I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 32

Adriano

⫘☠︎︎⫘

The kitchen staff were already filtering in, hands full of porcelain and silver, fresh pastries, fruits, and whatever vegan alchemy Claire had somehow managed to conjure for the little sunshine currently seated next to me.

Madeleine was trying to disappear into the breakfast chair like she wasn’t used to being anywhere so comfortable. Her curls were still a little wild from sleep, and she kept pushing a strand behind her ear every few seconds without realizing it. She looked like she didn’t know what to do with all this.

Claire swept in placing a perfectly balanced plate of tofu scramble, roasted tomatoes, and avocado toast in front of Madeleine like it was Michelin-star magic. She smiled down at her. “Vegan. And I made sure the toast didn’t touch the eggs,” she said gently, then turned to me with a look. “Try not to be disgusting for ten minutes.”

“No promises,” I muttered, then looked over at sunshine, leaned in. “You better eat every bite. Claire’s the type to cry into her Le Creuset if you don’t.”

Her eyes darted toward mine, amused, but she was trying not to show it. Behind us, the doors opened and in came the rest of the family.

Vincenzo entered first, in that pressed black button-down. Claire kissed his cheek and handed him his espresso without him asking.

Luca followed, black hoodie and all. He nodded once at Maddie, then slid into a seat with his knife already spinning between his fingers.

Then came Raphael, yawning like he hadn't slept in a week, hoodie half-on, glasses slightly crooked. “What’s up, sinners,” he mumbled, grabbing a croissant and slumping down into his chair.

Silvio walked in after him, silver rings and leather jacket, “Mmm, I smell another woman in the Capone house.”

Maddie gave him a nervous smile and a small wave. I could tell she was overwhelmed but trying.

“She’s cute,” Silvio added, sliding into a chair, looking at me, “God, I love it when they still have hope in their eyes.”

And finally, cue the fucking thunder, Salvatore Capone himself entered. He grunted something that might’ve been “morning” and didn’t even look at anyone except Aurelia who came running in behind him.

“Nonno!” she squealed, and the old man melted like a popsicle in the sun.

“So,” Raphael said, taking a slow sip of his coffee, eyes gleaming as he looked right at me, “Did the package make it to its final destination... or is it still sitting in customs?”

He was asking if I fucked Madeleine last night. Maddie blinked, glancing between us, totally lost but trying to play along.

I leaned back in my chair with a lazy grin, stretching my arm along the back of hers. “Please. You know I don’t just rip the box open, gotta inspect the wrapping, check for delicate contents.”

Maddie took a bite of her toast, eyes widening a little like it surprised her, then turned to Claire with that soft, sunny smile of hers. “This is so good. Thank you so much for making it.”

Before Claire could answer, Aurelia launched a fork like a javelin across the table.

It stuck into a loaf of bread.

No one jumped except Maddie.

Her mouth fell open, “Did she just—?”

“Capone accuracy,” Vincenzo said, finally speaking, sipping his espresso like nothing had happened.

“She gets it from me,” I added, winking.

Dad dragged Aurelia out of her high chair and plopped her right into his lap, “Eh, there’s my little boss,” he grunted, brushing her hair out of her face with surprising gentleness. “Did your mother make you wear this frilly nonsense again?”

“It has pockets,” Claire added.

“Good,” Dad muttered, “A girl should always carry her own weapons.”

Maddie blinked, and then looked at me.

“It’s a metaphor,” I cut in, dragging her plate closer.

Meanwhile, Claire was arguing with Raphael about the coffee machine again.

“You reprogrammed it again, didn’t you?” she accused.

“I just gave it options,” he said, “I upgraded it. It speaks French now.”

“It exploded yesterday, Raph.”

“French passion,” he shot back.

“Raphael,” Claire said flatly, “If my espresso tastes flirtatious again, I swear to God—”

“Fine. I’ll make it Italian.”

Alessia leaned across the table toward Maddie. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll learn to just eat fast and keep your head down, like prison, but with better food.”

Silvio raised his coffee, “And sexier guards.”

Luca grunted, “Stop talking.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, brick wall.”

“You’re always talking to me.”

“Because you never blink, it’s unnerving.”

And just then, Dante strolled in shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung too low to be decent. He was whistling some god-awful pop song as he dragged a chair across from me and Maddie, the screech of it loud enough to make Aunt Alessia wince.

She smacked the back of his head like she’d been waiting all morning. “We wear shirts in the presence of guests, Dante.”

