I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 49

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

“I’ll call you in the morning,” I said, reaching for my jacket slung across the arm of her couch.

I should’ve been more careful. The weight of it shifted wrong and a dull thud hit the floor.

Metal.

Fuck.

I didn’t look at the gun. I looked at her. Her eyes were already there, fixed, wide, drawn to the glint the way a rabbit stares at a wolf’s teeth.

I straightened slowly, letting my hand pause on the collar of my jacket. “Huh,” I said, almost amused like I’d dropped a coin, not a loaded weapon.

“Is that…?” she whispered.

I stepped between her and the metal glint on the floor, blocking her view like it was something obscene. I was shielding her from a version of me she wasn’t ready to see.

“Yeah,” I said, “I carry it for protection.”

I crouched to pick it up, very calmly, to not set off any kind of alarms in that pretty little head.

“After what happened in your neighborhood...” I paused, letting my gaze flick to hers, watching the memory pass over her face. “I was unarmed. Alone. Bleeding out on a stranger’s floor. If it hadn’t been for you, I might’ve died.”

Her expression changed with concern, she wanted to be reassured. So I gave her something soft to hold.

“This is just a precaution,” I added, flipping the safety back on with a click.

Her face lost color, “Are you scared?” she asked, almost like it surprised her. “You must be. That night was scary for all of us.”

For all of us.

I could’ve laughed but I didn’t.

Instead, I put on the most tragic, vulnerable expression I could fake, something between a wounded orphan and a guy trying not to shit himself.

It probably looked more like indigestion but I played it straight.

“Yeah,” I said, “Hard as it is to believe... even a man like me gets shaken. When death gets that close, you start thinking real fast about what you're willing to do to keep breathing. That's why, I carry this now, not to hurt anyone, just to make sure I make it home.”

She came to me without hesitation, bare feet soundless against the floor, clutching the sheets tighter around her.

She stopped just inches away, tilting her chin up to meet my eyes. It made me want to grab her and kiss her.

“I understand,” she whispered, “It’s okay. Just... promise me you won’t use it unless you absolutely have to. Only if it’s really, really necessary.”

That sweetness in her voice. The permission. The innocence.

She had no idea who she was talking to.

I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip, not hard, just enough to feel it. Her taste was still there. Wildflower honey and something softer beneath.

“Of course,” I said, I reached up and brushed a stray curl from her cheek with the back of my knuckle, “Only if there’s no other choice.”

She curled her hands in the sheets, fingers tightening. I tucked the gun back into the holster sewn into the lining of my jacket.

Then I looked back to her and smiled. The kind of smile that could be mistaken for warmth if you didn’t know better.

I wanted her to trust me.

I needed her to trust me.

And she would.

Because trust isn't always earned.

Sometimes, it’s taken.

Sometimes, it’s bled into you until you don’t know what’s yours and what’s mine.

And her sweet little heart?

That was already halfway in my hands.

She looked up at me, smiling, trusting and fucking hell, she was soft, a little too soft for this world but I wasn’t going to let it eat her alive. I’d do it first. I’d kill for her first. I'd eliminate every single threat before it could even breathe near her, starting with Remo fucking Lombardi.

I could already see his blood on my hands, feel the calm that would follow once his name was crossed off the list.

She reached for my hand, gentle as a sigh. Her fingers slid over my knuckles like my hand was something sacred, not blood stained. Then she lifted it to her lips and kissed it, “Bye...” she whispered, blinking up at me with those big, innocent eyes I had been obsessed with since the moment I saw them.

I didn’t let her go. I used the same hand she’d kissed and pulled her back to me, until her chest brushed mine and she gasped just a little then I kissed her mouth.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” I murmured against her lips, “Sweet dreams.”

Then I stepped out.

The warmth bled from my face the second the door closed behind me. I left the smile inside with her. Outside, I was something else entirely.

My eyes flicked to the man stationed just outside the apartment hallway. He straightened when he saw me. I walked past him and spoke.

“Double security on the building,” I said, “Every entrance, every stairwell, every blind corner. No lapses.”

He nodded once, “Yes, Boss.”

“Expand coverage to her college. Full surveillance. Keep two men on her at all times, inside the classroom if necessary. Keep it subtle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the restaurant, kitchen, back exit, alley. Don’t just watch. Blend in. Keep close. No one touches her. No one breathes near her without me knowing first.”

He nodded, adjusting the earpiece.

I narrowed my eyes, “You see anyone too close, chef, customer, professor, friend, I want a name and a file. Got it?”

“Yes, Boss. Absolutely.”

I gave a curt nod and walked into the elevator.

She didn’t need to know the extent of it. She didn’t need to see the net tightening around her. She just needed to feel safe.

Safe... and mine.

I was halfway to the elevator, fixing the line of my collar, when my phone rang in my pocket.

Silvio.

I answered with a tilt of my head, already on alert, “Talk.”

His voice came rushed. “It’s Warehouse 17. The docks. Get here now.”

My hand froze on the elevator panel. I ended the call without another word and bolted down the stairs, not the elevator.

By the time I hit the ground level, my driver had barely gotten out of the car before I ripped open the door and slid into the back seat.

“Drive. Dockside. Warehouse 17.”

The engine roared as we peeled out of the private garage. The city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow. My knee bounced. My jaw clenched. Every second felt like a fuse hissing toward something I already knew was gone.

By the time we reached the docks, I could see the smoke curling above the harbor before we even turned the corner.

“Remo,” he said, “That boy’s always had a taste for theater. Daddy must’ve let him off the leash.”

He took a long breath, then finally lit the cigar. A single flame. A drag.

“I don’t give a fuck about the product,” he said after a long silence.

My brow lifted.

He went on.

He stood, adjusted his cuffs, and walked to the window. He took another drag, eyes locked on the vast garden sprawled across the estate, sculpted, and soaked in moonlight.

“We retaliate,” he said.

It ignited something in me but with Vincenzo, retaliation usually came shackled with caveats. Limits, warnings, reminders not to make a public mess of things.

“And the rules?” I asked, already bracing for them.

He turned, eyes cold, “There are none.”

A slow grin split my face. My pulse surged, hot and violent. No rules meant no mercy. No lines meant I could paint the streets red with their screams and sleep like a baby after.

I could already see it, the flames, broken bones, severed tongues.

Blood havoc, tailored by my hands.

Vincenzo seemed satisfied with my smile. He knew what it meant. Hell, he was counting on it.

He turned back to the window, smoke curling from his cigar, “Torch what they love. Hit the cash, the chemicals, the kids they think are loyal.”

I tilted my head, chest humming with violence, “Remo?”

Vincenzo gave a single nod. “Start with the little prince. Make it personal. Break his fucking bones and leave him breathing long enough to tell his father why.”

I almost laughed, “He’ll scream.”

“I'm fucking counting on it,” Vincenzo said, walking back and calmly crushing the cigar in the ashtray. “I want Rino to hear it in his sleep.”

A slow pulse of darkness thudded at the base of my skull.

I had Vincenzo’s blessing.

And that meant I could hunt.

Not just the soldiers, not just the dealers. No. I was going to peel back the Lombardi family layer by layer, until their empire bled from its core.

I'd start with Remo—yes, the little prince, the fucking heir with manicured hands and a mouth too cocky for someone who hadn’t earned his scars.

He wouldn’t die quickly.

No, I'd make him regret the day he threatened me.

I’d carve our crest into his chest.

Brand him.

Make him eat his own words.

I grabbed my coat, already tasting the violence in the back of my throat. By morning, the city would remember what our name means.

Capone.

A consequence.