I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 29

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

I was sprawled on my bed, one arm tucked under my head, the other cradling my phone.

Her message came through at 7:21 AM.

M: I know I’m not supposed to be texting you. I’m probably going to regret this, or maybe you’re not even real, I don’t know. But I just... I don’t have anyone else right now and I feel like I’m falling apart. I’m sorry if this is stupid. I just needed someone.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a second. Then I typed:

Me: Did you finally cut that loser loose?

Ten minutes passed. She was typing. Deleting. Typing again. I imagined her on the edge of some couch or guest bed, probably curled up with her knees to her chest, her thumbs trembling.

M: Yes.

I glanced at the time—7:34.

Why the fuck was she awake?

Me: Did I wake you?

M: I never went to sleep.

Me: Why?

M: I just ended a five-year relationship. Why do you think?

Oh, she's feisty today.

I ran my tongue across my teeth, grinning.

Me: How was it? The breakup?

There was a pause. Then came her next message.

M: It was awful. Adriano was there with me. And I feel so stupid. I don’t even know you, which weirdly makes this easier. Not knowing you makes me feel like you're not real. But I know him. He’s my friend. And I don’t know how I’ll ever look him in the eyes again after all that Carlos said before him.

I stared at the words longer than I meant to.

You sweet, clueless little thing.

I pressed the phone to my lips for a second, she didn’t know but she was already wrapped around my fingers.

Me: You can look me in the eyes anytime you want, sweetheart. Especially if you’re on your knees.

I didn’t send it.

I settled back against the pillows, shirtless, bathed in the early morning light that bled through the blinds.

I typed:

Me: He didn’t deserve you.

And then, just to make her feel better:

Me: Tell me everything. Every little detail. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to listen. To understand.

And eventually, to take.

M: It was so humiliating. I can’t even say it out loud. He called me a gold digger… because he helped with some of my tuition. I mean, I paid most of it myself. He just pitched in sometimes when I was struggling, and I thought that’s what couples did. I thought that meant something. I thought he was it… I thought he was the one. I was going to marry him. But he...

Me: He what, angel? Say it. I’m right here.

I stared at the screen, pulse ticking, teeth clenched. The thought of him belittling her, after five years, after taking her first made my hands twitch like they were still gripping the bat.

The typing bubble flickered and disappeared, like she kept starting and stopping. When the next message came through, it was fragmented.

M: He said... He said I wasn’t enough. That I didn’t know how to… make him happy.

I stared at the words. The version she was giving me was a watered-down fraction of the truth, and I knew it because I was there.

M: He said I didn’t try hard enough, that I wasn’t... exciting. That he had to look elsewhere because of me.

She was downplaying it, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. That asshole’s words played on a loop in my head, every syllable.

M: I guess... I guess maybe he’s right. Maybe I am boring. Maybe that’s why he...

She didn’t finish the text.

I typed slowly, because the urge to shatter my phone against the wall was a little too strong.

Me: Don’t you dare finish that sentence.

There was a long pause before her reply.

M: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you. You’re probably laughing at me right now.

Laughing? No. I was thinking of every way I could make Carlos choke on the bile he spewed. I was thinking of how long it would take to break a man like him because men like Carlos were weak. And the only thing weaker than Carlos was the twisted little part of her that thought maybe he’d been right.

I leaned back on the bed, running a hand through my hair, and typed again.

Me: You’re a lot of things, Madeleine, but boring isn’t one of them. He just didn’t know what to do with a woman like you. If you let me... I could teach you what that body could do.

The bubble popped up fast. She read it right away. And then nothing, no reply.

I imagined her, brows furrowed, mouth parted in that soft little gasp she probably made when she was flustered. I bet her cheeks were pink.

Then, finally...

M: That’s not funny.

M: I’m not... I didn’t text you for that. I’m not like that.

She wasn’t angry, not really. She was embarrassed like even the thought of someone wanting her that way felt foreign.

I sat up straighter, the grin sliding from my face.

Me: I wasn’t joking.

M: You don’t even know me.

Me: I know enough.

M: I thought you were someone I could talk to. I don’t want to be just... that kind of girl to you.

Almost everything she said felt like petals, she didn’t know how much power she had just by being gentle.

Me: You can talk to me. You are talking to me. But don’t confuse me, sweetheart. I’m not a therapist. I’m not your little emotional support text buddy. If you want someone to nod and say the right things, go cry to your friends. If you want the truth, you’re in the right place.

Typing.

M: You’re mean and kind of a jerk.

God, she was adorable.

M: I feel gross, okay!

M: Not just because of what he said but because... a part of me believes it. I’m not good at love. Or sex. Or any of it. He was right about me.

Me: He said those things to make himself feel bigger. Men like that only feel powerful when they’re kneeling on someone else’s throat. You want to know what I think?

I didn’t wait for her to say yes.

Me: I think if you ever let me touch you, I’d ruin every memory you’ve ever had of him. And not because I’d fuck you better but because I'd teach you what your body really wants.

Typing bubble.

Stopped.

Came back.

Stopped again.

She was shaking. I could feel it in the lag of her reply.

M: I told you something real and you turned it into... this.

Typing.

M: You don’t know what it’s like to stand there and hear the person you love say the most disgusting things about you and still hate yourself enough to believe them.

I stared at the screen, pulse ticking in my jaw, my chest tight with something that wasn’t lust.

Not this time.

I shook myself out of it.

Me: Send me a picture. I want to see what you look like right now. What you’re wearing.

M: Did you even read what I just said? You’re seriously asking me for a picture right now?

I leaned back, one hand dragging down my face. My smile wasn’t there this time.

I typed slowly.

Me: You don’t have to be naked. I want to see your face when you’re still a little mad at me.

I waited.

She didn’t reply right away. She was probably biting her lip, hugging her knees, talking herself out of it, then back into it.

M: Are you serious right now? What is wrong with you?

The messages came fast. She was upset, and maybe a little flustered. I could almost hear the frantic tapping of her thumbs through the screen.

M: You know what? No. I’m not doing this anymore.

M: I don’t care if you know where I live. I don’t care if you have whatever leverage you think you do. If you wanted to hurt me or my family, you would’ve done it already. So stop pretending like you’ve got that kind of power over me.

Oh, she was mad-mad now, like a bunny baring its teeth.

M: Whatever this is, it’s over. I regret every word I ever said to you. I don’t care if you think I’m naive or weak or whatever else men like you label girls like me when we finally say no. I’m saying it now.

M: Don’t text me again. Don’t call. Don’t watch. Don’t pretend you care. Delete my number.

And then a moment later.

M: I mean it.

Me:

You’re adorable when you’re angry.

No response.

I leaned back, free hand running through my hair. I didn’t chase women but something about the way she slammed the door and thought it would stay shut made me want to rattle it until the hinges gave out.

Me: You’re really not gonna text back? After all the fun we had?

Nothing.

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