CLAIMED BY THE MAFIA KINGS 1st of the Mafia Queen Series

Lyra's POV

"Lyra Carson?"

I hadn't even knocked. The front door of the Weston Mansion swung open the moment I reached the first step, revealing the man himself: Leo Weston. He didn't just look intimidating; he was intimidating. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black suit sharp enough to cut glass, and dark eyes fixed on me like a predator sizing up prey. They were piercing, assessing, as if I'd already failed some silent, invisible test.

So this was him. The man people whispered about in bars and quiet corners. Rumors painted him as ruthless, powerful, and dangerous. The kind of man who controlled things most people couldn't even comprehend. Some said his fortune wasn't exactly clean, though no one could prove it.

but that wasn't any of my business. I wasn't here to dig into his secrets. I was here for the job, Because when your bank account was circling the drain, and you were out of options, survival had a way of drowning out common sense.

"That's me," I managed, my voice sharper than I felt. Keep it together, Lyra.

"Come in." His voice was smooth and commanding, the kind that didn't need to ask twice. He turned and disappeared into the mansion, his steps long and deliberate, leaving me no room to hesitate.

This was a mistake.

I should've turned around the moment I saw the place: a looming, gothic beast of a house that screamed don't go in. But the agency email had been clear: generously paid, live-in required, no questions asked. And with bills piling up and no backup plan, I'd convinced myself this was a good idea. That I could handle anything.

Now, standing in Leo Weston's shadow, the weight of that risk hit me like a freight train.

The foyer swallowed me whole. Cold, impersonal. Marble floors stretched beneath my feet, and the dark wood paneling seemed to drink in all the light. The space felt more like a mausoleum than a home. No family photos. No kids' toys. Not even a stray jacket draped over a chair. My breath fogged faintly in the chill, and the scent of something expensive: cedarwood and leather, filled the air.

"I didn't expect you to be the one interviewing me," I said, quickening my steps to keep up with his long steps. "I thought maybe... a guardian or-"

"Mira's family is me," he interrupted without looking back, his voice sharp enough to slice through my words. "I handle everything concerning her. Personally."

Great. No pressure.

We moved deeper into the house, the heels of his shoes clicking ominously against the floor. The hallway was endless, the kind that seemed to stretch and darken as you walked. My senses prickled; every instinct I had screamed this wasn't just any job. This wasn't just any man.

"She's been through a lot," Leo said, his tone softening ever so slightly. "She doesn't speak much, but she listens. I expect you to be patient with her."

"No problem," I replied, though inside, panic was clawing at my chest. Why would a man like him: someone who probably had a hundred more important things to do,be so involved in hiring a nanny? It didn't add up. There had to be more going on here than I was being told.

At the end of the hallway, we stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. He hesitated, his hand resting on the ornate brass handle. For the first time, I caught something human in his expression: something hesitant, almost vulnerable. It was gone the moment he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Sunlight poured into the room, a shocking contrast to the rest of the mansion. It was bright, warm, and alive in a way the rest of the house wasn't. In the center of it all, surrounded by a sea of books, crayons, and stuffed animals, sat Mira.

She was smaller than I'd expected, her dark hair framing a pale, heart-shaped face. Her big brown eyes locked on me the moment I stepped inside. She didn't look scared, but there was something guarded about her, something far too old for a child her age,like she was sizing me up as much as her uncle had.

I crouched to her level, forcing a smile. "Hi, Mira. I'm Lyra."

Her grip on the edges of the book in her lap tightened, but she didn't move, didn't speak. She just stared at me, her gaze steady, curious, and wary all at once.

I glanced back at Leo, who stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His presence was a weight, pressing down on me, daring me to say or do the wrong thing. His dark eyes flicked between Mira and me, unreadable, but I couldn't shake the feeling he was waiting for something,for me to fail, maybe.

"I love books, too," I offered, turning back to Mira and gesturing to the pile around her. "What's your favorite?"

Mira's eyes darted from me to her uncle, then back again. Still, no answer. She was a fortress, small but impenetrable. I swallowed, my throat dry. I wasn't sure if her silence was normal or if I was already bombing this interview.

"She'll open up to you, in time," Leo said, his voice quieter now. He didn't sound entirely convinced. Neither was I.

