Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 60

Davina's POV:

The sunlight that streamed through the vast bedroom windows was soft, warm, and utterly peaceful—a stark contrast to the turbulent storm of the night before. I woke up slowly, every muscle in my body pleasantly aching, feeling utterly exhausted and yet more alive than I had in months.

Ezra's arm was draped heavily over my waist, pulling me tight against his side. The scent of him—musk, sweat, and expensive cologne—was intoxicating. He was already awake, his breath warm against my hair. We moved together, not separating, but finding a new rhythm, a slow, languid dance of bodies that was both gentle and intensely possessive. It wasn't the frantic need of the previous night, but a deeper, more intimate claiming. His movements were deliberate, his eyes fixed on mine, conveying a tenderness that was usually veiled by his cold exterior.

Afterward, I settled against his chest, listening to the powerful, steady rhythm of his heart. His fingers played idly with a strand of my hair, tracing patterns down my spine.

"Stay right there," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly sound, rough with sleep and pleasure. "Don't move. You are so beautiful, dollface. Everything about you is mine, and everything is beautiful."

His words were poison wrapped in silk, the possessiveness thrilling me even as the implication of ownership should have terrified me. But right now, in the aftermath of our confession and our passionate reunion, I simply accepted it. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his strong shoulder.

"I love you, Ezra," I whispered, the words easier, truer than they had been the night before.

He didn't return the words—Ezra didn't deal in soft sentiment—but the slow, possessive squeeze of his arm around me was his profound answer.

He finally stirred, kissing my forehead before reluctantly pulling away. "I need to shower. There are calls to make. I'm going to lock down security today. You don't leave the penthouse."

I groaned lazily, stretching out across the cool sheets, watching his powerful, sculpted frame disappear into the massive marble bathroom. "Hurry back," I called out, my voice laced with happy contentment.

Left alone, I closed my eyes, a faint, satisfied smile on my face. The tension and fear I’d lived with for months had finally broken. I felt a profound sense of peace, a dangerous kind of happiness that I knew could shatter at any second, but that I fiercely intended to enjoy now. I sighed, settling into the pillow, blissfully relishing the warm, sensual ache in my muscles.

The sudden, insistent buzz of my phone on the nightstand tore through the morning calm like a siren. I frowned, reaching for it reluctantly. It was an unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something—a residual sense of alertness—made me answer.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was rough, slurred, and terrifyingly familiar. "You bitch. Did you think you'd win that easily?"

My blood ran instantly cold. All warmth, all peace, vanished. I shot upright in the bed, the silk sheets falling away as adrenaline flooded my system. It was him.

"Dexter! What do you want?" My voice shook.

"You think you can ruin my life? Take my wife? Huh? Did you really think that I would let this slide?"

"You should have left me alone, you whore! Get here or I'll make sure she never has that bastard baby. " Dexter spat.

"It's your child as well. you monster!" I uttered. Lexi's pleas heard from the other end, and thenthe line went dead.

My breath hitched on a strangled cry. Panic—cold, blinding, visceral panic—seized me. Lexi. Pregnant. Vulnerable. And Dexter was unhinged, dangerous, and free.

I scrambled out of the bed, not bothering to find the clothes I'd shed last night. My mind was racing, fueled by the memory of the rage I'd seen in his eyes. I glanced desperately toward the bathroom door, hearing the sound of the shower running, loud and steady. Ezra couldn't hear me. He was in the shower. I couldn't wait. He would stop me. He would call his men, assess the threat, and put protocols in place—but Lexi didn't have time for protocols!

I ran to the dresser. I needed a weapon. I needed to go now.

I remembered watching Ezra, days ago, placing something heavy into the third drawer on the left side of his desk in the bedroom's sitting area. I yanked the drawer open. Nestled inside, gleaming darkly against the velvet lining, was a handgun. A heavy black gun.

My fingers closed around the cold metal. It was heavier than I expected. I didn't know how to use it, but it didn't matter. It was a deterrent, a desperate tool.

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