I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 29

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

I was sprawled on my bed, one arm tucked under my head, the other cradling my phone.

Her message came through at 7:21 AM.

M: I know I’m not supposed to be texting you. I’m probably going to regret this, or maybe you’re not even real, I don’t know. But I just... I don’t have anyone else right now and I feel like I’m falling apart. I’m sorry if this is stupid. I just needed someone.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a second. Then I typed:

Me: Did you finally cut that loser loose?

Ten minutes passed. She was typing. Deleting. Typing again. I imagined her on the edge of some couch or guest bed, probably curled up with her knees to her chest, her thumbs trembling.

M: Yes.

I glanced at the time—7:34.

Why the fuck was she awake?

Me: Did I wake you?

M: I never went to sleep.

Me: Why?

M: I just ended a five-year relationship. Why do you think?

Oh, she's feisty today.

I ran my tongue across my teeth, grinning.

Me: How was it? The breakup?

There was a pause. Then came her next message.

M: It was awful. Adriano was there with me. And I feel so stupid. I don’t even know you, which weirdly makes this easier. Not knowing you makes me feel like you're not real. But I know him. He’s my friend. And I don’t know how I’ll ever look him in the eyes again after all that Carlos said before him.

I stared at the words longer than I meant to.

You sweet, clueless little thing.

I pressed the phone to my lips for a second, she didn’t know but she was already wrapped around my fingers.

Me: You can look me in the eyes anytime you want, sweetheart. Especially if you’re on your knees.

I didn’t send it.

I settled back against the pillows, shirtless, bathed in the early morning light that bled through the blinds.

I typed:

Me: He didn’t deserve you.

And then, just to make her feel better:

Me: Tell me everything. Every little detail. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to listen. To understand.

And eventually, to take.

M: It was so humiliating. I can’t even say it out loud. He called me a gold digger… because he helped with some of my tuition. I mean, I paid most of it myself. He just pitched in sometimes when I was struggling, and I thought that’s what couples did. I thought that meant something. I thought he was it… I thought he was the one. I was going to marry him. But he...

Me: He what, angel? Say it. I’m right here.

I stared at the screen, pulse ticking, teeth clenched. The thought of him belittling her, after five years, after taking her first made my hands twitch like they were still gripping the bat.

The typing bubble flickered and disappeared, like she kept starting and stopping. When the next message came through, it was fragmented.

M: He said... He said I wasn’t enough. That I didn’t know how to… make him happy.

I stared at the words. The version she was giving me was a watered-down fraction of the truth, and I knew it because I was there.

M: He said I didn’t try hard enough, that I wasn’t... exciting. That he had to look elsewhere because of me.

She was downplaying it, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. That asshole’s words played on a loop in my head, every syllable.

M: I guess... I guess maybe he’s right. Maybe I am boring. Maybe that’s why he...

She didn’t finish the text.

I typed slowly, because the urge to shatter my phone against the wall was a little too strong.

Me: Don’t you dare finish that sentence.

There was a long pause before her reply.

M: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you. You’re probably laughing at me right now.

Laughing? No. I was thinking of every way I could make Carlos choke on the bile he spewed. I was thinking of how long it would take to break a man like him because men like Carlos were weak. And the only thing weaker than Carlos was the twisted little part of her that thought maybe he’d been right.

I leaned back on the bed, running a hand through my hair, and typed again.

Me: You’re a lot of things, Madeleine, but boring isn’t one of them. He just didn’t know what to do with a woman like you. If you let me... I could teach you what that body could do.

The bubble popped up fast. She read it right away. And then nothing, no reply.

I imagined her, brows furrowed, mouth parted in that soft little gasp she probably made when she was flustered. I bet her cheeks were pink.

Then, finally...

M: That’s not funny.

M: I’m not... I didn’t text you for that. I’m not like that.

She wasn’t angry, not really. She was embarrassed like even the thought of someone wanting her that way felt foreign.

I sat up straighter, the grin sliding from my face.

Me: I wasn’t joking.

M: You don’t even know me.

Me: I know enough.

M: I thought you were someone I could talk to. I don’t want to be just... that kind of girl to you.

Almost everything she said felt like petals, she didn’t know how much power she had just by being gentle.

Me: You can talk to me. You are talking to me. But don’t confuse me, sweetheart. I’m not a therapist. I’m not your little emotional support text buddy. If you want someone to nod and say the right things, go cry to your friends. If you want the truth, you’re in the right place.

Typing.

M: You’re mean and kind of a jerk.

God, she was adorable.

M: I feel gross, okay!

M: Not just because of what he said but because... a part of me believes it. I’m not good at love. Or sex. Or any of it. He was right about me.

Me: He said those things to make himself feel bigger. Men like that only feel powerful when they’re kneeling on someone else’s throat. You want to know what I think?

I didn’t wait for her to say yes.

Me: I think if you ever let me touch you, I’d ruin every memory you’ve ever had of him. And not because I’d fuck you better but because I'd teach you what your body really wants.

Typing bubble.

Stopped.

Came back.

Stopped again.

She was shaking. I could feel it in the lag of her reply.

M: I told you something real and you turned it into... this.

Typing.

M: You don’t know what it’s like to stand there and hear the person you love say the most disgusting things about you and still hate yourself enough to believe them.

I stared at the screen, pulse ticking in my jaw, my chest tight with something that wasn’t lust.

Not this time.

I shook myself out of it.

Me: Send me a picture. I want to see what you look like right now. What you’re wearing.

M: Did you even read what I just said? You’re seriously asking me for a picture right now?

