Under The Mafia King's Protection

The cold steel of the elevator doors reflected Celeste Bianchi's pale face as she stared at her own ghostly reflection. The numbers above the buttons flickered, climbing higher and higher, carrying her deeper into the unknown. Her hands clenched the strap of her handbag as if it were a lifeline, her heart a steady drumbeat of uncertainty. She had no choice but to be here. When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, she stepped into a world so far removed from her own that for a moment, she hesitated. The penthouse was a masterpiece of wealth and power.

Dark marble floors stretched out beneath her, sleek and cold. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the twinkling city lights of Rome, the streets below reduced to mere whispers of movement. Every inch of the space screamed control-minimalist furniture in deep, masculine tones, not a single object out of place. Even the air felt thick with authority, a silent force that pressed against her skin. And then she saw him. Salvatore Russo stood by the window, one hand in the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other holding a short glass of amber liquid. He hadn't turned to acknowledge her yet, but he didn't need to. His presence filled the space, commanding, suffocating. She knew who he was before she even arrived. Everyone did. The Mafia King. The man who ruled Rome's underworld with a steady hand and an iron will. The same man her brother once trusted with his life. Now, he was the only thing standing between her and death. "You're late." His voice was deep, smooth, but edged with something dangerous. Celeste swallowed. "I-" His gaze snapped to her, and whatever excuse she had died in her throat. His eyes were cold, calculating, dark as the shadows that lurked in every corner of this place. "Did you expect me to roll out a red carpet for you, cara mia?" He took a slow sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. The pet name was mocking, a cruel contrast to the warmth the words could have held in another life. "I didn't ask for this," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "I didn't ask for protection." "No," Salvatore mused, setting his glass down on the bar. "But you need it. And I don't break promises." Celeste stiffened. "To who? My brother? Because he's gone. Dead. And I'm not some charity case for you to take in out of guilt." A muscle ticked in Salvatore's jaw. "This isn't about guilt," he said evenly. "It's about survival. Yours." He moved toward her then, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. Celeste held her ground, even as her pulse raced. "You may not want my protection, bella, but that doesn't change the fact that without it, you're already dead." She hated the way his words slithered under her skin, the truth in them colder than the marble beneath her feet. "Why do they want me?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Salvatore studied her, his expression unreadable. "Because they believe you know something. A secret your brother died for." "I don't," she insisted. "I didn't even know what he was involved in until it was too late." His silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. "We'll see." Celeste frowned. "You don't believe me?" "I don't trust easily, Celeste." He took another step closer, until the scent of his cologne-woodsy, dark, and expensive-wrapped around her like a warning. "And I don't take risks. If you're lying to me, I'll find out." Something inside her snapped. "Then maybe you should let them kill me." A flicker of something-anger, amusement, something darker-passed through his eyes before he leaned in, his lips a breath away from her ear. "Not an option." Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Why?" He pulled back, just enough to look at her. "Because you're mine to protect." The words settled between them, final and unyielding. Celeste hated the way they made her feel. Because for the first time since her world fell apart, she wasn't sure if the man standing in front of her was her savior... Or just another monster waiting to consume her whole. Celeste's hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as she willed herself not to tremble under Salvatore's gaze. He was too close, his presence overwhelming, the scent of his cologne-smoky, dark, and undeniably male-wrapping around her like an invisible restraint. "You think you can just claim me like that?" she asked, her voice sharp despite the thundering of her pulse. "Like I'm some possession of yours?" Salvatore didn't flinch, didn't even blink. Instead, he smirked, slow and deliberate, like he was amused by the very idea of her resistance. "You misunderstand, bella." His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a promise. A threat. "This is not about ownership. This is about keeping you alive." Celeste let out a hollow laugh, stepping back-not out of fear, but to put distance between herself and the man who made her stomach tighten with a confusing mix of dread and something else entirely. "Maybe I don't want your protection." Salvatore exhaled sharply, as if she were a stubborn child refusing to see reason. "And maybe I don't give a damn what you want." His words hit her like a slap, stealing the air from her lungs. "You think I enjoy this?" he continued, stepping closer again, forcing her back until she felt the cool glass of the penthouse windows pressing against her spine. The city lights glowed behind him, casting him in shadows, making him look even more formidable. "You think I wanted this? To be stuck with a woman who looks at me like I'm the devil himself?" Celeste swallowed hard. She wasn't sure what rattled her more-the frustration in his voice or the way he was looking at her now. Like she was something fragile, something precious, something he didn't quite know what to do with. But she wasn't fragile. And she sure as hell wasn't his problem. "Then let me go," she whispered. "Let me run. I can disappear-" "No." The word was sharp, final. She shuddered. "Why?" Salvatore's jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides as though he were restraining himself from doing something reckless. Then, after a long pause, he leaned in again, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. "Because if you run, they will find you," he murmured. "And when they do, they won't just kill you, cara mia. They'll make you suffer." Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images away. The blood. The screams. The gunfire that had torn through her brother's apartment the night he was murdered. Salvatore must have sensed her fear because, for the first time since she'd walked into this penthouse, his voice softened. "I don't make empty threats, Celeste." She opened her eyes, meeting his once more. "Neither do I." Salvatore tilted his head, watching her as if trying to figure out whether she was bluffing. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed and stepped back, giving her the space she so desperately needed. "You'll stay here," he said, turning toward the bar. "For as long as it takes." "How long is that?" He poured himself another drink, swirling the amber liquid before bringing it to his lips. "Until I say otherwise." Celeste's chest tightened. "That's not an answer." "It's the only one you're getting." Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab something-anything-and throw it at him. "You can't just lock me up here." Salvatore smirked against the rim of his glass. "I already did." Her blood boiled. "You're unbelievable." "So I've been told." He was impossible. Infuriating. And worst of all, he was right. Because whether she liked it or not, she wasn't safe anywhere else. She turned away from him, needing to get her bearings, needing to think. The penthouse was vast, yet it felt suffocating. She spotted a hallway leading to what she assumed were the bedrooms and started walking. "Where do you think you're going?" "To find a room to sleep in." There was a beat of silence. Then, "Second door on the left." Celeste didn't thank him. She didn't even look at him. She just walked. Because if she stayed near Salvatore Russo any longer, she wasn't sure whether she'd scream at him... Or let herself fall into the temptation of the danger he radiated.