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Chapter 19
publish date:
2026-07-26 08:46:00
Latest chapter
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 27
Chris’s POVThe first thing I feel when I wake up is warm. The second thing I feel is safe. The third thing I feel is guilty for feeling the first two, because apparently my brain can't let me have nice things without serving a side dish of self-loathing with it.I blink at Aubrey's ceiling — still blue, still aggressively calm, still covered in those tiny glow-in-the-dark stars that she probably thinks are quirky but I think are surveillance devices planted by aliens who want to study human sleep patterns. Two days. I've been here two days, eating her food, wearing her clothes, crying on her shoulder like a broken faucet. Two days of her texting her mom vague lies about "staying with a friend" while I take up space in her life like a human-shaped tumor.And now I'm going to repay her kindness by sneaking out to confront a billionaire psycho who got me fired.I sit up slowly. Aubrey's already gone — class, proba
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 26
Chris’s POV The question hangs in the air like smoke. I could lie. I should lie. Normal people don't dump this much trauma on their friends at one in the morning. Normal people say "it's complicated" and change the subject. But I'm so tired. I'm so fucking tired of carrying this alone. "Yeah," I say. My voice cracks. "Yeah, he has. A lot. Since I was a kid. Physical stuff, mostly. When he's drunk. When he's high. When he's... when he's angry." I swallow hard. "And sometimes... sometimes it's worse than hitting." Aubrey goes very still. I see the moment she understands. I see it land on her face like a physical blow — the widening eyes, the hand pressed to her chest, the way she stops breathing for a second. "He looks at me," I continue, and now I'm crying, now I can't stop, "and he sees my mom. I look like her. Everyone says so. And he blames me for her death. He blames me, Aubrey. Like I chose to be born. Like I chose for her to die. And when he drinks enough, when he gets high e
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 25
Chris’s POVThe first thing I notice about Aubrey's apartment is that it looks like someone lives here.Not survives. Not endures. Not treats every square foot like a temporary holding cell between disasters. Lives. The walls are this soft blue that somehow manages to be calming instead of depressing — the color of a sky that hasn't personally wronged me. Slices of baby pink peek out from corners like she's trying to balance the vibe between "chill" and "I have a personality." Band posters everywhere. Song lyrics I don't recognize scrawled in frames. The whole place smells like vanilla and safety and money that didn't come from letting strangers touch you.I stand in the middle of her studio like an alien who just crash-landed on Planet Normal. My hands are still shaking. My mouth still tastes like my father's blood. And I'm staring at a throw pillow shaped like a cloud thinking: This is what stability looks lik
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 24
Chris's POVPanic floods my system like gasoline. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't —I bite him.I don't decide to. My body decides for me. I lunge forward and sink my teeth into his ear, hard as I can, until I feel the cartilage give, until I taste blood — hot, coppery, obscene — filling my mouth. He howls, a sound that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, and reels back, clutching the side of his head.I don't wait. I scramble to my feet. I run.I don't grab my phone. I don't grab my wallet. I don't grab the shoes that are by the door or the jacket that's hanging on the hook. I just run.The hallway blurs. The stairs are a nightmare of tripping and catching myself and tripping again. I burst through the front door of the building and into the night, and my legs just keep going. I don't know where I'm going. I don't have a destination. I just know that if I stop, if I slow down, if I think for one s
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 23
Chris's POVThe tears come whether I want them or not. One hot track down my cheek, then another. I wipe them away with the back of my hand and force my feet to move. One step. Two steps. The apartment lobby is dark, the security light flickering its death throes. I climb the stairs because the elevator has been broken since the Clinton administration, and each step feels like I'm walking to my own execution.My apartment is on the fourth floor. 4B. The door is unlocked.That's wrong. That's very wrong. It could only mean one thing; he was around.I push it open.The living room light is on, burning too bright, too accusing. The center table looks like a crime scene in progress — empty bottles standing like gravestones, used weed wrappers curling at the edges, joints stubbed out in an ashtray overflowing with ash. And there, gleaming under the lamp like a line of powdered bad decisions, is a stripe of white on the glass.Cocai
The Mafia's Private Gigolo Chapter 22
Chris’s POVThe cab smells like someone else's regret — stale fries, cheap cologne, and that particular sour note that every rideshare in this city seems to inherit after midnight. I press my forehead against the window and watch Los Angeles blur past in streaks of neon and brake lights, wondering which one of us is more pathetic: me, or the guy driving who keeps sighing like he's personally offended by every red light.Three weeks ago, I was a normal disaster. Just your average twenty-one-year-old dumpster fire — failing two classes, surviving on ramen, making questionable decisions at parties I couldn't afford. Now? Now I'm a premium disaster. The kind that comes with a price tag and a business card.I pull out my phone and stare at the calendar. Finals week is coming up like a freight train I didn't see because I was too busy getting railed by a man who probably has a body count higher than my GPA. I don’t even have the fucking strength to carry on."Rough night?" the driver asks,
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