MY MAFIA MATE

Elena Rossi adjusted the strap of her black cocktail dress for the third time, staring at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse ballroom. The city lights of New York glittered below like scattered diamonds, but the beauty felt distant. Fake. Just like the smile she forced onto her face every time someone asked how married life was treating her. “Another drink, Mrs. Rossi?” a passing waiter offered. She nodded, accepting the champagne even though her stomach was already twisting. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration her husband, Marcus, had just closed a major deal with Moretti Enterprises. The deal that would finally push him up the corporate ladder. The one he’d obsessed over for months. But Marcus was nowhere to be seen. Again. Elena took a long sip, letting the bubbles burn down her throat. Three years of marriage, and this was what it had become: endless networking events where she played the supportive wife while Marcus chased power. The spark had died long before the ring was even on her finger. Now it was just… comfortable. Empty. “Enjoying the view?” The deep, velvety voice slid over her skin like warm silk. Elena turned, and her breath caught. He stood mere feet away, towering over her in a perfectly tailored black suit that did nothing to hide the raw power beneath it. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline shadowed with stubble. Eyes the color of midnightbdark, dangerous, and far too knowing. Dante Moretti. The man who owned the entire building they were standing in. The man who owned half the city. “I… yes,” she managed, hating how breathless she sounded. “It’s beautiful up here.” Dante’s gaze didn’t leave her face. Not for a second. “It is,” he said, though something in his tone suggested he wasn’t talking about the skyline. He stepped closer, close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne wood, spice, and something darker. “You’re Elena Rossi. Marcus’s wife.” It wasn’t a question. The way he said her name made heat bloom low in her belly. “Yes,” she replied, lifting her chin. “And you’re Dante Moretti. The boss.” A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. “That I am.” The air between them thickened. Elena knew she should excuse herself. Find Marcus. Play the part. But her feet refused to move. Dante’s presence was magnetic, overwhelming. He studied her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve piece by piece. “Where is your husband?” he asked, voice low. “Working the room, I assume.” She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “He’s very dedicated.” Dante’s eyes darkened. “Dedicated,” he repeated, as if tasting the word and finding it lacking. “And you? Are you dedicated too, Elena?” The question hung heavy with implication. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She should have been offended. She should have walked away. Instead, she met his stare. “What exactly are you asking, Mr. Moretti?” He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing her ear. “I’m asking why a woman like you looks so… hungry in a room full of everything she could possibly want.” Elena’s cheeks burned. She stepped back, but the window pressed against her spine. Trapped. Dante didn’t crowd her further, but his gaze pinned her in place just as effectively. “I should find my husband,” she whispered. “You should.” Yet he didn’t move. Neither did she. For one charged second, their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them raw, electric, and terrifying in its intensity. Then Marcus’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Dante! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Her husband appeared at Dante’s side, clapping him on the shoulder with forced familiarity. Marcus looked flushed, excited. He barely glanced at Elena. “I was just congratulating your wife on your success,” Dante said smoothly, his expression shifting into the cool, unreadable mask of a powerful CEO. “She’s quite charming.” Marcus laughed, pulling Elena against his side possessively. His hand felt cold on her waist. “She is, isn’t she? Elena, baby, why don’t you get us another round while Dante and I talk numbers?” Elena nodded numbly, grateful for the escape. As she walked away, she felt it Dante’s eyes burning into her back. Watching. Claiming. She didn’t dare look behind her. Later that night, long after the party ended and Marcus had passed out in their hotel suite from too many celebratory drinks, Elena slipped out onto the balcony. The cool air did nothing to calm the fire Dante had ignited under her skin. Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Unknown: You left without saying goodbye. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She knew exactly who it was. Elena: How did you get this number? Unknown: I get whatever I want, Elena. And right now… I want you. She stared at the message, thighs pressing together involuntarily. This was insane. Dangerous. She was married. He was her husband’s boss. She should block the number. Instead, her fingers moved. Elena: This is a bad idea. Dante: The best ones usually are. Tomorrow. My office. 8 PM. Come alone. Elena bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. She knew she shouldn’t. But for the first time in years, she felt alive.