My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE

I was already in bed, curled up beneath the covers, ready to call it a night when I heard the door open.

My husband, stepped inside, already unbuttoning his shirt, the muscles along his chest tense, jaw set in that way that told me something had happened again.

"Dante?" I called his name.

He said nothing. Just let the shirt fall to the floor, forgotten.

I looked at him. My heart ached in ways I couldn’t name. He always came to me like this when the weight of his world grew too heavy. And yet, no matter how long I held my gaze on him, no matter how much affection I offered in silence… he never looked back.

He walked to me with purpose, eyes shadowed, and without warning, he grabbed me and slammed me down against the bed.

"Ngh!" I gasped softly, not from fear, but from the force of it.

He flipped me over, pushing my face into the mattress, one hand keeping me pinned there while the other found the clasp of my lingerie. The fabric gave way under his touch, falling partway down my hips without ever being fully removed.

His hand gripped my waist, jerking me onto my knees, my cheek pressed deep into the mattress. I heard his zipper, the quiet drop of his belt. Then he hooked his fingers down to drop his pants, and boxers.

I stayed still. Waiting.

His cock slammed into me, fast, hard, unforgiving.

I cried out, sharp and soft, face pressed into the mattress. The sound wasn’t in pain. Not fully. More like the breath torn from someone dropped too fast.

"Hnng!" I gasped so sharply it felt like a sob.

The force of it knocked a strained sound from my throat, my fingers clawing instinctively at the sheets. He didn’t wait for me to adjust, didn’t give me time to breathe.

His hips slammed into mine again, and again, each movement merciless, paced like a man burning through rage he couldn’t speak aloud.

Everything tightened, my thighs, my breath. The sudden ache stole every coherent thought. My fingers curled into the sheets, the fabric twisting beneath my grip.

He held nothing back. His pace was ruthless, his grip tighter with every second. I could feel the bruises blooming beneath his fingers, feel the bed frame creak beneath the force of his movements.

I felt the edge of the bed bite into my knees, the tension coiling up my spine. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet.

“Take it,” he growled against the back of my neck. “Take all of me.”

He drove deeper, faster. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, the choked rhythm of his breath filled the room. His hand pushed down between my shoulders, pinning me in place, forcing my chest to press into the bed while he kept my hips high.

Then, yanked my head back by the hair, not to look into my eyes, but just to pull, to control, to remind me that I was his to take.

It was brutal. Purposeful.

His only intention was to lose himself inside me, and he did.

"Nnh!" I whimpered once, quiet and broken, more out of instinct than pain. But he didn’t ease up. If anything, he gripped me harder.

His pace turned savage, raw thrusts slamming into my pussy until my thighs trembled and the air in my lungs came in ragged little bursts.

“Please… please, go slow…”

My voice cracked. My cries slipped through the mattress like whispers in fog.

He didn’t listen.

He never does.

If anything, he went harder.

Rough. Wordless. Final.

My dear husband, gripped on my waist tightly, bruising me again. He made a guttural sound as he climaxed.

And when it was over, he pulled out without a sound.

I heard the rustle of fabric behind me. The click of his belt. The crisp snap of each button sliding back into place.

I stayed where he left me, on my knees, face down, breath steady. My lingerie still tangled around my thighs, skin flushed, body trembling faintly from the force of him.

He didn’t even kiss me. Didn’t speak.

Just turned, walked to the door, and left.

The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the bedroom.

I stayed still for a moment, knees sinking into the mattress, his scent clinging to my skin like smoke.

Then, slowly, I sat up.

My legs trembled slightly, my pussy swelling and sore, but I ignored the sting. I pushed my hair back from my face with one hand and turned to face the mirror at the far end of the room.

There I was.

Disheveled. Flushed. My shoulder bore the faint imprint of his grip, my neck bruised by his tight grip, and my lips parted just enough to catch the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Pitiful. Messy. Silent.

And this is me,

Catalina Moretti–Lucchese.

Wife of the most powerful mafia boss in Italy.

A man whose name carries blood and reverence. A legacy built on iron, fire, and fear.

His domains span cities. His enemies multiply faster than I can count. Rivals speak his name behind closed doors, trembling. The ones that don’t… well, they don’t last long.

And I? I’m the woman who shares his bed. Who bears his name.

The obedient wife of Dante Lucchese.

At least... that’s what I made them all think.