I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession. novel Chapter 46

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

“Flan, don’t do that!” I laughed, nudging him gently with my hand as he pawed at the block of tofu I’d been pressing.

He meowed dramatically, as if I’d wounded his pride beyond repair.

I shook my head, and danced barefoot across the cool tile, swaying my hips as I stirred the garlicky lentils, humming a little too dramatically to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”

I had my hair up in a bun, an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder with a faded cartoon cow on it that said: Eat Plants Not Friends, and my shorts were hidden under it somewhere. My legs were cold but I didn’t care. I was home, I was happy, and dinner was going to slap.

Flan, as always, disapproved of my dancing.

I dipped a spoon into the pan to taste the sauce, “Oh my goooood, I am a genius,” I declared to absolutely no one.

Then I turned, mid-spin, spoon still in hand and nearly screamed.

He was there.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway like he’d been there the whole time. One ankle crossed lazily over the other, hands in the pockets of his tailored navy slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The top two buttons of his blue dress shirt were undone, his chest peeking through.

I had no idea how long he’d been standing there.

Heat flooded my face so fast I thought I might pass out. “Oh my God,” I said, instantly flustered. “You—! Were you—? How long have you—?” I pointed at him with the spoon. “You can't just stand there like some creepy—”

“Don’t stop,” he said.

“What?” I blinked.

“The singing.”

It should’ve sounded like teasing but it didn’t.

“I don't sing in front of people,” I groaned, covering my face with both hands as the spoon dropped with a clink onto the counter.

He said nothing.

When I peeked through my fingers, he was still standing there.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, “I thought you were... busy? You weren't at the restaurant today either.”

He still said nothing. He walked forward slowly, the kind of slow that made my stomach flip. He stopped beside me, too close, always too close.

“You always sing when you cook?”

I swallowed. “No. I mean—yes. Sometimes. When I’m... alone.” I glanced up at him. “I thought I was alone.”

“You’re not,” he murmured.

He looked down at my food like it had personally offended him. “What is that?”

“I was just... making lentils with carrots and rosemary.”

“It smells... suspiciously edible.”

“Thank you?”

I stirred the lentils again, trying to focus on not completely combusting while Adriano stood there doing absolutely nothing except ruining my nervous system with his eyes.

And then something caught my eye.

A box, sitting by the kitchen doorway, plain cardboard but neatly taped, with a label that looked... new. My gaze flicked up to him, then back down, curiosity buzzing inside me.

“What’s that?” I asked softly, tilting my head.

He didn’t answer, he just nodded once toward it as if asking me to go get it.

I dried my hands on a kitchen towel and crossed over, grabbed the box and put it on the counter. I peeled the tape back carefully, prying the top open and froze.

Inside was a brand-new walker. It was smaller, lighter, matte black, with four sturdy wheels that actually matched. The seat had a soft little cushion. There were tiny side pouches, and the frame was just low enough for Flan’s crooked spine.

I blinked, it took me a second to process.

“You... got this?” I whispered.

I looked up at him, and he still hadn’t said a word, as if he hadn’t just rewritten the entire definition of kindness in my brain.

“It has a cup holder,” I said, laughing breathily. “You got him a walker with a cup holder.”

“His was falling apart.”

I swallowed, “It was. I just... I didn’t think you noticed.”

He kept looking at me, “I notice.”

I hugged the box before I even knew I was doing it, resting my cheek on the edge like I was five years old and someone had just handed me a Christmas puppy.

“Flan’s gonna love this. He’s gonna feel so much better.”

Flan made a sound that might’ve been a sneeze or a purr.

I looked up again, and my voice came out quieter, gentler. “Thank you.”

Adriano gave a short nod. “Let’s put it on him.”

I knelt beside Flan, “Okay, buddy. Let’s try this out. It’s got suspension wheels!”

Adriano crouched down beside me. He took the walker from my hands and studied it, “Let me,” he muttered.

I blinked at him. “Are you sure? He gets a little—”

“Feral?” Adriano asked, “I can handle it.”

“Okay,” I sang sweetly, sitting back on my heels. “But if he claws your eyes out, you only have yourself to blame.”

Flan looked up at him, his one cloudy eye twitching. He was suspicious of Adriano, his stiff little back was arched as Adriano gently slid the old walker away and reached for him.

Flan hissed.

I gasped, “Flan, no! Be nice, he bought you a gift!”

Adriano grabbed Flan with one hand, supporting his spine, and started adjusting the harness around him. It was going fine until it wasn’t.

One of Flan’s claws hooked straight into Adriano’s wrist.

I let out a squeal while Adriano didn't even flinch. He calmly pulled his arm back as a thin line of blood bloomed across his skin.

“Oh my God! He scratched you! Are you okay?! Flan—no, we don’t hurt people who help us—”

Adriano looked down at the cut like it was nothing more than a paper tear, “It's alright.”

I dabbed his wrist with a paper towel and looked up at him, “Does it hurt?”

He raised a brow, “Do I look like someone who cries over a cat scratch?” then he let out a laugh, “I’ll live.”

I turned to Flan, who was now stranding perfectly in his brand-new walker, as if nothing had just happened. He looked balanced and so much better.

I gasped, “He’s standing! He’s standing, Adriano! Look! Oh my God, you fixed him.”

Adriano watched the cat for a moment, a faint flicker of amusement passing across his face. I stared at him and my heart did something dumb again.

Because for one wild second, all I could think about... was how much I wanted to kiss him.

Flan strutted across the tile in his new walker, little wheels squeaking softly beneath him. My heart swelled watching him.

But it wasn’t just him I couldn’t look away from.

Adriano was still crouched near me, one knee down, one up. He wasn’t watching Flan either. He was watching me.

I sat back on the heels of my bare feet, tugging the hem of my oversized t-shirt down over my thighs.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

He hadn’t said much tonight. I mean, people were usually quieter compared to me, I talked a lot but there was something different about his silence tonight. He felt... distant.

He didn’t answer me again. Instead, he stood up slowly and I was looking up at him.

Then his hand came up, fingers grazing under my chin so gently I almost didn’t feel it. He tilted my face up to him, his eyes locking on mine.

I forgot how to breathe.

“I am now,” he murmured.

Then, with a gentle pull of his fingers, he brought my chin higher and I stood, like my body had always known how to respond to his touch.

My oversized T-shirt shifted with the motion, brushing the tops of my bare thighs. I could hear the soft hum of the oven behind me.

His thumb brushed the curve of my jaw. I was sure he could feel how fast my heart was racing. He lowered his hand, but only to let it trail down the side of my neck, knuckles grazing lightly, making my skin erupt in goosebumps.

“Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you really are? How perfect?” he asked and then his forehead came to rest against mine.

My heart tried to crawl up my throat. I just let myself lean into the warmth of him, he didn’t kiss me, he didn’t have to. His proximity was enough.

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