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?