I nodded, still crouched awkwardly on the floor. Mira hadn't bolted away from me, so that was... something, right? I could feel Leo's gaze drilling into me, and the air between us was taut with unspoken tension. It wasn't just professional, either. There was something else in the way he watched me: something darker, heavier, and impossibly hard to ignore.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted." His voice dropped lower, almost too low to hear. "You'll be good for her."

I couldn't tell if that was a statement or a challenge, but before I could respond, he disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps fading into the distance. The house felt even bigger, emptier, without him in it. I exhaled a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding and turned back to Mira.

She was still watching me, her little fingers clutching the book like it was a lifeline. The silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant. I wasn't used to this kind of quiet from kids. Usually, they were chatterboxes or whirlwinds of energy. Mira was neither. She was still, observant, and unnervingly perceptive for someone so young.

"So, Mira," I said softly, easing myself down to sit cross-legged beside her. "You like coloring?" I picked up a crayon from the floor, twirling it between my fingers. "I'm not very good, but I think I can manage a flower. Or maybe a dog. If you look at it this way."

I doodled something silly on a scrap piece of paper, exaggerating the lines to make it look like a lopsided dog. Mira's gaze flicked to my drawing, then back to my face. She didn't laugh, didn't even smile, but she didn't look away either. Progress. Maybe.

"You can try, if you want," I said, sliding a blank sheet of paper closer to her. "Or you can tell me what to draw next. I bet you've got better ideas than me."

Still no response. She was a stone wall, impossible to read. But she didn't pull away, didn't reject the crayon I offered. Her small hand hovered near it for a moment before withdrawing.

I didn't push her. I just kept doodling nonsense, filling the silence with the scratch of crayon on paper. I could feel her watching, her curiosity a quiet but palpable thing. If nothing else, she didn't seem scared of me. That was something to hold onto.

And yet, as I sat there with her, a heavy unease settled in my chest. There was something about this whole situation: about Mira, about Leo,that didn't add up. There were too many shadows, too many unspoken truths hanging in the air.

Because really, what was the worst that could happen when your new boss was a possible mafia kingpin?

Right?

Lyra's POV

Mira hadn't spoken a word since yesterday, and it was already driving me crazy. I wasn't new to silence: some kids took time to warm up,but this wasn't the kind of quiet that came from shyness or grief. This was a silence that felt dangerous, like if she opened her mouth, something might break.

I found her in the same spot by the window, knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the rain like it was the only thing keeping her connected to the world. She'd barely moved since this morning. I'd tried getting her to eat something earlier, but she shook her head, her eyes dull, like I didn't even exist.

"Hi mira?" I crouched down next to her, keeping my voice soft. "Do you want to talk?"

Nothing. Not even a glance in my direction.

I let out a breath, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior.

Come on, Lyra. Don't lose it.

This was her space, her pain. I couldn't force her to let me in. But damn it, if she kept this up, we were going to be two ghosts haunting this house, staring out the window and watching the world pass us by.

I sat down beside her, pressing my back against the cold glass. The rain tapped against the window like it was trying to say something neither of us wanted to hear. "It's still raining," I said. "Do you like the rain?"

Silence. Again.

I was really trying, but something about Mira's silence made me feel like I was failing. In all my years of working with kids, I had never met one this shut down. Grieving kids cried, or they screamed, or they lashed out. Mira? She felt like a dying star,burned out, barely holding together.

I leaned my head against the window, staring at the ceiling. Don't push her, Lyra. Don't.

"You want to read a book?" I asked, breaking my own rule. "I saw you looking at them yesterday. Maybe we could read one together?"

Mira stayed frozen, her tiny arms wrapped around her legs. Her small frame looked even smaller against the backdrop of this humongous mansion. I reached for one of the books beside her, flipping through the pages. It was a fairy tale: the kind with talking animals and happily-ever-afters that felt like they belonged in a world far away from this one.

I began reading, my voice hollow but steady. "Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a little fox who said-"

"Foxes don't talk."

Her voice was so faint, so fucking fragile, I almost didn't catch it. My heart kicked in my chest. I looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. She still hadn't moved, still hadn't looked at me, but she'd spoken.

"You're right," I said, my voice softening. "In real life, they don't. But in stories, sometimes they do. That's what makes them... interesting."

Nothing. Her face was still a mask, but I saw a flicker of something cross her eyes, a spark of life behind the walls she'd built.

Okay, good. It was something. I could work with something.

I closed the book and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The silence settled between us again, heavy and tense, like the air just before a storm hits.

"You know," I said after a long pause, trying again, "when I was your age, I used to sit by the window just like you. The rain made me feel... like the world was peaceful. Like I had space to think."

Mira's eyes flickered toward me, the briefest of glances, then back to the window. My chest tightened. I didn't know if I was reaching her, but something told me to keep going.

"What do you think about when you watch the rain?" I asked, my voice low and gentle. "Does it help you think?"

For a long, torturous moment, she didn't say anything. I could feel the mansion itself watching us, judging my every failure to break through.

And then, finally, her tiny voice cracked through the silence.

"Mommy liked the rain."

Her words hit me like a sucker punch. It was the first time she'd mentioned her mother, and fuck, I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready for the raw pain that rippled in those four little words.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah? I bet she did. It's peaceful, isn't it?"

Mira didn't respond, but she didn't retreat either. I watched her fingers, how she clung to the hem of her sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, to tell her it was okay, but I didn't. I knew better. I'd seen this kind of pain before: the kind that sits in your gut and makes you want to disappear. I couldn't fix it for her. All I could do was sit here, be here, and hope that somehow it was enough.

The door creaked behind us, and I knew without turning around that it was Leo. He didn't say anything: he never did when it came to Mira, but I could feel his eyes burning into my back. He was waiting for something, some sign that I was helping, that I wasn't just a fucking waste of space sitting on the floor with his broken niece.

I glanced over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. His face was unreadable, carved from stone, but there was something in his eyes, something sharp and dangerous. He didn't trust me yet. Maybe he never would.

But for now, he nodded and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mira again.

The tension in my shoulders didn't ease until I heard his footsteps fade completely. I turned back to Mira, who hadn't even flinched at the sound of the door. She was still in her bubble, still wrapped up in her own private storm.

"Mommy used to say the rain made the garden grow," she whispered suddenly, so soft I almost missed it.

I blinked, my heart catching in my throat. "Your mommy sounds like she was really smart."

Mira didn't respond. She just kept staring out the window, her little hand pressing against the glass as the rain continued to fall.

Minutes ticked by, but I didn't dare move. I stayed beside her, letting the quiet wash over us. I'd learned something in my years of working with kids: sometimes, silence wasn't about giving up. Sometimes, it was about holding space.

The rain outside blurred the world into muted grays and greens, and for a brief moment, it felt like the whole world had paused. Mira didn't look at me again, but she didn't pull away either.

And as I sat there beside her, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain, I realized something. Breaking through to Mira wasn't going to be a quick battle or an easy win. It wasn't going to be about big moments or dramatic breakthroughs. It was going to be about these small, fragile cracks in her armor: the quiet seconds where she let me glimpse the world she'd been hiding.

I didn't know how long it would take to get through to her, to get her to trust me, to let me in. I didn't know if I'd ever fully get through to her. But I wasn't giving up. Not yet, I'd stay. I'd wait. Not when she'd finally said something, anything.

Maybe the rain would wash something clean between us. Maybe it wouldn't.

But I was here. I was fucking here, and that had to count for something.

Lyra's POV

I hadn't seen Adrian Blackwood in years, and honestly, I'd hoped I never would again. But the moment I walked into the café near the Weston estate and spotted him at the counter: casually ordering coffee like he didn't have the weight of a dozen secrets on his shoulders,my heart nearly stopped.

What the hell is he doing here?

For a moment, my body locked up, panic brushing over me like a cold wind. Every instinct screamed for me to turn around and leave, but I couldn't move. My feet froze in place, and my gaze locked on him as the past crashed over me, impossible to escape. Adrian Blackwood wasn't just someone I could walk away from. He was a shadow that clung to me, a ghost I thought I'd buried deep.

Apparently, ghosts had a way of finding you.

The years hadn't changed him much. He still moved with that graceful danger, dark hair swept back, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Time hadn't worn him down; it had sharpened him, made him more refined. More dangerous. And his eyes,those piercing, icy blue eyes that used to see through every lie, every mask I'd tried to wear, landed on me.

He smiled. That slow, smug grin that had haunted too many of my nights. It still sent a shiver down my spine, but this time, I didn't let it show.

"Lyra Carson," he said, his voice as smooth and lethal as ever. "Now this... this is a surprise."

