Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 39

Davina's POV:

The weight of Ezra’s unexpected confession clung to me like a second skin throughout my final set. His low, almost guttural words – I don't want them touching you – replayed in my mind, a confusing mix of possessiveness and something that felt dangerously close to… care? It was a stark contrast to the cold, controlling Don I knew, and it left a tremor of unease and a strange, unsettling anticipation fluttering in my stomach.

As the last notes of the music faded and the scattered applause died down, I gathered my meager earnings, the small stack of bills feeling insignificant against the looming shadow of my father’s debt. Back at his penthouse that night, I took a shower, removing all that smell of smoke and sweat of my body. The envelope with the money I made today, still laying on my nightstand, waiting to be handed over to Ezra.

The walk to Ezra’s private study felt different tonight, each step carrying a nervous energy I hadn't experienced before. The sterile silence of the hallway seemed to amplify the frantic beat of my own heart.

He was there, as always, standing by the expansive window overlooking the glittering nightscape. The city lights painted stark streaks across his sharp, sculpted profile, highlighting the rigid set of his jaw. The atmosphere in the room was thick with an unspoken tension, a palpable awkwardness that hadn’t been present before his startlingly vulnerable admission earlier that day. He didn’t turn as I entered, his gaze fixed on the distant panorama, seemingly lost in thought.

"Here," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, placing the thin envelope containing my earnings on the polished surface of his desk. My hand lingered for a fleeting moment, the proximity to him sending a strange, unfamiliar warmth prickling beneath my skin.

He finally turned, his dark eyes meeting mine. The usual cool detachment was still a prominent fixture in his gaze, but I thought, perhaps hoped, I detected a fleeting shadow of the vulnerability he’d briefly allowed to surface earlier, a flicker of something softer beneath the hardened exterior.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low, the usual curtness softened by a subtle huskiness that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

A sudden, impulsive need to acknowledge the subtle shift in their precarious dynamic, however small and potentially imagined, prompted me to speak. "Ezra," I began, my voice hesitant, the word feeling foreign and intimate on my tongue. "About the other night… with Ivan. Thank you. For… for what you did." My gaze flickered down to the expensive rug beneath my feet, suddenly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny.

He nodded curtly, his gaze dropping to the envelope on his desk, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "He won't bother you again." His tone brooked no further discussion, effectively closing that particular door.

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