He blinked, rubbed the back of his skull, “What guest?” his eyes flicked around, then landed on Madeleine, he grinned.

“Ah. That guest,” he leaned forward, reached across the table, unfazed by the death stare I shot him. “Dante Capone. The only man of the law in this family.”

Madeleine hesitated visibly. Her eyes dropped to his hand like it might bite. She still shook it, and I didn’t miss the little flicker of something behind her smile. The screams from last night were still fresh, just behind her eyes.

“He's a lawyer,” I clarified to put her at ease.

Aunt Alessia sniffed disapprovingly, “And where is the young lady you brought for the movie last night?”

Dante leaned back with a dramatic groan, arms stretched wide, “At her house, hopefully.”

“You didn’t ask her to stay for breakfast?” Alessia asked.

Dante’s mouth curled, “Why would I introduce someone to my family if I’m not gonna marry her? She was just a—” he stopped, caught Claire’s warning glare, cleared his throat and corrected himself, “—friend. A very temporary, emotionally un-invested friend.”

Alessia shook her head, “I truly thought if I prayed hard enough, took you boys to church every Sunday, at least one of you would save yourselves for marriage,” she made the sign of the cross.

“No offense, Alessia baby,” Dante said, slouching deeper in his chair, “but Jesus also hung out with whores.”

I snorted into my coffee, I couldn’t help it, “Pretty sure if Jesus met Dante,” I said dryly, “he’d turn the wine back into water just to get away from him.”

Dante threw a piece of bread at my head. I caught it mid-air and tossed it back without looking.

Aunt Alessia gasped like I’d committed blasphemy, “You boys are vile. Truly vile. Jesus wept.”

“He did,” I agreed, “Right after he heard Dante dirty-talk someone through a wall.”

Madeleine choked on her coffee, avoiding eye contact like she really didn't want to be the part of this conversation.

Dante grinned, “She asked for the wall stuff.”

“Doesn’t mean the rest of us wanted the acoustics,” I shot back.

“She screamed his name like it was a hymn,” Raphael added, looking up from his phone. “Pretty sure I crossed myself by accident.”

Claire glared at all of us. “Enough. You’re traumatizing our guest.”

I glanced at Madeleine.

She wasn’t traumatized.

Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes were bright, sparkling even, like this mess of a breakfast circus was the most alive she’d felt in a while. She looked at me, then looked away just as quickly.

𓎢𓎠𓎟☠︎︎𓎟𓎠𓎡

She kept talking about my whole family the entire ride, how it reminded her of back home. The loudness, the warmth and the teasing that walked the line of too much but never quite crossed it.

“You don’t have to go back there,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Jason’s place. You can stay at mine until you’re back on your feet.”

She blinked, “No, I—I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I can’t. You’ve already done too much. And I can’t leave Flan.”

Right. The cat. The demon in the walker.

“I'm not planning on staying there. I just need a few days to figure out—”

“Then don’t stay at mine,” I said flatly, cutting her off, “I’ve got an empty place a block from the restaurant,” I cut in. “Top floor. Two bedrooms. No one uses it.”

She hesitated. “Adriano, I—”

“No one's gonna bother you,” I added before she could finish. “You’ll have keys, full privacy, security from whomever you are running from. You can stay as long as you want or until you get your own place, whatever. I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I don’t,” I agreed easily, turning the corner. “But I am.”

Her fingers twisted the strap of her bag. “It just feels like—”

“What?” I said, cutting the engine once we pulled up outside Jason’s place. “Like accepting help makes you weak? Or you don’t wanna owe me something after what Carlos did?”

She stayed quiet, staring out the window at the cracked steps and uneven sidewalk, her eyes tearing up a little, “If my boyfriend of five years could say the things he said,” she whispered, eyes still fixed on the steps, “then it’s just a matter of time before you do, too.”

My jaw clenched.

“Don’t compare me to that piece of shit,” I said quietly.

She blinked, tears glistening in her eyes but not falling. I leaned forward, resting my arm on the steering wheel, and the other on the console between us.

“You wanna talk yourself out of help? Go ahead. But don’t stand there and act like I’d kick you when you’re already bleeding. I’m not Carlos.”

She turned to me slowly, eyes wide.

I leaned closer to her, “Sunshine, if you don’t like it, you leave but until then, you’re not sleeping in that cat piss apartment with Jason and whatever fungus is growing in his fridge.”

She huffed a tiny laugh. “It’s not that bad.”

“I can smell it from the street.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify