I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 19

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

“Can I stay here tonight?” I asked, as I curled my arms around Carlos’s and rested my cheek on his shoulder. “I just... I don’t want to stay at my new boss’s place. He’s nice, his family is really nice and super generous, but I just don’t feel... comfortable. It’s weird, staying in someone’s house when you barely know them.”

I didn’t mention that my new boss was the same man who’d bled all over my apartment floor.

Carlos just stared at the TV, remote in hand, thumb flicking across the buttons. Then he let out a short breath, half laugh, half scoff and said, “Maddie, seriously? You do realize this is a once in a fucking lifetime opportunity, right?”

I lifted my head a little.

“I mean, fuck. Velluto Rosso. A Michelin star. That’s not some diner gig. That’s real money. Real benefits. Health insurance, dental—shit I can’t even get with my job. And you’re talking about being uncomfortable like that’s the main issue?” he looked at me then, “God, you’re so soft sometimes.”

I blinked, and held onto his arm tighter, “I know, and I’m grateful. I really am,” I said quietly. “I’m not saying I’m quitting. I just... wanted to sleep here tonight. With you.”

Carlos sighed, “Babe,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course, you can stay here. But you don’t see what I see. You’ve got a chance to actually get your shit together.”

“I know,” I said again, this time with a smile, nudging him a little. “It is good. I mean, the tips alone are gonna be insane. And the company card? We could finally stock the fridge with actual food.”

That made him grin, finally, “Now you’re talking.”

“And it’ll help with tuition,” I added, voice brightening. “I still want to be a vet, remember? That’s my dream. Waitressing isn’t forever, it’s just the way there.”

He looked at me for a beat, something soft flickering across his face. Then he pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around me and pressing his lips to my forehead like a promise.

“I just want what’s best for you, Maddie. Even when you don’t.”

I closed my eyes at that. Carlos loved me, he knew me better than I knew myself. He was the only one who really saw me. And I mean, that’s what love is, right? Loving someone even when they don’t make sense.

Carlos could be intense, loud, stubborn, but that was just how he was wired. And I’d always believed that the best couples were the ones who balanced each other out.

My mom used to say that was the secret to her and my dad lasting so long. One of them would get mad, the other would stay calm. That was just how it worked.

And I don’t really get mad. I’m not the yelling, throwing-things type. I like peace. Quiet. Happiness. I’ve always been the calm one. So, when Carlos snapped or raised his voice or got frustrated, I just... let it pass. I gave him space. I understood. It didn’t mean he loved me less, it meant he trusted me enough to be real.

That’s why we worked. He was the fire, and I was the water. He burned hot, and I cooled him down. We fit. We made sense.

I nestled against his side, feeling his warmth seeping into my skin, his arm heavy around my shoulders. It wasn’t always perfect but nothing ever is. Sometimes, even if something has cracks, it can still feel like the safest place in the world.

It can still feel like home.

I looked up at him with big eyes, already knowing he was going to say no, “Can Flan stay with us too? Just until I find my own place?”

Carlos groaned like I’d asked him to adopt a raccoon. He threw his head back dramatically. “Oh my God, Maddie, seriously?”

I clasped my hands together like I was about to propose. “Pleeease, please please please please pleaaaase,” I begged, “He’s small! He barely takes up space!”

Carlos stared at me for a long second, then ran a hand down his face like he was aging in real time. “Fine,” he muttered, defeated. “But I still don’t get why you’re so obsessed with that thing. He doesn’t even look like a cat anymore. He looks like something that crawled out of a thrift store couch.”

I gasped, “That’s so rude! He’s a little lumpy, yes, but he’s got personality! He’s just... abstract art in cat form.”

Carlos shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but I was already grinning like I’d won the lottery.

“Flan’s gonna be so happy,” I whispered, mostly to myself, “He hates new places. He needs emotional support snacks every time he enters a new room.”

𓎢𓎠𓎟𖦁‎𓎟𓎠𓎡

Okay. I was not sweating. I refused to sweat. Because if I started sweating, the nerves would win and I was not about to let a bunch of heirloom carrots and microgreens intimidate me.

This was Velluto Rosso. The Velluto Rosso. Michelin-starred, ultra-fancy, reservation-waitlist-until-you-die Velluto Rosso.

On day one.

In the vegan section.

Which, made my heart do an actual somersault because these were my people. My kale-loving, nut-milk-drinking, tofu-embracing people. I had to get this right.

“Table six is allergic to almonds and hates talking,” said Livia, my section lead and the scariest elegant woman I’ve ever seen in real life, “Table eight wants to know where the mushrooms were foraged and what kind of water the radishes were rinsed in.”