My stomach twisted. I forced myself to take a breath, straightening my spine even as my heart pounded like a drum. "Blackwood."

His name left my lips like a curse, but it only seemed to amuse him. He stepped closer, the sharp lines of his face catching the soft light filtering through the café windows.

"I wasn't expecting to run into you in a place like this," he said, glancing around the quiet café with an air of disinterest. "A bit... dull, don't you think?"

His tone might've been casual, but I knew better. Adrian didn't do "casual." Every word was deliberate, calculated to get under my skin.

"What are you doing here, Blackwood?" I snapped, cutting to the point. I didn't have time for his games. I had enough on my plate: Mira's silence, Leo Weston's impossible expectations, and now this? I didn't need Adrian stirring up old wounds.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What? A man can't grab a cup of coffee in peace?"

"Not here. Not this close to where I work," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You don't just stumble into places, Blackwood. I know you. What do you want?"

His smile widened, dark and knowing. And that was all the confirmation I needed: this wasn't a coincidence.

"You really do know me well. I've been looking for you, actually," he said, his voice dipping lower. The way he said it, soft and deliberate, sent a chill down my spine.

My breath hitched, but I forced my expression to remain calm. Looking for me? The words echoed in my mind, setting every nerve on edge. "Why would you look for me? and now you've found me. Now leave."

Adrian's eyes glinted with amusement, his smirk deepening. "Come on, Lyra. That's no way to greet an old friend, is it?"

"We were never friends."

He laughed, the sound low and dangerous, curling through the air like smoke. "You know, you used to be better at pretending."

The words hit harder than I expected. Adrian had always known how to twist the knife, how to find the weak spot. But I wasn't that girl anymore, and I wasn't about to let him drag me back into whatever game he was playing.

I crossed my arms, holding my ground. "Whatever it is you think you're doing, whatever you want from me, forget it. I'm done with you. I'm done with your lies and shit."

For a moment, his smile faltered. The mask he wore,the charm, the arrogance slipped just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the real Adrian. The one who played dirty, the one who played me who made people disappear when they became inconvenient.

His voice dropped, low and sharp. "You think you can just walk away from it all, Lyra? From me?"

"I already did," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart raced.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing as they raked over me. There was anger there, but also something else: something possessive, like I was a loose thread he couldn't stand to leave untied.

"You were always too naive," he said, stepping closer. His presence loomed over me, suffocating. "You think working for Weston means you're free? You've just traded one leash for another."

My chest tightened. The way he said it, like he knew, sent panic crawling up my spine. "You don't know anything about me."

He tilted his head, his smile returning: sharp and predatory. "I know more than you think, Lyra. You didn't just walk away from our world. You walked into a whole new mess. And trust me, Weston's leash is a lot tighter than you realize."

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. "Whatever you think you know, keep it to yourself. Stay the hell away from me, Blackwood."

His smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew darker, more infuriating. "Stay away? Sweetheart, you know it's never that simple."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "No matter how far you run, you'll never be free from it. From me."

I wanted to shove him away, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in my throat. Adrian Blackwood had always known how to make me feel cornered, trapped, like I was playing a game I could never win.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin. "You don't get a choice, Lyra."

My body locked up, every instinct screaming to fight back, but I held my ground. I wouldn't let him see my fear.

Adrian stepped back, his smirk as smug as ever. "I'll see you soon," he said, his tone laced with promise. "This isn't over."

I glared at him, my voice shaking as I forced the words out. "It is for me."

He chuckled, shaking his head like I'd just said something ridiculous. "You can tell yourself that all you want, but deep down, you know the truth." His eyes locked onto mine, cold and calculating. "You never really left."

With that, he turned and walked out, the bell above the door jingling as it closed behind him.

The moment he was gone, I exhaled, the tension in my chest finally easing enough to breathe. But my hands were still shaking, my heart still racing as I stared at the door.

Adrian Blackwood was back. After all these years, after everything I'd done to escape, he was here, digging up the memories I'd spent so long trying to bury. And he was right. I hadn't really escaped.

Not when I was still trapped in this world. Not when I was still pretending I could leave it behind.

I pressed my palms against the table, trying to steady myself, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. Adrian didn't just show up for no reason. He wanted something.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

And as much as I wanted to believe I could walk away, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered the truth.

I wasn't free. I never would be.