The Alpha's Mafia Luna novel Chapter 47

The house gym was tucked into the east wing of the estate, sleek and

expansive with floor–to–ceiling windows that flooded the space with

natural light.

I tugged the hem of my loose tank top lower as I pushed through the

double doors, inhaling the faint scent of leather and clean sweat.

Maybe it was ridiculous, but after the strange conversation with Mira

and the heavy feeling that lingered afterward, I needed to move.

Burn the restless energy out of my muscles before I started spiraling

again.

The gym was almost empty – almost.

At the far end, near the free weights, Damian stood like a living

sculpture, lifting a barbell with slow, punishing precision.

My breath caught without permission.

He was shirtless – of course he was

–

sweat glistening along the hard

planes of his chest and stomach. Muscles flexed and bunched under

golden skin with every movement, his tattoos stretching and shifting

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across his arms and back like living art.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

Or maybe he had, and he just didn’t care.

I hovered near the entrance for a second longer than necessary,

debating whether I should sneak back out and pretend I never came.

But before I could turn, Damian looked up.

Those dark eyes locked onto mine – sharp, assessing – and

something hot and immediate flared in the space between us.

He set the barbell down with a soft clang and straightened, grabbing a

towel from a nearby bench to wipe his face and neck.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little rough from exertion.

I swallowed. “Hey.”

Smooth, Selene. Real smooth.

“You here to train?” he asked, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

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I nodded, crossing my arms to keep from fidgeting. “Yeah. Needed

to…clear my head.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You picked the right

place. Come on.”

Before I could second–guess myself, I walked further into the gym, my

sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floors.

Damian led me toward the mats near the center, casually picking up a

pair of gloves and tossing them my way.

I caught them clumsily.

“Put those on,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep,

commanding register that made my stomach flip.

“We’re doing hand–to–hand today.”

“You’re not going easy on me, are you?” I teased, sliding the gloves

1. on.

He chuckled – a low, dangerous sound. “Princess, I don’t know how to

go easy.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way my heart kicked against my

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ribs.

We circled each other on the mat, Damian’s movements loose and

confident, mine a little more cautious. He let me throw the first

punch light, testing — and deflected it easily.

—

–

“Again,” he said, nodding.

I stepped forward, throwing a tighter jab.

He caught my wrist this time, twisting slightly until I stumbled

toward him.

And suddenly, we were close.

Too close.

The heat of his bare chest brushed my tank top, and I froze, caught

between instinct and something far more dangerous.

I tilted my head back to meet his gaze

—

and that was a mistake.

Because his eyes weren’t cold and distant now.

They were dark, burning, focused entirely on me.

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Neither of us moved.

Neither of us breathed.

His hand still wrapped around my wrist, his thumb brushing absently

against the inside of it right over the mark left by the Queen.

–

My skin tingled where he touched me, the rest of the world falling

away into silence.

–

I saw the moment it happened the decision flickering across his

face.

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me every opportunity to pull

away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

My heart thundered against my ribs, my lips parting slightly in

anticipation.

He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin,

smell the clean sweat and soap lingering on him.

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Just a breath away.

A heartbeat.

I tilted my chin up without thinking — inviting, daring — and

—

–

Damian’s hand slid from my wrist to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing

the corner of my mouth.

God, if he kissed me, I would never survive it.

His mouth was just about to touch mine when

–

Bzzzt.

Bzzzt.

Bzzzt.

The harsh buzz of a cellphone shattered the moment like glass.

Damian cursed under his breath, pulling back just enough to glance

at the source of the noise.

His other phone – not the regular one, the special one he always kept

clipped to his gym shorts

–

was flashing insistently.

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He hesitated, visibly torn, before releasing me entirely.

“Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

I stepped back quickly, hiding my disappointment behind a neutral

expression.

“Go,” I said, my voice a little too steady. “It might be important.”

He looked at me for a long moment

–

like he wanted to say

something – but in the end, he just grabbed the phone and answered

with a sharp, “What?”

I turned away, tugging the gloves off my hands and pretending to

focus on a punching bag nearby.

Behind me, Damian spoke in low, clipped tones, all business.