All Chapters of Mafia's Unexpected Prized Possession: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

GIOVANNI'S POVThe heavy oak door to Anastasia’s room was ajar, but I didn’t bother knocking. I just pushed it open, the scent of her jasmine perfume hitting me like a soft, expensive wall.She was lounging on a chaise by the window, a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. She didn’t look up, just turned a page with a deliberate slowness that was pure, calculated provocation.“We need to talk,” I said, my voice sounding rougher than I intended in her delicate, feminine space.She finally deigned to glance up, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching. “About the weather? Because it’s dreadfully dull outside. Or perhaps the stock market? Also dreadfully dull.”“About Tristan,” I stated, my tone leaving no room for her games. “Now that he’s back.”She marked her page with a silk ribbon and set the book aside, her movements languid. “Ah. Your prodigal dirty little secret amnesiac returns. And what about him?”I took a step further into the room, my presence feeling too large, too aggressi

TRISTAN'S POVThe days that followed were… unexpected. I’d braced myself for more manipulation, more thinly veiled threats, but Giovanni had truly, remarkably, changed his tune. He was gentler, patient to a fault, a side of him I’d only ever glimpsed in fleeting, almost accidental moments, never sustained.Every morning, he’d appear at my door with a tray of fresh fruit and coffee, sitting on the armchair and simply… talking. About the weather, about the antique books in the library downstairs, about silly childhood anecdotes that, for all my cynicism, somehow resonated with a part of me I thought long dead.It was strange, watching him. This was the man who had commanded armies, whose word was law, who ruled with an iron fist and ruthless efficiency.Yet here he was, asking shyly, "Did you sleep well, Tristan?" or "Do you want something to eat?"He’d recount memories, sometimes with a soft laugh, sometimes with a look of profound regret in his eyes, always ending with, "Do you rememb

GIOVANNI'S POVMy grip on Tristan’s hand was a lifeline, both for him and for me. The silence we left behind in the garden was heavy, but the silence between us as I led him away felt even more precarious. Every step was deliberate, every beat of my heart a drum against my ribs. Relief flooded me, a potent, now that the words were out, now that the lie was finally shattered. But beneath it churned a potent cocktail of guilt, apprehension, and a fierce, unwavering determination to set things right.I didn’t lead him back to my study, or to his room, but to a smaller, more intimate dining room off to the side of the main hall. It was rarely used, tucked away, perfect for the private conversation we desperately needed.A single table was set for two, likely prepared by my staff who understood my need for discretion, or perhaps anticipated it. The room was bathed in the soft, morning light filtering through a leaded-glass window, a stark contrast to the harsh realities we’d just escaped.

TRISTAN'S POVI knelt before Giovanni, my blue eyes locked on his, the air between us thick with tension. Anger and jealousy burned in my chest, a fiery brand that only he could extinguish.I knew what I wanted—needed—to hear, and I’d stop at nothing to get it. His breath hitched as I growled, my voice low and dangerous, “You’re mine. You said you're mine.”There was no room for doubt, no space for hesitation. I wrapped my lips around his throbbing cock, savoring the way he shuddered at my touch. His skin was hot, his pulse rapid beneath my tongue as I swirled around the head, teasing the tip with deliberate slowness.Giovanni’s hands tangled in my blonde hair, guiding me deeper, his fingers trembling with need. “Fuck, Tristan, don’t stop, ahhhh” he pleaded, his voice thick with desire.But I did stop. I pulled back, my mouth glistening with his pre-cum, my athletic body coiled with frustration.I wanted more than his body... I wanted his words, his promise. “Say it,” I demanded, my v

GIOVANNI'S POV“That’s right,” I snarl, my teeth grazing his earlobe. “This cock is mine. This tight little hole is mine.” I punctuate each word with a sharp thrust, my hips slapping against his ass, the sound echoing off the walls. “You’re mine, Tristan. Say it.”“I’m yours!” he cries, his body trembling, his cock twitching in my grip. “Only yours, please—”I can feel his orgasm building, the way his muscles clench around me, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. I slow my thrusts, my hand stilling on his cock, and he whines, his hips trying to chase the friction. “Not yet,” I murmur, my lips brushing his neck. “You come when I tell you to come.”He whimpers, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, and I reward him by sinking my teeth into the sensitive skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He tastes like salt and desperation, and I love it. I knelt behind him, my hands tracing the curves of his body, my fingers lingering on the marks I had le