.

And before I could second-guess myself, I pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, and Jack collapsed, screaming, clutching his leg as blood began to soak through his jeans.

“f**k! Holy f**k! She shot me!” he howled. “Art—she shot me, man! You b***h! I’m going to kill you!”

But I wasn’t looking at him anymore.

I felt the cold press of steel against the nape of my neck.

And just like that, the adrenaline froze in my veins.

“I was under the impression that the Kavanagh princess was a docile little bird,” the man—Art—whispered into my ear, his voice low, almost amused. The cold press of the gun didn’t waver. “Caged. Protected. But you… you’ve got a set of skills no one bothered to mention. Drop the gun princess.”

His breath was warm against my skin, a twisted contrast to the ice-cold barrel at my neck.

And he sounded impressed.

Too impressed.

Bile rose in my throat as he pressed himself against my back. I let the gun drop to the ground.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay still. I couldn’t show this man my fear, that was what he wanted from me.

All I would allow myself to feel was the rage simmering beneath my skin.

I had failed again.

Though I’d gotten Maeve away from these men, guilt gnawed at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what my uncle would have to do to get me back. What he would have to give these disgusting men, to get back parts of me.

“Jack isn’t wrong,” Art sneered. “You are a fine piece of ass.”

Art pressed his groin harder into me back.

I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted blood, while I willed myself not to shiver in disgust at the bulge in my back. I didn’t want this man getting any other ideas.

“What Darragh doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Art murmured, his voice slick with something that made my skin crawl. “You’ve got some fire in you. I like that. Might just take a little sample…” He trailed off.

“Man, stop f*****g around and help me!” Jack shouted from the ground, still writhing, clutching his bleeding leg.

Art snapped his head toward him, muttering a curse under his breath as he finally pulled away from me. The absence of his weight did nothing to ease the tension coiled in my spine.

“Get the f**k up, you i***t,” Art barked, shoving me forward. “We need to move before someone notices the Kavanagh princess is missing.”

My blood turned cold.

This wasn’t going to end well for me.

Especially when they realized they didn’t have the Kavanagh princess at all—just the girl foolish enough to take his place.

Jack groaned and staggered to his feet, limping ahead of us with the gun I’d dropped clutched tightly in his hand again, blood dripping down his leg, fury in his eyes.

The sharp snap of a gunshot shattered the air.

Jack didn’t even have time to scream—just a choked grunt as his body jerked, then collapsed in a heap on the concrete, blood spreading fast beneath him.

My breath caught.

Aiden.

It felt like he came from the shadows, appearing out of the dark. He was all dark fury and lethal glare.

His pistol was raised, steady, his eyes locked on Art like he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment. His gaze didn’t flicker—not even once—to me.

He wasn’t here for me. He was here for the men that thought they could take his sister.

I was the collateral, the maker of my own demise.

Art reacted fast, too fast. He yanked me back, wrapping one arm around my throat while jamming the barrel of his gun against my temple.

“Take another step, and I’ll blow her f*****g head off,” he snarled, dragging me with him as he backed toward the warehouse exit.

I didn’t dare move.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I could feel the tremor in Art’s grip, the sweat on his palm, the panic rising in his chest. He didn’t have a lot of time, but he thought he had Maeve Kavanagh. Art didn’t know how wrong he was, I wasn’t Maeve or anyone of importance to the man in front of us.

Aiden didn’t move either. His eyes darkened, jaw clenched so tight I thought he might snap a tooth. “Let her go,” he growled, low and feral. “Now.”

“f**k you, Kavanagh,” Art spat. “You’re not gonna risk her life just to get to me.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Aiden replied, voice like ice.

“This is on you. You should have agreed to Darragh’s terms when you had the chance. You can kill me, but Darragh is still coming for her.” Art laughed.

Aiden ignored Art’s words, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he would care if I died. Would he attend my funeral?

I could feel the gun push harder against my temple.

Then I saw Aiden nod his head. Was he telling Art he could go ahead and shoot me? I wasn’t Maeve, so I guess it didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.

Then, another gunshot cracked through the silence.

Art’s body jolted. His grip slipped.

I turned to see my uncle Seamus, his face unreadable, the barrel of his gun still aimed at Art’s back.

Art stumbled, yelling in pain, and his hold on me broke.

I dropped.

Hit the ground hard.

The world tilted, spinning as I scrambled away on shaky limbs, gasping as I turned back in time to see Aiden charge.

He slammed into Art like a force of nature, tackling him to the floor with enough power to shake the room. The gun skittered across the ground. Fists flew, each hit savage and merciless. Aiden’s rage was unrelenting—he didn’t speak, didn’t threaten, just hit him over and over with enough fury to kill.

But Art was slippery. Even bleeding, he fought back, catching Aiden with a knee to the ribs that made him grunt and stumble.

In that brief second of hesitation, Art slipped free. He rolled across the ground, grabbed something from his belt—smoke or flash, I couldn’t tell—and threw it down. A blinding burst exploded in the air. I coughed, blinking against the haze, trying to see through the chaos.

When the smoke cleared… he was gone.

Gone.

Aiden stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched and bloodied. His eyes flicked to me, finally—finally—and something in his expression shattered.

I didn’t know whether it was relief or guilt.

I just knew I was safe.

And Aiden Kavanagh had come for me.

Then the world went dark.