Kidnapped by The Mafia Prince

Chapter 8: A Recipe Pride

~~~~ Present~~~~~~

Caleb ~

I tipped the glass of whiskey back, letting the burn settle deep in my chest. It didn’t do a damn thing to take the edge off.

She ran. Again.

Twice in twenty-four hours. That had to be a record.

I should’ve been livid. Should’ve been seething. Instead, I was… amused. Irritated. A little entertained. But mostly? Hungry.

Because this time?

She wasn’t going anywhere.

The knife sliced through the tomato with a clean, satisfying bite, the juice spilling across the cutting board in a messy splatter of red. Fitting.

I still smelled like her rage. Her defiance. The wine she’d thrown at me had soaked through my shirt, an acidic, bitter scent clinging to my skin. I had peeled the white uniform off the second I got back, but the stain had seeped through—a reminder.

She had shaken with fury when she threw it, her eyes wide and burning with something she refused to name.

And f**k, it was beautiful.

I set the knife down, stretching my fingers, rolling my shoulders. The echo of last night still clung to me, staining more than just my clothes.

The feel of her— Tight. Hot. Perfect.

The way she trembled when I thrust into her, stretching her, taking her apart.

The broken sounds she made, the way her body arched, desperate, ruined.

I could still feel her, still taste her, still hear those gasping, desperate moans as she came apart under my hands.

I could still hear her—that gasp, that little whimper when I pushed her just past the edge, when she shattered around me, soaking my c**k in heat and desperation.

I had never f****d anyone like that.

I had meant to take my time. But the second she gave me those words—those f*****g words—free me from him—I snapped.

I had shoved my c**k deep inside her in one smooth, brutal thrust, stretching her tight, gasping body around me.

And I didn’t hold back.

Every thrust had been hungry, punishing, unrelenting. Every gasp, every moan, every ragged cry had set my blood on fire.

I had felt her fall apart under me, gripping me so tight I could barely f*****g move. And when she screamed my name as she came, when her nails dragged down my back, when she gave me every last bit of herself—

I had never felt anything like it.

And yet, the second I turned my back, she was gone.

I had planned to take her with me.

I had already signaled Hiro, already arranged the ferry, already had every f*****g detail in place.

All she had to do was stay.

Instead?

She slipped out the second I turned my back.

Just like that.

The next slice of the knife was sharper, the dull clang against the cutting board echoing through the kitchen.

What the f**k had happened to me?

For one night, I had wanted to make her feel that way every single day.

No, f**k that—I wanted to feel what I felt last night.

The next slam of the knife was loud enough to rattle the counter.

Because I had felt something.

And I don’t f*****g feel things.

Not for anyone.

Certainly not for a woman who belonged to him.

Fucking Graves.

The man who had everything—wealth, control, power—who had been handed a woman like Ivy and still managed to treat her like an afterthought.

I hated him for what he had.

Hated him for how easily he had it.

Hated him for how he didn’t take care of it.

I had spent one night inside her, and I already knew what he had thrown away.

Stupid.

I wasn’t.

And I wasn’t letting her slip away again.

The next slam of the knife was loud enough to echo.

“The famous Grimm Reaper, f****d in the mouth? I need to write this down,” Hiroshi leaned in the kitchen doorway, smirking like the devil himself.

I didn’t look at him..

My eyes were posed on the red scarf and the necklace next to the chopping board.

Hiro followed, clearly not ready to let it go.

"Morte, my man," Hiro drawled, stepping into the kitchen with an infuriating smirk. "Tell me, does it hurt? Watching her slip through your fingers twice in one day?"

I took another slow sip of whiskey, savoring the weight of it.

"Twice, Caleb." Hiro whistled low. "That’s gotta sting."

I ignored him.

"And the wine, man? Still wearing it? Bold choice. Real poetic."

I exhaled through my nose, tilting my head slightly to glance at the deep red stains soaking into my shirt.

Right over my chest, down my forearms—right where her hands had been.

Hiro crossed his arms, his grin widening.

"You know, it’s almost sweet." His voice was too f*****g entertained. "You smell like her rejection."

My grip tightened around the glass.

Hiro’s grin widened.

I set the glass down. "She’s still here, isn’t she?"

