I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 42

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 turned like normal but it wouldn't release.

You could scream, bang, cry, but the door wouldn’t budge.

I leaned against the frame, listening.

Madeleine’s voice, muffled and then Claire's. I imagined those big brown eyes going all wide, lower lip trembling. No signal, no help, just that slow-creeping panic in her chest.

I smiled.

Then I knocked. Three soft taps.

And then her voice, “Someone's out there!”

I lowered my tone, just enough to reach through the door, “Sunshine,” I said, “did you break the building?”

A shuffle, “Adriano?”

“Who else?”

A little gasp, “Open the door! It’s... it’s stuck!”

“Oh no,” I dragged the words, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” she said, like she was about to cry and scream.

I took the time to pull a thin tool from my pocket, slid it between the door and the frame. One twist. One flash heat from the micro-torch hidden in my watch. The wedge dissolved like sugar.

Click.

The lock was released with a sigh, and the door opened.

Claire blinked at me first, deadpan, arms folded like she’d been timing my arrival to the second. She knew exactly what this was. She knew her husband sent her here for a reason. Knew I’d show up eventually, and exactly what it would look like when I did, “You took your sweet time to come find us.”

But Madeleine?

She jumped off the counter so fast she nearly tripped over the hem of her dress. “Oh my God,” she breathed, eyes wide and wet, chest rising like she’d been holding her breath for ten straight minutes.

And then she ran, heels clacking on the marble tile before she slammed into my chest like a terrified, winded little bird. Her arms flew around my waist, face burying against the lapel of my suit.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, clinging like she thought I might disappear, “Oh my God—I thought we were stuck forever, I thought maybe someone—”

“Shhh,” I murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and the other to cradle the back of her head, “I got you.”

Her chest heaved against me, her fingers fisted the fabric of my jacket, gripping it, “I just… I was freaking out. My phone didn’t work. I thought—what if someone came in? What if we got locked in all night? What if—”

“You’d get hungry,” I teased, “And I’d have to eat you.”

She froze.

Claire groaned again behind us. “Please stop flirting through cannibalism. We’re in a bathroom.”

I didn’t let go, neither did Madeleine.

Madeleine peeked up at me, lips parted, eyes glassy, “You came to find us.”

“Of course I did,” I said. “You really think I’d let anything happen to you?” I said, licking my thumb and brushing a smudge of makeup from her cheek, “which one of you was about to cry?”

She flushed deeper. “I—I wasn’t crying—”

Claire gave me a pointed look that said we need to talk. Then she brushed past me, heels clicking, posture tense as she stepped out of the bathroom. Madeleine and I followed, her small hand still wrapped in mine.

The party didn’t last much longer after that. Vincenzo pulled the plug before dessert even landed.

Because Rino Lombardi had made his move. Showing up here, all smiles and false peace, trying to get ain't Alessia alone wasn’t just disrespect. It was strategy. It was fucking brazen. A slap across the face in the middle of a room.

And now he needed an answer.

Which meant: Deo and his nephew.

Their fucking heads on Rino’s doorstep, wrapped up in ribbon, gift-tagged with a warning: Try that shit again and we’ll burn your family tree from the roots up.

The party was fucking over.

𓎢𓎠𓎟☠︎︎𓎟𓎠𓎡

Madeleine frowned as I took a sharp turn, the glowing skyline fading behind us while the long, gated road leading to the estate rolled into view.

She shifted in her seat, glancing at me like I’d taken a wrong exit. “Wait... aren’t you dropping me off at the apartment?”

I kept my hand on the wheel, my knuckles flexing once as I turned into the long stretch of driveway lined with floodlit trees. I could feel her watching me, soft little breaths.

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight,” I said finally, “You’re still shaking.”

“I’m not—” she started, too fast.

I looked at her, just one glance. One slow drag of my eyes across her face, and her denial died on her lips.

“But… Flan,” she said softly, hesitating, “He needs—”

Of course. That legless, half-broken lizard of hers. Always crawling into the conversation like it was our child.

“Flan is fine,” I said, cutting her off, “He’s been fed. Water’s fresh. The guards took care of it before we even left the party.”

Her mouth parted, stunned. She hadn’t told me to do that and I hadn’t asked. I had eyes on the apartment she was staying at all the time, especially on that cat-bug-iguana thing she loved so much.

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.

I pulled the car to a stop at the front steps of the estate, and turned to her. My arm hooked over the back of her seat as I leaned in.

“Don’t I?” I asked, “After what happened tonight? After the way you looked locked in that bathroom?”

She swallowed.

I reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb grazed the edge of her jaw. Her skin felt hot, flushed. She didn't pull away.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight, sunshine,” I said.

I paused, let my eyes drop to her lips, then back to her wide eyes.

“Now get inside,” I murmured.

She didn’t move, instead, she blinked at me, “What would your family think?”

