บททั้งหมดของ I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 The car door opened and before I could even lift my dress to step out, his hand was already there, waiting for mine. I placed my fingers in his. My skin was trembling and I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but his hand swallowed mine. He stepped out first, tall and sharp in his black suit, jacket tailored within an inch of his life. When he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, it was so smooth it looked choreographed. His jaw tightened for just a second before he turned, facing the cameras and the flashing lights like he’d done it a thousand times. Maybe he had and then, he smiled, and that smile. It was the kind you only see in magazines or movie trailers, the kind that's too perfect to be real. I couldn’t look away. Not from the way he stood, or the way the light hit the sharpness of his face, or the way the air around him shifted like it knew who he was. And somehow I was on his arm. I tried to stand still, tried not to breathe too hard or trip over my

Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ The second I knew Rino Lombardi wasn’t going to do anything fucking stupid that would force us to paint this golden gala in gunfire, I loosened my shoulders, tossed back the last of my drink, and walked away from the ballroom. I slid my phone from my jacket, checked the alert from one of my guys, “They’ve been stuck in there for an hour.” Shit. Sweet little sunshine was locked in a five-star bathroom with no signal. Claire could hold her own but Madeleine? Madeleine would be chewing her lip until it bled. I reached the door. We had the lock rigged an hour before the event started. Not a full jam. That’s amateur shit. What we did was better. I had Raphael slide a custom micro-wedge, a sliver of treated carbon with a heat-reactive coating into the interior latch. One swipe of thermal gel from the hallway side activated it, expanding just enough to create tension in the internal coil. It looked like a simple malfunction and worked like a charm. From the inside, it t

Adriano ⫘☠︎︎⫘ She was standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, barefoot, hair a mess, in that yellow dress I’d bought her on a whim because it looked soft and sunny and fuckable. And she actually wore it. The tiny sunflowers dotted all over the fabric made her look even sweeter than she already was, if that was even possible. I sat back in the armchair by the window, fully dressed, a fresh black shirt rolled to my forearms, watch glinting in the light. My gun sat comfortably beneath my jacket. She had no idea. No idea what kind of man was sitting here watching her tuck a curl behind her ear like she was afraid to take up space in my house. She kept fidgeting with the hem of the dress, smoothing it down, looking at herself like she wasn’t sure she belonged in it. She did. She belonged in my clothes. In my house. In my bed. Her curls were wild today. Soft ringlets tumbling down her back, a few strands framing her cheeks. They bounced every time she moved. God, I wanted to fis

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 “Flan, don’t do that!” I laughed, nudging him gently with my hand as he pawed at the block of tofu I’d been pressing. He meowed dramatically, as if I’d wounded his pride beyond repair. I shook my head, and danced barefoot across the cool tile, swaying my hips as I stirred the garlicky lentils, humming a little too dramatically to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” I had my hair up in a bun, an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder with a faded cartoon cow on it that said: Eat Plants Not Friends, and my shorts were hidden under it somewhere. My legs were cold but I didn’t care. I was home, I was happy, and dinner was going to slap. Flan, as always, disapproved of my dancing. I dipped a spoon into the pan to taste the sauce, “Oh my goooood, I am a genius,” I declared to absolutely no one. Then I turned, mid-spin, spoon still in hand and nearly screamed. He was there. Leaning against the kitchen doorway like he’d been there the whole time. One ankle cr

Madeleine 𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡 There was nothing else but him and this and the way he made me feel. The aftershocks still trembled through me when his hands gripped my hips before I could catch my breath, he was turning me onto all fours, the sheets soft against my knees and hands. I felt exposed, wanton, the cool air kissing my damp skin as he positioned himself behind me. "Stay just like that,” he said, his hand stroking down my spine. Then I felt him close. Too close. His breath brushed the sensitive skin between my thighs, and I froze, shivering from the inside out. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmured and I realized how close he was, “So pretty like this, all spread out for me.” I whimpered, burying my face in the sheets, unable to meet his words. I was already trembling. My face was burning. Everything felt too much, his voice, the air, the way the cool room kissed my skin where I was bare and wet and embarrassingly open. His thumbs hooked into the crease of my thighs, spreading