The Older Mafia Boss Had Given Up on Dating—Then His Curvy Friend Secretly Set Him Up With Her
Chapter 9
Elena noticed the man first.
He entered the bakery every afternoon.
He never ordered anything.
He sat near the window and watched.
On the fourth day, Elena approached him.
“Can I help you?”
The man smiled.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He stood.
“Tell Marcus to meet Vincent.”
Elena’s face hardened.
“I’m not delivering messages.”
The man leaned closer.
“You should.”
He left.
Elena immediately called Marcus.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
“What happened?”
She told him.
Marcus listened.
Then he asked:
“What did he look like?”
She described him.
Marcus recognized him.
“That’s one of Vincent’s men.”
“What does Vincent want?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m changing.”
Elena frowned.
“Changing what?”
Marcus looked toward the street.
“My business.”
He explained that he planned to shut down several criminal operations.
Vincent would lose money.
Other people would lose influence.
Some might lose everything.
Elena understood.
“So you’re trying to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Can you?”
Marcus smiled bitterly.
“People like me don’t simply walk away.”
“Then start.”
He looked at her.
“I am.”
That night, Marcus confronted Adrian.
The conversation took place in his private office.
“You’ve been leaking information.”
Adrian denied it.
Marcus placed a file on the desk.
“We tracked the messages.”
Adrian stared at the papers.
“You believe them?”
“I believe evidence.”
Adrian laughed.
“You’ve changed.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
“Maybe.”
“You used to understand how this world worked.”
“I still do.”
“No. You found a woman and decided you want to become respectable.”
Marcus stood.
“Careful.”
Adrian shook his head.
“That’s exactly what Vincent wants.”
“What?”
“For you to weaken yourself.”
Marcus stared.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Elena isn’t the problem.”
Marcus waited.
“You’re the problem.”
Before Marcus could answer, the lights went out.
A gunshot shattered the window.
Adrian fell.
Marcus dropped behind the desk.
When the emergency lights came on, Adrian was bleeding.
But alive.
On the wall behind him, someone had written one sentence.
SHE WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
