Twin Flames: A mafia romance

Emily’s POV

“Ghost, you have a call on line two!”

I sighed behind my desk, looking out over the muggy weather outside my office window overlooking Manhattan.

I picked up my office phone and put it on speaker.

Hello, this is Ghost? How can I be of service?

Miss Cross, I hope you do remember who I am?

I gripped the edge of my desk, remembering Alejandro De Rege, the Don of Manhattan, the Crime lord of the underworld.

I know who you are, Don De Rege. How can I help you?

Miss Cross, can you meet me this afternoon at, say, 2 pm? It concerns my son Diavolo (devil)

I froze at the mention of Vincenzo’s nickname. It had been years since I’d heard anyone call him Diavolo—the name he’d earned in the neighbourhood growing up, long before I’d left for the Navy.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden racing of my pulse.

“That remains to be seen,” Alejandro replied, his voice carrying that same controlled power that his son had inherited. “I believe there are matters you and I should discuss regarding my son and his... situation.”

His situation. The arranged marriage that had torn us apart. The wife who was now sleeping with my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. The twisted web that had somehow entangled all of us.

“I’ll be there,” I said, already mentally cancelling my afternoon appointments. “Where should I meet you?”

“The Songbird. Use the private entrance on the east side. My men will be expecting you.”

The call disconnected before I could respond. I placed the receiver down slowly, staring at the phone as though it might offer some explanation for what had just happened.

“Everything okay, boss?” Mia, my assistant, appeared in the doorway, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Clear my schedule for this afternoon,” I said, already pulling up the Songbird’s location on my phone. “Something’s come up.”

I gathered the file I’d compiled on Angelina and Andrew’s affair, slipping it into my secure messenger bag. Whatever Alejandro wanted to discuss about his son, I had a feeling my evidence might become relevant. The De Rege family valued loyalty above all else—and Angelina’s betrayal would not be taken lightly.

As I prepared to leave, I checked my sidearm and slipped it into my concealed holster. Old habits from my SEAL days died hard, and meeting with the head of New York’s most powerful crime family wasn’t something I took lightly, regardless of my history with his son.

My history with Vincenzo... seventeen years of longing condensed into a file of betrayal that might finally bring us face-to-face again.

I stepped out of the subway train and headed up the stairs leading me towards Songbird, where I know everything is going to happen, and when it does, I pray to all that is holy not to bite me in the ass.

The humid summer air hit my face as I emerged onto the bustling street. Sweat already beaded at my hairline, and I adjusted my messenger bag, feeling the weight of the evidence inside it like a brick. The file that could change everything—that could bring Vincenzo back into my life after all these years.

I checked my watch: 1:40 PM. Plenty of time to reach Songbird, but not enough to calm my racing thoughts.

The exclusive nightclub stood like a fortress among the renovated warehouses of the Meatpacking District—elegant and imposing in equal measure. I circled to the east side as instructed, spotting the unmarked door immediately. My training kicked in automatically as I scanned the area, identifying the security cameras positioned at strategic points and the two men standing casually nearby, their suit jackets tailored to conceal their weapons.

One of them straightened as I approached, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Miss Cross?”

I nodded once, my hand instinctively hovering near my concealed holster.

“This way, please.”

The man pressed his palm against a hidden scanner beside the door, and it opened with a soft click. He led me through a narrow hallway illuminated by recessed lighting, past what appeared to be a service area, and into a private elevator. The doors closed silently, and we ascended without a word.

When the elevator stopped, the doors opened to reveal a luxurious private lounge that overlooked the main club below. The space was empty except for one person—Alejandro De Rege, seated in a leather armchair, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.

He looked older than when I’d last seen him, gray now prominent at his temples, but no less formidable. The Don of Manhattan, father to the man I’d never stopped loving.

“Miss Cross,” he said, rising to his feet with the fluid grace of a man half his age. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Don De Rege,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “It seemed important.”

He gestured to the chair across from his. “Please, sit. Would you care for a drink?”

“No, thank you.” I took the offered seat but remained perched on the edge, alert and ready. “You wanted to discuss Vincenzo.”