I leaned back, one hand dragging down my face. My smile wasn’t there this time.

I typed slowly.

Me: You don’t have to be naked. I want to see your face when you’re still a little mad at me.

I waited.

She didn’t reply right away. She was probably biting her lip, hugging her knees, talking herself out of it, then back into it.

M: Are you serious right now? What is wrong with you?

The messages came fast. She was upset, and maybe a little flustered. I could almost hear the frantic tapping of her thumbs through the screen.

M: You know what? No. I’m not doing this anymore.

M: I don’t care if you know where I live. I don’t care if you have whatever leverage you think you do. If you wanted to hurt me or my family, you would’ve done it already. So stop pretending like you’ve got that kind of power over me.

Oh, she was mad-mad now, like a bunny baring its teeth.

M: Whatever this is, it’s over. I regret every word I ever said to you. I don’t care if you think I’m naive or weak or whatever else men like you label girls like me when we finally say no. I’m saying it now.

M: Don’t text me again. Don’t call. Don’t watch. Don’t pretend you care. Delete my number.

And then a moment later.

M: I mean it.

Me:

You’re adorable when you’re angry.

No response.

I leaned back, free hand running through my hair. I didn’t chase women but something about the way she slammed the door and thought it would stay shut made me want to rattle it until the hinges gave out.

Me: You’re really not gonna text back? After all the fun we had?

Nothing.

But on the inside I was seething.

I turned the corner out front, waited long enough to make it believable, then slipped around back, through the private entrance no one touched but my brothers and me, and keyed in the code.

I stalked through the hallway, past the wine cellars until I reached my other office. The suit came off fast, tie yanked loose, jacket slung over a chair. I pulled on the faded jeans, and threw on the hoodie.

By 11:30, she was the last waitress left standing.

The manager handed her the closing checklist and clocked out.

And just like that, it was just her.

I adjusted in my chair, watching her move through the almost empty restaurant. She paused once, fingers resting on the back of a chair, and looked toward the camera near the bar, just for a second.

She felt watched.

She blinked, looked away, then moved toward the back, past the kitchen, past the swinging doors and straight into the staff locker room.

She sat on the bench, slumped forward, scrolling through her phone with a tired thumb. She probably checked my texts and rolled her eyes, throwing her phone aside. She ran her hands over her face, then back through her hair, untying it with a shake.

The second I saw her punching in that locker code, I knew I was gonna fuck with her.

And by fuck with her, I mean, scare the living shit out of her.

She had her back towards me, talking to herself. I loved silently, years of practice tommove without making a sound. Then I struck. One hand clamped over her eyes. The other locked around her throat, not enough to choke but enough to make her freeze.

“You think you can just ignore me, sweetheart?” I rasped against her ear, pitching my voice lower.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, chest rising too fast. Panic was setting in, but not enough to scream. She froze, her hands still half-lifted like she didn’t know if she should fight or beg.

I dragged my nose along the side of her neck, inhaling deep, she smelled like innocence. Some lavender-vanilla bullshit she probably thought was calming. It wasn’t. It was dangerous because I breathed it in like it was laced with opium.

She made the mistake of shifting. Of pressing her back harder against me. Her ass brushed my hips and I almost lost it.

“Stop," she choked out.

I let out a quiet laugh, my teeth found the soft shell of her ear and bit down hard enough to scare her, soft enough not to scar. She whimpered, a full-body shudder rolled through her. Her nerves had short-circuited and her brain was lagging behind. It made me hard.

“You don’t get to ghost me,” I said, “When I text, you text back. When I call, you pick the fuck up. Or next time...”

I leaned down and licked a stripe up the side of her throat like I owned her pulse. Her skin was warm, flushed, and damp with fear.

“...I won’t be this nice.”

I felt her knees start to buckle.

I dropped my hands and stepped away before she could catch her breath, disappearing back down the corridor before she turned. She made some soft sounds but I didn't stick around to understand what she said.

By the time she faced the door, I was already gone.

All she had left was the echo of the metal swinging shut behind me... and the proof that I could reach her whenever the fuck I wanted.

I stepped out into the cold and ripped the hoodie off like it was suffocating me. My lungs burned, and the night air did nothing to cool the fire crawling up my spine.

What the fuck was that?

I’d never done that before. Never hunted a woman down like prey. Never cornered someone just to hear them gasp. Never needed to force attention out of someone.

Women usually chased me. I didn’t chase. I didn’t wait. I didn’t need.

But now?

My hands were still shaking. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break out. I could still smell her on my clothes, sweet and soft and maddening.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, tried to shake it off then dragged both hands through my hair like that might pull the crazy out of me.

This wasn’t me.

I’d never had to corner someone just to get a reply. Never felt this... Out of control.

What the fuck was she doing to me?

What the fuck was happening to me?

That was supposed to be Luca’s thing or Vincenzo’s. They were the monsters, they were cold, brutal, emotionally constipated. I was the one women loved, the one they trusted.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen for too long. The glow lit up my face in the dark before I sent her another text.

Me: Now you take me seriously?

I dropped my phone back into my pocket and paced around my car—trying to get my pulse back under control.

This wasn’t how I handled women but she wasn’t like the others.

This wasn’t fucking me.

But maybe it was now and maybe she made it so. She didn’t just get under my skin, she rewired me.

The phone buzzed in my pocket and I yanked it out like an addict.

Her: I didn’t know you wanted me to.

Seven fucking words. I read them a dozen times. How the fuck could she not know? I wanted her to know. I wanted her to feel it. To ache for me like I was aching for her.

To see the monster I was becoming for her.