That made me pause.

I tilted my head, “What would they think?”

Her voice got even softer, almost like she was embarrassed to ask. “It’s just... this’ll be the third time I’m sleeping over. I don’t want them getting the wrong idea about... us.”

And just like that, her cheeks flared pink, blooming with that sweet, painfully pure self-consciousness that always knocked the wind out of me.

Fuck.

My family knew that I’d already made a hundred unholy decisions about her and didn’t regret a single one.

I leaned in, close enough that I felt the warmth of her skin, her pulse flickered at her throat. She went still.

“Is it really the wrong idea?” I murmured, voice just a breath, meant for her and no one else.

I noticed how her thighs pressed together without her meaning to, the faint tremble in her fingertips against her lap.

I knew every single tell a woman gave when she was turned on, every flicker of breath, every hitch in her throat, every shift in her thighs when the heat started building. And Madeleine was drowning in it. She could barely breathe through it.

She wouldn’t admit it, not out loud, not with that soft little voice and those wide, innocent eyes but I felt it.

Her eyes fluttered up to mine like a question she didn’t know how to ask, lips parted just slightly as I leaned in more.

I got even closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my mouth, close enough to smell the soft vanilla on her skin, that scent that haunted my thoughts and ruined my sleep. Her back hit the seat, knees pressing together. One hand curled around the edge of the seat.

She looked up at me again and then she closed her eyes.

But instead of giving her what she didn’t realize she was begging for... I reached down and clicked the seatbelt open. The sound of it snapped through the air.

Her eyes blinked open, stunned, lips still parted as the belt slid across her chest and coiled back into place.

“Inside,” I said softly, pulling back just enough, “Before I forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.”

She looked up at me like I’d just flipped her entire world upside down. She stepped out of the car without another word, heels clicking against the stone driveway.

I followed close behind, one hand in my pocket, the other itching to reach for her. Restraint. It was a thin thread tonight, fraying with every sway of her hips.

But then her voice dropped. She blinked rapidly and her breath caught.

“Pai... the men.”

That hit.

I saw the shift in her posture. Fear coiled back into her spine, her voice got small again. Her father went quiet and then she looked at me.

I held her gaze. “I sent my men to São Paulo. Guards. They're outside your parents’ home right now.”

Her jaw dropped, “What?”

I nodded once, “You can talk freely. No one’s listening but them.”

On the other end, her father’s voice turned hard, “Who are you? What kind of man has guards to send across the world?”

Madeleine’s throat worked as she tried to swallow the emotion. Her eyes filled again. Her bottom lip trembled.

She whispered, “You... you did that for me?”

“Sending a few guards to Brazil is not a big deal, sunshine,” I said.

She leaned into me like she couldn’t help it, resting her head against my chest while she kept talking to them, thanking them, missing them, promising she was safe, finally safe.

She didn’t let go of me.

Not even after the call ended.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, “I heard their voices. Adriano, I—I thought I never would again. I thought—” She hiccuped, laughed and sobbed at the same time. “I thought they were dead—I thought—”

“I know,” I murmured, “I know, Madeleine. You don’t have to explain it.”

“I heard them,” she breathed. “Adriano. I heard them. They’re okay. They're okay. I haven’t heard their voices in almost a year—do you understand what that means to me?”

“I do now.”

She hit my chest, not hard, just this desperate, gleeful little slap like she couldn’t contain herself.

“You don’t get it—” she half-screamed, half-laughed, “You just—you just pulled out a PHONE and gave me my parents back. Like it was nothing. Like—like a magic trick! What the hell are you?!”

I smiled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bed, then cried again, “I—I can’t stop crying—God, I’m so happy—I feel crazy,” she said through her hands, “Is this real? Are you real?”

I leaned in, brushed her hair back, “I’m very real. Touch me again if you need proof.”

She hiccupped again and mumbled something I almost didn’t catch.

“What was that?” I asked.

She tilted her head up, blinking at me with those wet, shining eyes.

“You’re... the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered.

My breath stopped.

Before I could blink, before I could fully register the weight of what she just said, she leaned up and pressed her lips to mine.

It was quick and feather-light.

But it wrecked me.

Her kiss was soft, like a whisper.

Innocent, like a thank you.

Powerful, like a fucking bullet to the chest.

By the time I leaned in to chase it, she’d already pulled back, blushing, breathless, eyes wide like she couldn’t believe she just did that.

Neither could I.

And that tiny shred of self-control I’d been clinging to all night? It was fucking obliterated.

One second, I was processing that tiny peck. The next, my hand was knotted in her hair, wrenching her head back hard enough to make her gasp. She hit the mattress with a thud, dark curls splayed like spilled ink.

And then I pressed my mouth onto hers like I was starving, and she was the only thing that could fucking fill me.

I bit her lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make her whimper and enough to remind her: You started this.