I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 17

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

I woke up to darkness.

Not just like, the lights are off kind of dark, no. This was rich, velvety, swallow-you-whole kind of darkness. I blinked into it, trying to piece together where I was, why my head felt like cotton and static and bad decisions, and why—

Oh god.

These weren’t my sheets.

They were soft. And slick against my skin. Black silk.

I sucked in a sharp breath and sat up too fast.

Instant regret.

The room swayed. My head throbbed like someone had slammed a speaker into my brain and set it to static. I pressed my palm to my forehead, my fingers trembling, and tried to focus.

The sheets slipped down my shoulder. I was still in my clothes, I think? My blouse felt twisted and crumpled, not how I left it, my skirt was hiked up, but I wasn’t... undressed. Okay. Okay, that was something.

But the room—

The room looked like a villain lair straight out of some overpriced movie. Everything was expensive and cold. Black marble floors that gleamed even in low light. A sleek dresser that probably cost more than my rent. Long, heavy curtains drawn across towering windows. A glass wall across one side with nothing but vast gardens. The air smelled like cedarwood and after-shave.

The bed was massive. The kind of bed no normal person has.

My heart kicked up hard in my chest.

What. The. Hell.

I touched my neck.

My fingers grazed a sore spot, high on the side. A pinprick.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

They drugged me.

Panic flared so fast I nearly threw up. My breath came in little gasps, like my lungs had decided this was a good moment to forget how breathing worked. My hands shook as I pushed the sheets off, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand—

But it was a bad idea, a horrible idea.

The floor tilted, my knees wobbled. I clutched one of the black posts at the edge of the bed to steady myself and whimpered as the room spun again.

Think, Maddie. Think.

I remembered the man on the couch. The mask. Flan.

God—Flan.

Am I... am I kidnapped.

I clutched my chest like that might hold me together, the ache in my ribs pressing hard from the inside. My cat. My apartment. The gunshots. The hand over my eyes. The needle. That voice.

“Hello, Madeleine.”

Shivers ran down my spine.

They were here! They were here, they found me, they found me.

I stumbled toward the door. At least, what I hoped was the door. My legs weren’t cooperating and every step felt like walking through someone else’s dream.

I didn’t belong here.

I paused, one hand flat on the wall. Then I remembered another voice, “Go to sleep...”

That voice in my head wasn’t from the masked guy. It was deeper, someone else was there too.

The handle was cold against my palm.

I didn’t even remember reaching it, but there it was. I twisted slowly and prayed the door wasn’t locked.

It wasn’t.

I pulled it open and stepped out into a hallway that made no sense.

It wasn’t just big. It was... enormous. Dark paneled walls lined with oil paintings and wall sconces. The floor stretched under me in black stone. My reflection looked ghostlike in it. Barefoot, blouse wrinkled, hair a mess.

My feet padded softly as I moved forward, one hand trailing along the wall to keep myself steady. I passed massive doors, all closed. No windows. Just long halls and longer shadows.

The silence buzzed.

I counted my breaths.

One. Two.

Don’t cry. Three.

Don’t panic.

The hall seemed to go on forever, like a maze built for someone with no intention of letting you find your way out. There were other rooms but I was too afraid to see what was behind them, there was a hall, and I don't know what else.

Then—

A sound.

It was distant, there were multiple voices, I froze and leaned in.

A man’s deep chuckle echoed faintly from what had to be way down the wing. A woman’s lighter voice answered. Then something shrill cut through it, high-pitched and real.

A baby.

Crying.

Hard.

My breath hitched.

What the hell?

I crept toward the sound like I was in a horror movie and I was the idiot walking into the obvious trap but I couldn’t stop. I had to see.

A place with a baby can't be dangerous.

If there was a baby present than this wasn’t some villain lair anymore. This was... a home.

The closer I got, the clearer it became. Laughter, muffled conversation. Baby wails and soft shushing. The sound of life.

My chest tightened.

Where was I?

The door at the end of the hall was halfway open, light spilling through.

“Just give her the bottle, she won’t take the pacifier again,” someone said, a woman, laughing gently.

“No one’s taking my princess’s pacifier away,” a man answered.

My heart stuttered. I crept forward, one hand bracing the wall, and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

“What... what am I doing here?” I asked, my voice way too high-pitched for my liking.

Adriano didn’t answer my question, instead, he looked down. Not at me, at the space I’d put between us. At the inch of distance like it had personally insulted him.

His jaw flexed once then came the smile. It was the charming one he used at the restaurant. No, this one was all tight teeth and unsettling.

“The hospital called me,” he said smoothly.

I blinked, “The hospital?”

He nodded, stepping forward again. I stayed frozen.

“Yeah. Since you work for me now and didn’t have an emergency contact listed, they reached out to Velluto Rosso. My staff answered. I came to get you. That’s it.”

I stared at him, something didn’t sit right.

“I... I do have an emergency contact,” I said slowly, my hand creeping to the side of my neck like I could still feel the sting, “My boyfriend. Carlos. He’s literally in my file. He has my location on.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “maybe they couldn’t reach him, and maybe he didn’t answer. Or maybe when they asked if someone from work could come get you, he said yes. People panic in situations like that.”

I squinted, “Carlos would never let some random guy pick me up.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, more for protection than attitude, and stared at him like I could piece it all together if I just looked long enough.

“You didn’t see me throwing a fit when I woke up in your apartment,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine, “after three days of you drugging me so bad I couldn’t even lift my fucking hand. Did I, Sunshine?”

My stomach dropped.

The way he said it, amused and as if it was some private joke only we were in on but why did it feel more like a threat.

Maybe, it was his personality that everything he said felt like a threat. They way he stood, they way he talked, his broad shoulders, and the tattoos. Gosh, the tattoos.

“I saved you,” I breathed, my brows furrowing, voice shaking a little. “You were bleeding out. You had a bullet in you.”

“And now I’ve returned the favor,” he said, flashing a slow, wolfish smile, “See? That’s what we are now... even.”

He stepped closer. I stepped back.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“If you’re not safe where you live,” he said, “then stay here. With me. Let me return the favor until you find some place safe.”

He didn’t say it like a request, it didn’t even sound like a suggestion. It sounded like a man telling me how things were going to be.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my thoughts straight, heart thudding so loud I could barely think over it. I didn’t know if I wanted to run or lean in.

He smiled again, that crooked, lazy smile.

“C’mon, Sunshine,” he said, voice teasing, “What’s with the face? You don't trust me?”

My mouth parted, but I still had no idea what to say. Maybe, he was right and I was just jumpy because of what happened to me before I passed out.

So I did what I always did when I didn’t want to make things worse, smile. I shook my head quickly, “You’re right, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have... I don’t know, I’m just scared. I heard gunshots. You know, about those people back home...”

It was just his presence, I told myself. That was all. Just... him.

He was intimidating.

He was so much less threatening when I first met him, injured, tired, vulnerable. Now, standing over me with a half-smile, he looked like the kind of man you ran to when you were in danger... or from.