Page 32 of Mafia Kingdom

I slap him. Hard.

The sound is sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just breathes—heavy, slow, controlled.

His eyes bore into mine, dark and burning.

And then—

He kisses me.

It’s not soft. Not careful. It’s a goddamn war.

I make a sound of protest, but it gets lost between us. His mouth is hard, demanding, full of anger, possession, something neither of us wants to name.

I shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge.

I should pull away.

I should.

But my hands curl into his shirt instead, gripping, pulling, fighting him in the only way that makes sense.

He growls against my lips. I bite his. He doesn’t stop.

Then—he does.

He jerks back, breathing ragged, eyes stormy and unreadable.

“This is a bad idea,” he rasps.

My hands are still fisted in his shirt, but I don’t recognize myself anymore. My body is shaking, my breath uneven, my mind blank.

“I can agree on that,” I whisper.

Marco doesn’t move. The silence is thick—only our breathing, no other noise, no shuffle of retreating footsteps. My chest tightens, and I lower my chin, my gaze settling at the level of his chest, watching it rise and fall too fast, too hard.

I unclench my fists from his shirt, my fingers brushing against the solid wall of his body. Heat rolls through me in waves, unsettling, unfamiliar. I smooth the fabric out as if that can erase what just happened, but my hands betray me, lingering a second too long against his chest.

Slowly, I lift my gaze past his tattooed throat until I meet his dark eyes. It’s a mistake. They pin me in place, unwavering, unreadable. This isn’t me. I’m not volatile or violent. But I’ve never felt so caged.

“I’m afraid.” The whisper escapes before I can stop it.

Tears blur my vision, and I drop my gaze, hating the vulnerability that clings to me. Marco doesn’t let it stand. He tilts my chin up with one finger, forcing me to face him.

“I can protect you,” he murmurs. “If you stop fighting me and let me keep you safe.”

I lick my lips, tasting the salt from my tears. “It’s not just me, Marco.”

The exhaustion crashes into me all at once. I’ve spent so much energy fighting him, fighting this, but I can’t afford to stop—not yet. A movement to my left catches my attention. Buddysits a few feet away, watching us with quiet interest. It tethers me, reminds me of why I can’t lose sight of what matters.

“It’s my sister,” I say.

Marco nods slowly, his gaze dragging over my face like he’s committing every detail to memory. “You said she’s with your aunt.”

I nod, but his proximity is suddenly suffocating. Why won’t he step away? It’s an odd way to have this conversation, standing too close, feeling every shift in his body. And yet, the fact that he’s listening keeps me rooted to the spot.

“Yes, but I haven’t called her yet. My aunt will only keep her for a few days at most. I need to make sure she’s safe.”

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