All Chapters of Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

(Dante’s POV)The silence in the safehouse was no longer silence. It had weight, texture, a suffocating density that pressed against my chest every time Luca moved in the next room. It wasn’t absence of sound—it was everything we weren’t saying. The way his footsteps slowed when he passed my door. The way his eyes lingered too long before darting away. The way I caught him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.For years, silence had been my weapon. My empire had been built on it. My enemies had drowned in it. But with Luca, silence wasn’t a weapon—it was a battlefield. Every second I didn’t touch him was a war I was losing.I told myself I could wait. That patience was strategy. That letting him squirm under the weight of his own choices would serve me better than demanding answers now. But patience was an illusion. My restraint was nothing but a mask stretched thin, and tonight I could feel the cracks forming.It began with something stupid.He was in the kitchen, sleeves

(Dante’s POV)The kiss should have ended the second it began.A slip of weakness, a crack in my armor, one mistake too many. But the taste of him—salt, heat, the desperation of a man both guilty and wanting—anchors me in a place I swore I’d never return to.Luca. Ethan. Traitor. Lover. My ruin.I should shove him away. My hand even twitches against his jaw, ready to push. But instead I pull him closer, devouring the air he tries to breathe. His fingers clutch at my shirt like he’s drowning, and I realize maybe he is. Maybe we both are.The sound he makes—half groan, half surrender—shatters something in me. It’s not calculated. It’s not a trick. It’s raw, unguarded, and it drags me into the undertow with him.When I finally tear my mouth from his, it’s not to end it but to breathe against his lips, our foreheads pressed together, my chest heaving like I’ve run a war instead of fought a kiss.“Why?” My voice is hoarse, dangerous, trembling with a rage I can’t separate from want. My hand

I taste blood on my tongue, but it’s not mine. It’s the metallic tang of fear and adrenaline. Moments ago, my whole world consisted of nothing but the warmth of Luca’s skin against mine. His heartbeat slowed as the last echoes of passion faded, and now I lay there, half-dazed, drunk on peace. The safehouse was silent; everything outside our bubble of closeness had ceased to exist. For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel something other than the cold drift of duty and violence.Now time ruptures. A thunderous crash at the door shatters the intimacy, blood pounding in my ears. Gunshots erupt—sudden, terrifying. The world warps into chaos. A drill of adrenaline hammers my brain awake. I jam the pistol into my hand, adrenaline sharpening every sense. The last good moment vanished. Men in black flood into the room, and everything goes red.“Luca, down!” My shout is a throwaway in the hail of bullets. But Luca already knows. He slams me out of the way and collapses beside me. T

Another car draws up; men jump out and surround the house. Matteo Santoro’s men. I recognize the insignia on their jackets. There is nowhere to hide, but I knew they’d come. I fire at them again, panicking; my shots echo off distant walls. The leader yells something foreign.But I can’t do this. I have to get Luca out.I slip back, kneeling beside Luca. He tries to sit up, but I stop him. “Careful,” I say, using an arm to steady him. “They’ve got the place surrounded. We need to get moving.”Luca lets me help him to his feet. With pain twisting every move, I support him; he’s almost dead weight. I try to smile softly, though tears rim my eyes. “We did it, Luca. They won’t find us now.”He nods and sways in my grasp. I place his other arm around my shoulders. It’s not graceful, but it’s all we’ve got. Together, we stagger through the living area. A body lies by the bar stool, another under the window. I tear a strip of cloth from his shirt, gouging into me at how limp and pale he is. P

“I’m not leaving you,” I say, voice raw. Everything else fades—the dying man moaning, the crackle of broken glass, the distant sirens slicing through the night air. There is only Luca, trembling and pale in my arms, and me, half-coated in his warm blood, shaking so hard I can barely stay upright.Panic surges through me like a blade. I drop Luca to the floor and thrust myself over him. His skin is icy under my palm, clammy with life. The scent of his blood is sweet and metallic. Warm drops drip through my fingers onto the tile.“Oh God, oh God,” I mutter. “Stay with me, please. Stay with me.”Luca’s jaw is slack, an attempt at comforting me he doesn’t feel. He whimpers into my chest, clutching at my shirt as if I could pull him inside my body. Every breath he takes is short and labored.“We’re moving,” I manage, surprising myself with a calm I don’t feel. “We have to get you out of here.”“No,” Luca croaks. He clutches my arm tighter, nails digging into my skin. “Dante…”Another bulle