𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 63 : 𝐈 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

Nevena blinked slowly, unable to scrape up an excuse.

Antonio took sagely steps toward her, his eyes pinned to the camera.

“Let me take a look,” he muttered.

She instinctively pulled it behind her back — the only defense she could manage.

But he curved his arm around her and snatched the camera with effortless precision.

He didn’t say a word, just lifting the gadget to examine — but then his phone buzzed.

Without wasting a beat, he picked up the call. When he was done, he returned the camera to her without so much as a glance.

They had their meal, and by evening, they were heading back.

Junior drifted off the second the sea breeze touched him. By the time they reached the city, he was already snoring, completely gone.

Antonio parked the boat and carried him to the car with practiced ease.

Once inside the quiet bubble of his vehicle, he turned to Nevena.

“Let me have your phone.”

She handed it to him without a single protest.

And after a few seconds, his own phone rang — this time he didn’t check it.

“Don’t come to my office from now on,” he said, returning her phone. “If it’s important—call my line.”

She nodded, redialing the new number on her screen.

His glare snapped to her the instant his phone rang out.

“What did I just say?”

“Important,” she answered simply, ending the call. “I wanted to be sure it wasn’t your secretary.”

A small, unwilling smile ghosted across Antonio’s lips as he pulled onto the road.

Throughout the drive, Nevena stole glances at him.

His posture was relaxed—one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, fingers tapping lightly.

The wind ruffled his hair every time it slipped in through the cracked window.

“We’re here,” he mumbled, hitting the brakes.

Nevena jerked back to reality.

Her eyes darted around. It was her house.

“How is this possible?” she raked a hand through her hair. “I never gave you my address.”

Antonio didn’t answer immediately.

He killed the engine first — the hum of the car fading into a thick, charged silence.

Then he finally turned to her.

“This is my city,” he answered, voice low and steady.

She leaned back, studying him like he was a riddle carved out of smoke.

“What are you?”

Antonio’s jaw ticked at her gaze

He looked away, as if prolonged eye contact with her might enchant him entirely.

“You both should head inside. It’s late,” he said, cutting the tension before it swallowed him whole.

He didn’t help with Junior or the bags.

She carried everything alone.

To her surprise, he started the car and drove off immediately, not waiting for her to step away.

The further he drove,

the stronger the pull toward her became.

“Get a grip,” he muttered, shaking his head and pressing harder on the accelerator.

In no time, he steered into his garage.

Even with the engine now off, he kept his hands locked around the steering wheel — the leather suddenly far too thin under his grip.

He should not be thinking about her.

About how her presence dulled the brutality inside him.

Yet his mind replayed her softness, her voice, her motherly warmth — over and over like a cursed loop.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, leaning back. “Grinch must be right after all.” he reasoned.

He owed himself some honesty, but he had rules.

A code — an emotion he’d sworn not to repeat since he committed to being an underboss.

No attachments. No indulgence. No softness. Ever again.

The murmured greetings of his soldiers brushed past him like ghosts as he entered the house.

“Where have you been?” Grinch intercepted, falling into step with him. “The Don is raging over—”

“Shh.”

Antonio scrubbed a hand over his face. “I need to sleep. Don’t nag me — you’re not my wife.”

Grinch blinked, dumbfounded — watching him stagger to his room… weaker than what any physical wound could cause.

—

Meanwhile, Nevena closed the door behind her.

Junior was heavy in her arms, but her mind wasn’t on him.

She tucked him into bed, pulled the blanket over his shoulder—only then did the day crash back into her like a tidal wave.

“What are you?” she whispered, sinking onto the small couch by the window.

He rescheduled her eight times, only to give her his personal number.

And when she told him about her mother’s death, he gave her silence instead of empty sympathy.

She curled deeper into the couch, hugging a pillow—the imprint of his hand on her waist replaying.

It felt far too real to pretend it meant nothing.

And far too dangerous to admit it meant something.

“Get it together,” she murmured, rising slowly, almost in a trance. Her feet carried her to the bathroom.

—

Back in the Hunt's mansion, Antonio stepped out of his own bathroom only to behold two escorts sprawled on his bed—stark naked.

Fair and alluring cunts inviting him to smash.

But he glitched for a moment , disgusted, he never asked for any.

“Who allowed you in?”

“Your manager did,” one of the escorts rasped, voice thick with seduction.

“Motherfucker,” Antonio gritted, using the door.

He collided with Grinch on his way out.

“You’re relieved already?” Grinch demanded, but Antonio only clicked his tongue and pushed past him to the garage.

“You don’t like them?” Grinch pressed, falling in behind him. “Should I contact another agency?”

“Change the bed,” he ordered with finality, sliding into one of his cars.

“Bastard!” Grinch called after him as he drove off fast — like someone running from something.

—-

Nevena was drying her hair when her phone rang twice.

“Unknown number?” she knitted, dumping her towel on the dresser.

She answered the next call— but all she heard was silence.

“Hello?” her voice nimbled again, still nothing.

Just the sound of someone's breath, low and steady.

Then as sudden as it came, the call dropped.

She stood up, pulse thrumming tiredly as she drew the curtains and crawled into bed with Junior.

Pulling him close, she shut her eyes and tried to calm her nerves

It wasn't up to five minutes and a firm knock shattered the silence.

She jerked awake — her feet carrying her to the door before her mind caught up.

She unlocked it, and Antonio was there, hair disheveled — phone glinting dimly. He was on a call.

“Mr Hunt—”

He didn’t wait for her words to complete, He yanked the door fully open and grabbed her, pulling her into him.

His hands sliding into her hair, body pressing forward, breath hot as his lips latched onto hers — hot and urgent