Claimed By The Mafia Rogue King (Snow and Cupid) novel Chapter 337

Chapter 337

Cupid

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The night air carried the faint scent of rain–soaked earth and distant salt from the lagoon as I stepped out of the car.

The compound loomed ahead quietly, watchful. The kind of silence that only comes after too much noise has been endured.

I never thought I’d be here tonight. Not this soon. Not with this weight pressing down on my chest like a stone I couldn’t shift.

Mother’s anger still burned behind my eyes. Quiet, disappointed, the worst kind.

Marlik’s fury simmered beneath his calm, too. But he needed to hear this first. Before anyone else. Before decisions hardened into irreversible choices.

Ramin met me at the gate with a silent bow, eyes lowered in the old way, respect mixed with something heavier tonight. I nodded once and moved past him, boots soft on the stone path leading to the main house.

The living room was dark. No flicker of the television. No low murmur of news anchors dissecting Feroz Alpha’s death sentence.

The man was gone from the screens now, condemned, caged, waiting for the end. There was no point in watching anymore. The war was over. Or so it seemed.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step measured, deliberate. At Yasmin’s door I paused, then eased it open.

She slept curled on her side, breathing soft and even, lashes dark against pale cheeks.

Moonlight slipped through the half–drawn curtains and painted silver across her hair. I crossed the room without sound, reached down, and gently tugged the blanket higher over her shoulder.

She stirred, just a sigh, a small shift then settled again, deeper into dreams.

I lingered a moment longer than I should have, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the peace she wore like armor when the world wasn’t looking. God, I loved her. Fiercely. Protectively. In ways that made my throat close.

Then my gaze caught on something peeking from beneath the bed, corners of paper, edges curled.

Curiosity tugged. I knelt, careful not to wake her, and drew one sheet free.

A drawing.

Yasmin had started sketching again. The realization brought a small, involuntary smile to my lips until I unfolded the page fully.

Desmond.

His face stared back at me, rendered in careful pencil strokes, every line precise, every shadow deliberate.

The tilt of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his eyes. Captured from memory. From that single visit.

The smile died on my face.

I reached for the second sheet, heart already sinking.

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Chapter 337

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Another Desmond. Also unaware like the first one, only Closer this time, shoulders, the curve of his neck, the way his hair fell when he looked down. At the bottom, in her small, neat handwriting.

A man within reach but can never have.

The words landed like a blade between ribs.

I stared at the page until the lines blurred. Swallowed once. Hard.

Impossible.

No. Not him. Not Desmond. Not my sister.

Marlik could never know. Not tonight. Not ever, if I could help it.

I slid both drawings back exactly where I’d found them, smoothed the blanket once more, and slipped out. The door closed with a whisper–soft click.

Marlik’s room was at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open without knocking.

He wasn’t asleep.

He sat up in bed, back against the headboard, staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused, jaw set.

The lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across his face, sharpening the hollows beneath his cheekbones.

I closed the door behind me. Crossed to the bed. Sat on the edge.

“You’re not sleeping,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look at me. Not at first.

I reached into my jacket, pulled out the pack of cigarettes, shook one free. Held it out.

He turned then, slowly, and took it without a word.

I flicked the lighter. Flame danced between us. He leaned in, inhaled deeply. Exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

“I can’t sleep,” he said after a long moment. “Hardly these days.”

“I know the feeling.”

I stared ahead at the blank wall opposite us, mirroring his emptiness.

“I fear for Snow’s life too much,” I admitted, voice low. “And what she’d think of me if she ever learned the truth. That I’m not just some model with a pretty face. That I’m the king. The Mafia King.”

He took another drag. Let the smoke curl out slowly.

“She’d be angry,” he said flatly. “Heartbroken. All the negative things at once. Better to keep it buried. Take it to your grave. Once you retire, you’ll be free of their leash.”

I turned to him then, really looked.

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