Love in the Shadow of the Mafia

The Rossi estate didn’t just sit on the edge of the city, it loomed. A mansion dressed in white stone and glass, sprawling lawns guarded by black iron gates. Two men in tailored suits checked Adrian’s invitation at the entrance, but they didn’t need to. Everyone knew who he was.Everyone always knew.Ethan stayed a half-step behind him as they walked up the marble steps, his dark suit blending seamlessly with the bodyguards. Only Adrian noticed the subtle way Ethan scanned the crowd, cataloguing exits, watching hands. That protectiveness so quiet, so constant, was something Adrian had come to depend on more than he liked to admit.The air inside smelled of expensive wine and power. Chandeliers spilled light over a sea of politicians, businessmen, and people whose smiles were as sharp as their knives.And then there she was.Cassandra Rossi.She moved through the crowd like a blade sliding through silk; flawless in a black gown that glittered under the lights, dark hair swept into an e

It was a warning as much as it was a promise. Ethan brought over a glass of water for Adrian, his fingers brushing his just briefly enough to make Adrian’s chest tighten. Cassandra’s eyes flicked to the exchange. She didn’t miss anything. When Ethan stepped away, she leaned in just enough for Adrian to catch the faint scent of her perfume—rich, expensive, and faintly poisonous.“You have a very loyal assistant,” she said softly.Adrian’s face didn’t move, but his pulse stumbled. “Ethan is… indispensable.”Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then drifted toward where Ethan stood reviewing a document with one of Adrian’s advisors. “Good. Keep him close. Loyalty is a rare currency in our world.”The rest of the meeting played out like a game of chess—smiles, carefully chosen words, and agreements that were more threats than promises. By the time it ended, Adrian’s head ached. Outside the boardroom, Cassandra slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’ll call you tomorrow. W

The penthouse door was unlocked. That alone made her suspicious. Adrian was meticulous, especially about security.She stepped inside. The place was quiet, the lights dim, but the faint sound of running water carried from down the hall.Her lips curved.A shower.She walked slowly, silent on the marble floor, the phone already in her hand. She expected to hear the laugh of a woman. High heels kicked to the side. A red dress crumpled near the sink.Instead, she froze.Through the partially open bathroom door, the steam curling into the hall, she saw him.Adrian.And Ethan.Adrian’s back was pressed to the glass shower wall, droplets sliding over his shoulders, his head tilted back in something that made Cassandra’s pulse stutter. Ethan was in front of him, hands gripping his hips, his big cock in his mouth moving hungrily, breath sharp and ragged.And it shook Cassandra more than she cared to admitFor three seconds, Cassandra just stared, caught between disbelief and fascination. Then

Cassandra stormed into the Rossi estate, her heels echoing sharply against the marble floor. The house felt unusually tense, voices spilling from her father’s study in clipped tones. She pushed the double doors open without knocking.Don Enzo Rossi sat at the head of the long oak table, his loyal goons circling him like wolves. Papers, maps, and shipment schedules were sprawled across the surface.“…the Valerio gold shipment sails in two weeks,” one of the men said, tapping his finger against a ledger.“And we lace it with cocaine,” Don Enzo replied coldly, his voice carrying the finality of a decree. “Valerio pays the taxes, we reap the profit. Protection is the only thing they need us for.”Cassandra froze mid-step. The room turned to look at her, silence snapping tight.“Out. All of you,” Don Enzo barked, and the men scrambled, leaving Cassandra and her father alone.She arched a brow. “You dismiss them, but not me?”“You,” he said, lighting a cigar, “are too soft for matters like

Don Enzo Rossi leaned back in his leather chair, his presence heavy as stone. A single ring glimmered on his pinky as he tapped the table, the sound sharp as a metronome. His lieutenants sat on either side: Baldassare, broad-shouldered with a scar cutting across his cheek, and Niccolò, lean, sharp-eyed, his fingers perpetually drumming like he was counting invisible coins. Across from them sat Cassandra, poised, a glass of red wine untouched before her.“Let’s not waste the dark,” Enzo began, his gravel voice slicing through the quiet. His eyes narrowed, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “A thousand kilos of snow, pressed and polished so finely it will ride the shine.”Cassandra felt her pulse quicken. She knew this was coming—had studied enough of her father’s habits to predict the move—but hearing the weight, the sheer audacity, still pulled at her ribs.Baldassare grunted. “One thousand? You’re bold, Don.”“Not bold,” Enzo corrected. “Precise.” He tapped the le