Hiro tilted his head, considering. Then let out a soft chuckle.

"That’s true. Though, to be fair—" He gestured lazily toward the window, toward the sea. "—not like she has anywhere else to go."

I smirked. Exactly.

"Not exactly a smooth execution, though," Hiro added, stepping closer. "Things got… messy."

I exhaled through my nose. "They noticed her running."

Hiro grinned. "Yeah. Some of the DiMarco’s men definitely did." He sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders. "Had to clean up after you. Again."

I set the whiskey glass down. "How many?"

Hiro hummed, rocking back on his heels. "Four. Though technically, you only owe me for two. The other two were just standing too close."

I smirked, shaking my head. "Sloppy."

"That’s what I said," Hiro shot back. "You’re losing your touch, you let your prey escape”

Hiro sighed. "Look, man, I’ll admit—I was worried for a second. Thought we were risking our necks for a dumb b***h. But after watching her give you the metaphorical middle finger? I think I like her."

I smirked. "She’s not dumb."

"No," Hiro agreed, his grin widening. "We risked a lot last night, huh? We are in deep s**t right now and would’ve sucked if she turned out to be useless."

I didn’t answer.

Because I already knew.

Ivy Graves was many things—stubborn, reckless, infuriatingly defiant—but useless? No.

Her fire was still there. She just didn’t know what to do with it.

Yet.

The door slammed open.

Enzo stood across from me, seething, breathing like he was trying not to strangle me.

His knuckles were white against the edge of the counter, his jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack under the pressure.

"You unbelievable, reckless, selfish prick!" Enzo’s voice cut through the air like the crack of a gunshot.

I barely looked up.

Hiro turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh good, now it’s a party."

I didn’t react. I just took another sip of whiskey.

"You’re going to have to be more specific."

The veins in his neck twitched. "You f*****g played me."

I hummed, uninterested, slicing the next tomato with smooth precision.

"You put that necklace in my hands," he snapped, slamming a fist against the counter. "You had me give it to her."

He was panting, his body coiled tight with fury. His nostrils flared, hands curling into fists.

"You left me standing there like a f*****g i***t while you walked out and set fire to your entire goddamn engagement!"

Ah. So that's what this was really about.

Enzo, standing in the wreckage of my engagement, realizing I had made him complicit in my rebellion without telling him.

His jaw clenched. "Do you even know what it was like when the message played? When Elena f*****g lost it? When Vincenzo—"

I finally looked up. Cold. "Vincenzo got exactly what he deserved."

Enzo exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.

"You made me a part of it, Caleb. You had me f*****g cover for you while you planned your escape."

He shook his head, staring at me like I was a stranger. Like he wasn’t sure if I was the same best friend he’d followed into hell a hundred times before.

"You don’t do that to me," he muttered, quieter now, something in his voice dangerously close to betrayal.

I lifted the whiskey to my lips. "I had to”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

Enzo had been my shadow for years. My right hand. My voice of reason when I needed it, my brother in every way but blood.

And yet, I had kept him in the dark.

Because if I had told him, he would’ve tried to stop me.

He would have told me I was throwing away everything we built, that this wasn’t just about Ivy, that my war with Vincenzo and Elena wasn’t a game I could win by breaking the rules.

He would have reminded me that walking away from that engagement meant walking away from power, legacy, safety.

I knew all that.

And I didn’t give a f**k.

"You’re not stupid," Enzo said, shaking his head. "You knew what that necklace meant. What that night was supposed to mean."

I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah. I did."

Enzo let out a harsh laugh, humorless and raw. "And yet, you still put it around Graves’ wife’s neck."

The word wife made something cold settle inside me.

I smirked. "It suited her better."

That set him off.

Enzo shoved the chair back, pacing the length of the kitchen before turning on me with wild frustration.

"You don’t do things like this. You plan. You calculate. You don’t let a f*****g woman make you reckless!"

I set the knife down carefully. Slowly.

And turned to face him fully.

"This isn’t just about a woman," I said, my voice calm. Controlled. Deadly.

Enzo stilled.

His eyes flickered with something like realization.

"You’re keeping her," he muttered, voice rough. “Why?”

I said nothing.

Enzo inhaled sharply. "Holy f**k, Caleb."