A hint of approval crossed his face at my directness. “Yes. It seems we have a mutual... concern regarding my son’s marriage.”

I unzipped my messenger bag and removed the file.

I handed everything over to Don De Rege, along with the dark secrets Angelina has been harbouring, with the help of Ares, my IT guy back at Crossroads.

“I have tucked away a few USB drives within the folder as well,” I calmly say, watching the man who is not only dangerous but also a good father.

“How long has this been happening?”

“A year with my Ex, Andrew, and the other information, two years,” I said, keeping my hands clasped on my lap, watching the man who not only tore us apart, but tried to do what was best for his children.

Don De Rege nodded, humming as he looked over the file I handed him.

“Tell me, Miss Cross, why bring me this?”

I slowly took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions out of my voice.“Because it was the right thing to do,” I replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “And because I believe you should know who you’re dealing with.”

The truth was more complicated. I could have sent this anonymously, could have mailed it to Vincenzo directly, could have done a dozen things that wouldn’t have put me in a room with the father of the man whose absence had left a void in my life for seventeen years. But something deeper had driven me here—perhaps the same instinct that had kept me alive during my time with the SEALs.

Don De Rege studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “The right thing,” he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You always were principled, even as a teenager. My son spoke of that often.”

My heart stuttered at the casual mention of Vincenzo talking about me, but I kept my face neutral. “Did he?”

“More than you know.” He closed the file and set it aside, leaning forward. “What do you want from this, Emily? Revenge against your boyfriend? Against Angelina?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected automatically. “And no. I don’t want revenge. I just want...” I paused, realizing I hadn’t thoroughly examined my own motivations until this moment. “I want the truth to be told and less bloodshed on the streets, even if Vincenzo and I never see each other ever again. I will not lie to you, Don. I still love him. I still love the same man who had not only become my first true friend, but my only true love. I never stopped loving even after seventeen years apart.”

I watched Don De Rege’s expression after my declaration, knowing lying to him was never on the table.

“You still love my son?”

I looked the don in the eyes when I heard a ruckus outside.

I stood up abruptly and drew my gun from its holster and stood between the door and Don De Rege.

“What is the meaning of this!” Don De Rege calmly ordered.

“Don, we are ambushed.”

I cursed, feeling hot rage, now understanding.“Rossi men,” I stated quickly, recognizing the distinct tattoos on one of the men through the security feed on my phone. The feud between the families was escalating faster than I’d anticipated.

The door burst open, and gunfire erupted. I shoved Don De Rege behind the heavy oak desk as bullets splintered the wood around us. My SEAL training kicked in instantly – assess, act, eliminate.

Three men entered the room, weapons drawn. I fired twice, catching the first intruder in the shoulder and knee. He went down hard, his gun skittering across the polished floor. The second man dove for cover behind the bar.

“Stay down,” I ordered Don De Rege, who had already drawn his own weapon.

The third attacker fired wildly, forcing me to duck behind a leather armchair that offered minimal protection. I could hear shouting from downstairs – more of De Rege’s men coming, but they wouldn’t arrive in time.

I counted the shots – the third man had emptied his clip. In the split-second pause as he reached to reload, I rolled from behind the chair and fired twice. Center mass. He collapsed.

The second man rose from behind the bar, aiming directly at Don De Rege. I lunged forward without thinking, my body moving on pure instinct. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the confined space.

White-hot pain exploded in my chest. I heard Don De Rege return fire as I fell to my knees, my gun suddenly too heavy to hold. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth.

“Emily!” Don De Rege’s voice sounded distant as he knelt beside me, pressing his hand against the wound. “Stay with me. The doctor is coming.”

My vision blurred as I tried to focus on his face. “Vincenzo,” I whispered, the name escaping my lips involuntarily as darkness began to close in.

“He’s coming,” I heard Don De Rege say as consciousness slipped away. “My son is coming.”

The last thought that crossed my mind before everything went black was that after seventeen years, I might die before seeing Vincenzo’s face one more time.