I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 22

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

I have been staring at her picture for the last hour...

Her face was all anger and fear, lips tight, eyes sharp like she wanted to kill me—whoever I was in her mind.

My sweet little paradox.

And fuck, did that do something to me. That look, that fight in her eyes, I felt it everywhere.

Then my gaze dipped lower.

White cotton. Panties and a bra that probably came in a three-pack from some department store because she’s that kind of girl, soft, naive enough to think no one was looking.

No lace. No silk. Just sweet, plain innocence.

Never thought plain white cotton could wreck me like this. My hand moved down, palming the thick strain behind my zipper. My cock throbbed, pressing against the fabric like it was ready to tear through just to get a taste.

She had the kind of body that made men stupid. Small, delicate, she had small curves, and just the kind of skin you want to mark, and the kind of mouth you want to ruin.

Her tits weren’t massive but they’d fit in my hands just right, the kind you hold onto while you’re burying yourself so deep she forgets how to speak. Every inch of her designed for me. Tight little waist, hips that could ride me and those legs, fuck.

She looked breakable and fragile.

I bet she doesn’t even know how beautiful she is.

And those panties?

I’d rip them off with my teeth if I had the chance.

No. When I get the chance.

I leaned back in my chair, still staring, one hand unbuckling my belt. The image didn’t move, but I could feel her. That fucking innocence bleeding through the screen, practically daring me to take it.

My hand slid into my pants and fingers wrapped around my cock, thick and aching, and I let my head drop back for a second, let the need burn through me.

I pictured her on her knees, shaking, confused, wet, not because I asked, but because her body would already know what I needed.

My grip on my cock tightened, a rough groan tearing loose as I imagined her flinching at the sound.

I stroked slow. Base to tip, my thumb smearing pre-cum over the head. Fuck, she'd be wet like this too, wouldn't she? That pretty cunt clenching around nothing, desperate before I even touched her.

I spread my legs wider, hips rolling up into my fist. I could almost taste her. Cotton and salt and that fucking innocence.

The screen blurred.

She'd hear it. She'd feel it. Every thrust of my hand was a promise—you're gonna take it just like this.

A growl ripped out of me.

The orgasm hit like a fucking wrecking ball, my vision whiting out as I came hard across my stomach.

Her stomach, in my head.

The photo still glared back.

I smirked, soon.

Afterwards, I hit the shower, cold enough to sting, but not enough to kill the ache she left behind. The towel clung low on my hips as I stepped back into my room. I glanced at my phone, expecting something from Madeleine.

But it wasn’t her.

It was one of my guys, the one I’d assigned to tail Carlos.

Sunshine’s so-called boyfriend.

Right. The walking dead.

The soon-to-be corpse.

I tapped the message, and a video thumbnail opened, grainy surveillance footage from what looked like some busted-ass back hallway. A staff-only corridor in the shithole medical center where Carlos worked at.

I hit play.

And there he was.

Carlos came stumbling into frame, and trailing that same nurse I’d spotted slipping out of his apartment the other night.

The second the door shut behind them, they were on each other like fucking animals. His hands were all over her, grabbing, yanking, devouring. She hiked her scrubs up, and he shoved her back against the wall, desperate like he’d die if he didn’t get inside her that second.

They fucked right there, next to a mop bucket and a cart full of biohazard waste. I leaned back, towel still low on my hips, and let out a cold, humorless laugh.

Not because it was funny.

Because this... this was perfect.

Sunshine had no idea the man she thought loved her was screwing some lab tech behind a locked door in a place that smelled like bleach and shit.

But she’d know soon.

And I wouldn’t have to lift a finger to ruin Carlos.

He’d do it all by himself.

I paused the video on a frame where he was mid-thrust, face twisted in something that almost looked like pain.

I stared at it.

Smiled to myself.

And saved the footage to my phone.

𓎢𓎠𓎟☠︎︎𓎟𓎠𓎡

“I fucking hate this place,” Vince muttered the second we stepped past the velvet curtain and into the neon pit of sin that was Elektra.

The bass rattled through the floors, cheap perfume clung to the air, and dollar bills floated like confetti near the poles. The girls were already working, backs arched, lips red, eyes dead. The regulars sat slouched in the shadows, the creeps in suits, licking their wounds with whiskey and fake affection.

Vincenzo hated this place with his whole soul.

He hated what it stood for.

He hated the girls, the drugs, the hands that lingered too long on someone else’s waist. He wanted to burn it all to the ground the moment he became the head of the family. He said prostitution was rot. Said we were no better than the sick bastards we put in the ground if we kept it running.

And I almost let him.

But the girls begged.

On their knees, some literally. They cried, they pleaded, some even offered shit I wouldn’t touch if I were blind, deaf, and dying but I listened. Because when you’ve got dozens of women who’ve survived hell, and all they ask for is protection and a roof while they sell what the world’s already tried to steal from them... you fucking listen.

You don’t shut the doors and send them crawling back to the wolves.

Vince didn’t give a shit.

“Let them get day jobs,” he’d snapped.

Day jobs, like the world was lining up to hand trauma-riddled, ex-junkie single moms a corner office and a 401(k). Vince never understood that this wasn’t about sex. It was about survival.

But I did.

So I vouched for them and told Vince I’d handle it. That no scumbag pimp would ever breathe near the girls that work for us again. That we’d run it tight. Safe. No underage shit. No coercion. No black eyes.

I promised I’d carry the weight of it and he made damn sure I did.

He cut himself off from the whole operation like it was radioactive. Never set foot in any of the clubs again. He didn’t speak to the girls, didn’t want to hear the numbers or see the cash or even smell the perfume.

Which meant every time something went wrong, someone shorted a girl, someone got rough, someone OD’d in the champagne room, it was my phone that rang.

And now here we were.

Vince with a scowl and me walking beside him like I hadn’t spent the last two years being the mob’s unofficial HR rep for the sex trade.

“Don’t pretend this wasn’t your call,” he muttered under his breath, eyes darting past a dancer with a whip wrapped around her thigh.

I smirked.

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure these girls don’t get skull-fucked by a drunk hedge fund bro on coke. Might as well be me.”

He shot me a glare that said he’d rather be anywhere else.

I winked.

“Come on, Vince. Don’t act like you’ve never enjoyed a lap dance.”

“I don’t pay women to touch me,” he bit back.

“Good. Neither do I,” I said, my grin twisting into something wolfish because I know it would annoy him, “They touch me for free.”

He rolled his eyes and I laughed.

I heard the telltale shriek of six-inch heels pounding against the floor.

“ADI!”

Sammy barreled into view like a hurricane in fishnets, nearly knocking over a tray girl on her way to me. Her arms flung around my neck before I could even brace myself, legs wrapping slightly around one of mine, hair wild and perfume strong enough to choke a grown man and her voice was loud enough to wake the dead.

“You’re back and you didn’t tell me? I oughta kick you in the dick for that,” she said, laughing through the words, her hands gripping my jaw.

Vincenzo took one look at her clinging to me like a stripper koala and recoiled like she was diseased

I laughed softly, holding her by the waist. “Now, that’s no way to treat a man who brought you your favorite chocolate bars.”

She squealed, full-volume. Then she pressed her face against my chest for a second too long.

I let her.

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