Mrs Mafia and her Boss-baby

Chapter 13

Lavinia’s POV

He slept like someone who had never been taught to fear the dark.

The room was quiet, too quiet, that kind of silence that makes you aware of your own heartbeat. I could hear the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. It was irritating. How could he sleep so peacefully, after everything? After the way he’d invaded my space, spoken to me, treated me like a piece of property wrapped in silk?

He lay there, calm and unbothered, one arm over his chest, head slightly tilted toward me as if the world outside this house couldn’t touch him. The nerve of it. He wasn’t supposed to look human when he slept. Men like him didn’t deserve peace.

My hand moved before I even thought about it. I reached beneath the pillow until my fingers brushed the cold steel I’d hidden there the night I arrived. The blade had always been my security blanket, my reminder that control could still belong to me when nothing else did.

I sat up slowly, feeling the sheet slip down from my shoulders. The moonlight painted silver lines across his face. There was a faint scar along his jaw, small but deep. I wondered how he got it… Probably a fight, a deal gone wrong, something soaked in blood and pride.

I didn’t trust him. I didn’t even want to. Every word that came out of his mouth sounded like it had already been planned three steps ahead. Every smile was measured. Every silence, strategic.

I tightened my grip on the knife.

Maybe he needed to learn that I wasn’t one of the women who smiled through humiliation. Maybe he needed to know that I could end him just as easily as I could walk away from this life.

I slid off the bed, the floor cold against my bare feet. The knife felt heavier than usual, not because of what it was, but because of what it could mean. One quick motion and everything would change.

I stood beside him, watching his face for a reaction. Nothing. He didn’t even twitch. His lips parted slightly as he breathed, like he was daring me without knowing it.

I leaned down, my voice barely above a whisper. “I could end you right now and go home.”

The blade brushed the side of his neck, light enough not to cut, just enough to make a point.

And still, he didn’t flinch. His eyes opened slowly, calm, dark, and terribly aware.

“You could,” he said, his tone quiet and even. “But you won’t.”

My heart jumped once, quick and sharp. His voice wasn’t mocking; it was certain. He was too calm, too composed. It made me angrier.

“Don’t test me, Silvestro,” I said coldly.

He turned his head slightly toward me, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You’d lose everything if you did. The marriage, the inheritance, your seat. Your father made sure of that.”

I glared at him. “You think I care about your money?”

“It’s not about money,” he replied. “It’s about power. Kill me, and the council will brand you unstable. Your allies will scatter. Nestore will take what’s left of your name and bury it under his.”

I hated that he sounded reasonable. Hated that a part of me knew he was right.

“You sound very sure of yourself for a man with a knife at his throat,” I said.

He smiled faintly, eyes still locked on mine. “Confidence keeps men like me alive.”

I gritted my teeth. “Or gets them killed faster.”

He shrugged slightly, and that simple gesture, that effortless calm, made my blood boil. I could feel my pulse in my throat. I wanted to see him lose control, just once. To see that mask slip.

Instead, I threw the knife onto the floor. It clattered against the marble, the sound cutting through the stillness of the room.

“You think you’re untouchable,” I said, stepping closer. “You think because you control everyone here, you control me too.”

He sat up slowly, his eyes hard but his voice calm. “I don’t need to control you, Lavinia. You’re already playing the game.”

I scoffed. “You’re delusional.”

“You’re angry because I’m right,” he said simply.

That was it. My hand moved before I realized it, I shoved him hard, sending him slightly off balance. “You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

His hand caught my wrist mid-swing. His grip was firm, unyielding. His gaze met mine, impossible to ignore.

“Enough,” he said quietly.

“Let me go,” I snapped.

“Not until you stop acting like a child.”

The words hit like a slap. My breath caught. “You arrogant bastard,” I hissed.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Then act like the woman you claim to be.”

I yanked my hand free, heart pounding. “You want me to play the perfect wife? Sit quietly and smile while you and your men make decisions that involve my family? My name?”

“You married into this,” he said, standing up now, his voice low. “You knew what it meant.”

“No, I married into a deal, not servitude.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Then you should’ve negotiated better.”

That did it. I slapped him. Hard. The sound cracked through the room. His head turned with the impact, and for a moment, everything froze.

Then his jaw tightened, and when he looked back at me, there was something new in his eyes, not anger, not surprise. Something colder.

“Feel better?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet,” I said, chest rising and falling. “But I will.”

We stood there, face to face, the air between us thick enough to choke on.

He stepped forward just enough that I had to tilt my chin to hold his gaze. “You want a war, Lavinia? Fine. But remember, wars have consequences.”

“I stopped fearing consequences a long time ago,” I shot back.

He stared at me for a long second, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he shook his head, exhaled once, and muttered, “You exhaust me.”

“Good,” I said, unblinking. “Then maybe you’ll finally shut up.”

He took a step back, his expression unreadable again. “Careful,” he said quietly. “Keep pushing, and I might start to enjoy this.”

I didn’t answer. I just glared.

He turned away, running a hand down his face. “I’m done,” he said finally. “You want to fight, fight the council. Fight your brother. But stop trying to prove something to me.”

“And what exactly would you know about what I’m proving?”

He stopped at the door, his back to me. “That you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”

He opened the door halfway, paused, then added without looking back, “Be careful, Lavinia. One day, that knife won’t be for show.”

Then he walked out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

I stood there, still breathing hard, staring at the knife glinting on the floor.

For a long time, I didn’t move.

Then I picked it up, ran my thumb along the flat of the blade, and whispered under my breath, “I hate you.”