บททั้งหมดของ Marked by the Mafia Boss [BL] : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The private salon was a world unto itself, a pressurized chamber of decadence where the air itself felt heavy with sin. Cigar smoke coiled in blue-gray tendrils towards the gilded ceiling, mingling with the cloying sweetness of jasmine perfume and the sharp, salty scent of human sweat. A low, thrumming bassline pulsed up through the floor, a visceral counterpoint to the soft, wet sounds of kissing and the rustle of expensive fabric coming from the room's shadowed recesses. Here, behind closed doors, the city's elite shed their civilized skins.Jay perched on the edge of a plush velvet ottoman, every muscle in his body pulled taut as a bowstring. His anchor point—and his torment—was the man sitting directly opposite him. "Lorenzo." Rafe. He lounged in a deep armchair like a king observing his court, a crystal tumbler of amber whiskey cradled loosely in his hand. His gaze was not merely observation; it was a dissection. He watched Jay with the unnerving stillness of a predator who knows

The world swam back into focus in nauseating waves. Jay was dimly aware of being half-dragged, half-carried from the opulent salon into a private, windowless chamber adjoining it. The door clicked shut, muffling the sounds of the debauchery outside and locking him in a new kind of hell. He was dumped onto a large, silk-sheeted bed, his limbs heavy and uncooperative, his skin burning with a fever that came from within.Rafe stood over him, a dark silhouette against the low, ambient lighting. He placed a small, discreet shopping bag on a nearby table. A moment later, there was a soft knock. A young, nervous-looking waiter entered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene."Your delivery," the waiter said, his voice barely a whisper, holding out a garment bag.Rafe didn't turn. "The money is on the table. Wait here."The waiter nodded mutely, his eyes darting to Jay’s prone, trembling form on the bed, then quickly away, as if burned.Rafe unzipped the bag with a slow, deliberate rasp. He di

Sunlight. That was the first betrayal. It was too bright, too cheerful, slicing through the gaps in the curtains and landing directly on Jay’s face. He jolted awake, his body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached with a deep, familiar soreness, and the memories of the party—the dizzying drink, the overwhelming pheromones, the predatory faces—crashed over him in a nauseating wave."Fuck," he breathed out, sitting up quickly and then wincing. "That bastard."The door to his suite opened and Marco stepped in, carrying a tray laden with a continental breakfast. His expression was carefully neutral, a mask Jay was learning to distrust."You're awake," Marco stated, setting the tray on the table. "You gave us a scare. You fainted at the event. In the private salon."Jay’s head snapped up. "What?""Lorenzo Bianchi brought you back here," Marco continued, his voice devoid of inflection. "He insisted on carrying you himself. Said it was the least he could do. It seems he's taken the room ne

The world swam back into focus slowly, painfully. Jay’s head pounded, a dull, rhythmic ache that beat in time with his heart. The last thing he remembered clearly was the smirking face of the man who had given him the drink, and then... nothing. A blur of heat and disjointed sounds.He was in his hotel room. How did I get here? He was still mostly dressed, his clothes rumpled. He splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, the shock of it helping to clear the lingering fog. His reflection was pale, his eyes haunted. What did they do to me?A sharp, insistent knocking at his door broke through his thoughts. He stumbled towards it, pulling it open to find a room service attendant standing there, looking uncomfortable."Signore," the attendant said, avoiding his eyes. "The gentleman in the penthouse suite... he is insisting you join him. He was very specific."Jay's blood ran cold. Rafe. Of course. The trap wasn't in the salon; it was the aftermath. "Me? Why?"The attendant merely s

The world swam back into focus in nauseating waves. One moment, there was only the smeared gold and shadow of the salon, the next, the sterile, cool neutrality of his hotel room. Jay didn’t remember the journey back. There were only fragments: the cold night air on his burning skin, the supportive—or was it possessive?—grip of Rafe’s arm around his waist, the muffled, knowing laughter of the other men.He stumbled into his suite, the door clicking shut behind him like the seal on a tomb. The luxurious space felt alien, a trap dressed in silk and fine wood. A violent shudder wracked his frame, and a fresh sheen of sweat broke out across his brow and the nape of his neck. It wasn't the fever of illness. It was a furnace igniting in his core, a familiar, terrifying heat he hadn't felt in years.No. No, no, no. The suppressants… they can’t have failed. Not here. Not now.His breath hitched, coming in short, sharp pants. He ripped at his clothes, the finely tailored fabric feeling like san