I blinked, “Um. Should I ask the mushrooms?”

Livia didn’t laugh at all. She just handed me a tray and said, “Don’t spill anything. And smile like your rent depends on it.”

Which... fair.

I was wearing the crispest, most intimidating uniform I’d ever seen: tailored black slacks, a fitted white button-down, a black vest that hugged a little too perfectly, and a deep red tie. I even had a little gold pin that said Vegan Service Only, which made me feel a little like I was wearing a Hogwarts house crest.

Hufflepuff, but for kale.

My hair was pulled back into the tightest bun of my life, so tight I think I lost peripheral vision. And I’d been told three times already by my supervisor, Francesca, that my posture was “just slightly too approachable.”

“This is not a diner, Madeleine,” she’d said, “You’re not refilling anyone’s coffee. You’re an extension of the experience. Elegant. Minimal. Present, but never loud.”

Present but never loud, okay. Got it. I can do that. I am so good at being present. Quiet? Less so, but we live, we learn.

My first table was a couple in their early thirties, dressed in matching designer neutrals and looking like they ran a start-up that sold meditation apps. I walked over with the most graceful posture I could manage, smiling just enough and bowed my head just the way Francesca taught me.

“Good evening,” I said softly, “My name is Madeleine. I’ll be taking care of you tonight on the plant-based side of the menu. May I guide you through your options?”

The woman blinked at me, “Are you... new?”

Oh no. I smiled wider, “Yes, ma’am. First day. But I promise I’ve been trained within an inch of my life.”

She laughed and that was a good sign, right?

I took them through the menu, describing the heirloom beet tartare. I used words like foraged, compressed, and infused with more confidence than I had any right to, and when the man asked me if the faux foie gras was truly ethical, I assured him with such a sincere smile that he actually complimented me on my “passion for cruelty-free cuisine.”

Which, I mean. Yes. I do get passionate about mushroom pâté. Sue me.

By the middle of the night, I was somehow managing to balance trays with three thousand dollar wine bottles, remember eight-item modifications and still say, “It’s my pleasure,” every time someone said thank you. And I wasn’t even faking it. Weirdly... I was loving it.

Lunch break finally rolled around and I practically floated into the staff room, my feet were aching.

I sank onto the little bench in the corner, the only spot that felt even slightly safe. The other waitresses had looked me up and down like I was some kind of joke. I’d caught the whispers, the side-eyes, the fake smiles, saying, She didn’t earn that position. She’s got that position because of her relationship with the boss. Someone better deserved that spot.

And to be honest, they weren’t wrong. I didn’t have years of fine dining experience. I was just... me. I probably had taken a chance from someone who worked their butt off for it.

I silently unwrapped my sandwich, a vegan pesto tofu melt I’d made last night. I took a big, happy bite, my stomach already thanking me, and pulled out my phone to scroll while I chewed.

I unlocked my screen.

And then I saw it.

Three unread messages.

Unknown Number.

I didn’t even feel the sandwich fall into my lap. My heart just plunged like an elevator with cut cables.

My hands were suddenly too cold. My breathing too loud. I stared at the screen like it might explain itself.

I looked around the staff room, and saw everyone engrossed in their own food and conversations.

Bracing myself, I tapped the first message.

╭───────────────╮

Unknown:

That uniform looks good on you.

Such a hardworking,

obedient little thing.

╰───────────────╯

My stomach flipped.

I muffled a gasp and snapped my head up, scanning the break room like someone might be watching me through the walls. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like I could hear it in my ears.

Who the hell—

How did they—

What did they want from me?

Another buzz.

╭───────────────╮

Unknown:

Looked into your boyfriend.

What a loser.

╰───────────────╯

The air left my lungs like I’d been punched.

Carlos. They knew about Carlos.

My hands trembled as I clicked the last one.

╭───────────────╮

Unknown:

Is that your... father?

╰───────────────╯

Beneath it was a photo.

My dad. In his work vest, standing outside the grocery store in São Paulo like he always did at closing time, holding a clipboard and smiling at someone off camera.

I stood up too fast.

My chair scraped back, and my water bottle tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud clatter that echoed off the walls. I dropped to my knees to grab it, but my fingers were shaking so bad I kept missing.

This wasn’t some stupid prank.

This wasn’t someone being weird.

This was personal.

They knew who I was.

Where I came from.

And now, they knew who I loved.

And just then, my phone buzzed again. My hand hovered over the screen, heart punching my ribs from the inside.

I didn’t want to look.

But I had to.

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