I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 13

13 /54

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

His hands were all over me, and they were fast and impatient, like he was flipping through a magazine he’d already read too many times.

There was no buildup, there never was, just lips on my neck, his breath hot and the creak of my old mattress under us.

I stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. The fan spun in lazy circles above, and I tried to focus on the sound instead of how disconnected I felt.

His weight pressed into me, he was heavy and he was careless about it, like I was just... there.

“God, Maddie,” Carlos groaned, burying his face in my shoulder like he was trying to disappear inside his own need.

I made a soft noise, something that could pass for enthusiasm, but really, I was just trying to keep up. Trying to figure out what I was missing. Because everyone always talked about this stuff like it was fireworks and moans and clawing at walls, like it could change your life. But all I felt was his hand gripping my hip too tightly and the ache in my back from the angle.

I’ve watched those... you know, movies, trying to figure it out, what to do, how to like it, how to enjoy it. But they were always so weird. The women screamed like someone was chasing them, and the guys just looked... I don’t know, cold? Robotic? Like they were doing push-ups, not touching a real person. It never felt sweet. It never looked fun. Just... strange. And kinda sad.

I tried to shift and tried to guide his hand, tried to make it mean something.

He didn’t notice or he didn’t care.

How do you even make it mean something? Like, is that even possible? Or is it just one of those things, something guys want, something they take, and we’re just... there for it?

Is it ever about both people, or just another thing girls are supposed to pretend to enjoy so no one gets mad or leaves? I don’t know. Maybe I’m naive, but I thought it was supposed to feel like connection, like closeness. Not... noise and grunting and wondering when it’ll be over.

It’s called making love for a reason.

But I don’t think I’ll ever know what that reason is.

I closed my eyes, hoping maybe I could trick myself into feeling something. Anything. But all I could think about was how cold the pillow was on one side and how the bedsheet had bunched up weird under my thigh.

When he finally stilled and let out a loud, breathless exhale, I waited for him to look at me. And when he did, I gave him a smile. He kissed my forehead and rolled off with a satisfied grunt, already halfway off the bed and reaching for his phone.

“That was good,” he said, not even glancing my way as he started tapping at the screen. “Needed that.”

I blinked up at the ceiling again, my legs still tangled in the sheets, my body still waiting for a signal it never got.

Needed that? Really? I felt like I’d just been run over by a lukewarm wave and left on the sand.

I sat up slowly, pulling the blanket over my chest even though he’d already seen everything. I didn’t know why, maybe I just wanted something between us, maybe, some kind of barrier.

He was already pulling on his jeans, scrolling on his phone, totally checked out.

“Did you...?” I asked softly, not even sure what I was asking.

He looked up, blinking like he forgot I was still there, “What?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, offering him a tiny smile. “Just... wondering.”

He smirked, leaned over to kiss my cheek like I was a dog who did a good trick. “You’re too sexy, baby, but you think too much.”

I didn’t answer. I just nodded and waited until he left the room, and stepped into the bathroom to take off his condom or whatever. I flopped back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling again. That stupid fan kept spinning.

Was that it?

Was that what everyone was obsessed with?

Because honestly... I didn’t get it. I didn’t feel closer to him. I didn’t feel butterflies. I felt kind of used, a little bit stupid and really, really alone.

I sighed, tucking the blanket tighter around myself.

I shut my eyes and instantly regretted it. The restaurant came back in flashes, the shouts, glass breaking, the crash of trays hitting the floor.

I could still hear the manager yelling for everyone to get down, the way I’d curled up behind the counter, heart thudding like it was trying to climb out of my chest. I hadn’t even seen their faces but I know they were big men, loud voices, asking for me.

My eyes snapped open. My whole body was tense, because I was still hiding and they were still out there, looking.

And now, I was jobless. Again.

I lay there, stomach tight with dread. I hadn’t even told Carlos yet.

Because how could I? He’d lose it. He already thought I was too soft, too trusting, too... naive.

He was already covering half my college fees this semester, which he never let me forget. Now if I tell him I lost my job because men came into the restaurant looking for me, he is going to explode.

He will call me careless, say I brought this on myself. He’ll probably say it’s because I refused to go to the police.

But I couldn’t. I can’t, not with my family still stuck back home, not when I don’t even know who those men were or what they want from me. Just thinking about it made my chest tighten, made me want to disappear.

I should lie and just tell Carlos the place shut down or something.

Because the truth was terrifying.

And Carlos didn’t do well with terrifying. He got mean. And right now, the last thing I needed was to be called names for surviving.

Carlos came back from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his curls. He was wiping his face when he saw me sitting up on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in my lap. My heart was racing. I could barely meet his eyes.

“Baby...” I said, “Can we talk for a sec?”

He paused, the towel now around his neck, “What's wrong?”

That made my stomach drop, but I pushed through it. “I—I lost my job. Today. There were some guys, they came and vandalized the restaurant, I think they were looking for some girl and everyone thinks they were asking for me—”