Ruth Lee (TAMING THE MAFIA PRINCESS )

Years may have passed, but Gabrielleno, Ruth Lee nowhadn't lost that captivating appeal. In fact, she looked much more strikingly beautiful than ever, and in this disheveled state, a raw quality was added to it. Frank Xia backed up a step, catching the slight jerk of her nose. Ah, some habits died hard. Irritation flashed across her face, but she never lost her poise, even in moments of turmoil.

Where's Peter?" Frank's voice cut through the heavy silence. His words hung sharp and deliberate in the air. He had expected Peter Lee--Ruth's father--to be the one barging through his doors, not her. Yet here she was, standing alone, vulnerable. That could only mean one thing.

"I woke up, and they were gone." Flat words, yet the shake in her voice betrayed how hard she was striving for composure. Her eyes seemed to focus somewhere else; her tone, bleak.

Frank nodded grimly. It had happened. Peter and Luke were concerned about exactly this. Faster than expected, their enemies had moved.

"Peter, you owe me big time," he thought to himself as a bitter smile crept into his lips. Babysitting wasn't his thing, and definitely not some kind of Ruth-pampered, sheltered, and thrown into the lion's den.

She was a further migraine to his growing headache. She had run from Seoul with nothing but a tote bag, mismatched shoes, and a shirt that barely passed as decent. The sight of her, so unprepared and fragile, unsettled him.

"Miguel, show her to a room. She needs to clean up. We'll talk at dinner." His tone left no room for argument. Ruth opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but clamped it shut when she caught his steely gaze.

Frank's phone buzzed, a welcome distraction. He picked it up and walked away, leaving Ruth to follow Miguel.

A dozen questions swirled in Ruth's mind, but exhaustion won over curiosity. Miguel led her to a guest room, and she let herself sink into the unfamiliar comfort. A quick shower washed away the grime of her escape, but it couldn't cleanse the dread clinging to her heart.

She slipped into an oversized shirt left on the bed. It smelled fresh, like it had just been unpacked. She guessed it belonged to Frank. Feminine touches were nonexistent in the house. Clothes didn't matter right now, though. What did was the gnawing fear for her father and brother. Were they safe? Alive?

The memory of the pained look on her father's face and Peter's stern warning danced before her now-tear-threatening eyes. Biting her lip forced the tears backward. She couldn't let go now. For the dinner service, an attractive dining room with all elegance awaited; Ruth barely noticed the lavish feast in front of her. Frank sat across the table, oozing disdain, his cutting eyes scrutinizing her every movement and gesture.

"Eat," he said, his voice low rumble.

"Huh?" she blinked, realizing she had been staring blankly at her plate.

"Your food will get cold."

Ruth picked up her fork and forced herself to eat, though each bite felt like chewing rubber. Frank waited until she had taken a few bites before speaking again.

"Tell me what happened this morning." His tone was calm, almost disinterested, but Ruth sensed the urgency beneath it.

She recounted the events in excruciating detail. Her voice shook; the horror of waking up and finding her family gone, bloodstains everywhere, and silence-a deafening eerie silence-threatened to spill over. She swallowed tears. Frank was unreadable during her telling.

When she had finished, he leaned back into his chair and narrowed his eyes as he considered his thoughts. "Do you know where they are?"

"No," she whispered. "Do you?"

"Not yet. But I will find them." His voice was strong, his delivery steady. There was no vow; there was only fact.

"Can't you at least tell me what's going on?" desperation started to seep into her tone.

Frank leaned in, his eyes locking into hers. "You don't know?

Ruth shook her head. "They never told me anything. And now they're gone. You're the only person I can turn to."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All you need to know is that your father and brother are alive, and you're safe with me."

Before she could press further, his phone buzzed again. He answered it with a curt grunt, speaking in rapid Mandarin. Ruth caught snippets of the conversation but couldn't piece it together.

When he ended the call, his expression had darkened. "We're leaving now. Do exactly as I say."

"What?" Ruth's voice rose in disbelief. "You can't just-"

"Now!" he barked, cutting her off.

The retort died in Ruth's throat as a deafening crack shattered the air. The window she had admired now exploded, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. In an instant, Frank pulled her down, and bullets ripped through the dining room.

Her heart pounded against her chest as gunfire drowned out panicked thoughts. Frank was sheltering her with his body, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear.

"Stay down. Don't move."

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, and her ears rang from the noise. Frank's grip on her was firm but protective, his presence the only thing keeping her grounded.

When the gunfire paused, he pulled her to her feet. "Close your eyes. Think of something happy. Just trust me."

She followed Ruth's instructions to the letter, squeezing her eyes shut as he led her from the room. Her legs had turned to jelly, but the steadiness of Frank's hand in hers saw her through the chaos outside.

They entered the hallway and he slammed the door shut behind them. Ruth leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath. Questions raced her mind, but fear kept her silent.

"Did you come here alone?" Frank's voice came low, dangerous.

Yes," she stammered. "I took an Uber.

"Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was? That driver could have been one of them."

"But he wasn't," Ruth protested weakly. "He was nice."

"Nice doesn't mean safe," Frank snapped. "You're lucky you're still alive."

Ruth bristled at his tone. "Excuse me for not being a seasoned fugitive like you.

Frank's eyes flashed in anger, but before he had time to speak, another gunshot echoed through the house. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway.

"We need to move. Now."

"Where are we going?" Ruth asked, jogging to keep up with his quick pace.

"Someplace safe," he answered shortly.

They burst through a side door into the cool night air. Frank's car was parked not too far away, and he wasted no time ushering her inside. As he slid into the driver's seat, the sound of approaching footsteps made Ruth's heart leap.

"Frank!" she whispered urgently. "Someone's coming."

He turned the key in the ignition; the engine roared to life. "Hold on."

The car took off-the tires screeching as they tore down the driveway.