I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 16

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

I double-checked the address for the third time even though I’d been standing outside the building for five full minutes, pretending to scroll through my phone so I didn’t pass out.

Velluto Rosso.

Even the name sounded expensive. It was written in swoopy cursive on a plate-glass window that reflected the entire street behind me along with my way-too-nervous face.

This place was famous. Michelin-starred, white tablecloths, gold trim on the menus kind of famous. The kind of restaurant that rich people got engaged in. The kind of place I had absolutely no business setting foot in, except, well... desperation was a hell of a motivator.

I glanced down at myself, tugged at my skirt.

Okay.

So maybe it was a bit short.

But it wasn’t obscenely short. It was dark green and high-waisted and I paired it with a tucked-in white blouse, modest neckline, and the only blazer I owned.

My knees were bare but I shaved, so that was something. I looked... professional-ish. And maybe kind of cute. In a please-hire-me-I-have-four-dollars-to-my-name kind of way.

I smoothed my palms down the sides of my thighs and blew out a shaky breath.

“You’ve got this,” I whispered to myself. “Smile, speak clearly, don’t trip.”

Then I opened the door.

And immediately felt out of place.

The air inside was cool and smelled like lemon and truffle oil. The lighting was soft, everything gleamed, crystal glasses, gold light fixtures, the perfect marble floor with not a single speck of dust. I swore someone must mop it every thirty seconds.

Behind the hostess stand stood a woman in black pencil skirt and buttoned blouse, her hair slicked back into the kind of bun that looked painful. She looked at me like I’d tracked in dirt. I smiled anyway.

“Hi! I’m Madeleine Cordeiro,” I said, trying not like I was sweating through my bra, “I’m here for the interview?”

Her eyes skimmed me top to bottom. I swore I saw them pause at my knees. Great.

“Have a seat,” she said.

I obeyed, clutching my little pleather folder full of résumés I printed at the library because my printer ran out of ink... three months ago.

Every sound felt so loud here, the tick of the clock, the squeak of the leather bench when I shifted my legs.

I crossed my ankles, uncrossed them, then crossed them again the other way. I sat up straight, kept my shoulders back, and thought about puppies to distract myself from the knot in my stomach.

A man walked by in a suit, he didn’t look at me, nobody did. I was invisible in a room full of crystal and class.

And then, a door clicked open.

A tall man in a tailored navy-blue vest stepped out, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos on his forearms so dark they looked like brushstrokes. He looked at me, not past me, not around me... at me.

He saw every inch of me in one glance.

I tried not to tug my skirt down. I smiled instinctively, of course. It’s what I do. I’m the girl who smiles at cashiers and old ladies and even the stray dog that barks at me every day on 5th street.

Then he said, “Cordeiro?”

I nodded, voice catching in my throat before I forced it out, “Yes, that’s me.”

He gestured with two fingers.

“Come on back.”

Oh god.

Okay.

This was happening.

I stood, gathered my folder, gave the stone-faced hostess one last smile, and followed the dark-eyed man through the archway and into the back of Velluto Rosso.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said, “This place is... beautiful.”

“Mm.”

Just that one syllable, like he didn’t have time to waste on flattery or small talk.

He didn’t speak as he led me through the back halls like I was being escorted somewhere important.

I swallowed.

We reached a black lacquered door with a golden handle. He opened it for me. I stepped into a room that looked nothing like an office. It had dark wood walls, dark leather chairs.

And then I saw her.

A woman, dark haired, model-thin, definitely a waitress, I recognized the uniform, though her blouse was rumpled and half-untucked. She was standing beside Adriano’s chair, flushed to her ears and clutching a tray that probably had his lunch that he hadn't even taken a bite of.

Her lipstick was smudged and her hair was mussed. She looked like she’d just been caught stealing or doing something she absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.

She nearly dropped the tray when she saw me.

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide. “I—sorry, I was just—”

She didn’t look at me, only at Adriano.

Adriano didn’t even glance at her. He stayed seated behind the big black desk, dark button-down half-open, ink peeking out from his collar.

“Close the door behind you, Madeleine,” he said, combing his hair back with his hands.

I did. Automatically. My fingers fumbled with the handle, and I didn’t understand why my heart had started to beat like it was trying to escape my chest.

The woman slipped past me in a rush, perfume trailing behind her like smoke, not looking back.

I blinked, my throat went tight. My mind tried to make sense of it. The awkwardness. The smear on her lip. The tension in her shoulders. The very obvious way she didn’t meet my eyes.

I turned back to Adriano slowly.

And for a moment he seemed different.

I’d seen him bleeding, pale, I'd saved his life. I fed him soup. He looked human then.

Now?

Now he looked like he belonged in a magazine for men who owned yachts and smoked cigars rolled by hand. Dangerous in a way that wasn’t quiet at all.

“Sit,” he said, not even looking at me as he poured himself a drink.

I sat.

Very carefully.

“Sorry,” I said, too quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I didn’t know anyone was—”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.”

He finally looked at me and I couldn’t stop looking at him.

His jaw. His throat. His hands. The ring on his right finger. The slow way he sipped his drink.

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded, stiffly, “Yes. I’m good. Just... um. Nervous.”

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