in love with a mafia boss wife

Jason’s POV) The night was quiet, except for the the sound of rainwater dripping from the rooftops. I sat at the same corner table, staring into the same lukewarm cup of coffee I’d ordered hours ago. It had become a ritual now coming here after work, sitting in silence, hoping for something I can't even explain. The bell above the cafe door chimed. I didn’t look up immediately. People came and went. The doorbell had become background noise, part of my hopeless routine. Then I felt it. That shift in the air. That silent pull that made my heartbeat skip. I looked up. And there she was. The same woman who had haunted my thoughts for days, Amy. Dressed in a long dark coat, her hair partly hidden under a hood, her eyes darting nervously around before landing on me. For a moment, time stopped. The world outside could have collapsed, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Her gaze softened hesitant, questioning, but real. Like she was asking, Do you remember me? How could I forget? I stood halfway from my seat, unsure whether to approach her or let her come to me. She hesitated too, frozen by the door, fingers gripping her coat like she might run. Then she took one slow step forward and another. My heart was in my throat. “Hi she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but enough to cut through the silence. I blinked twice stunned that she was actually speaking to me. “Hey you came back,” I said, my voice rough from disbelief. She smiled faintly, but her eyes looked tired haunted. “I wasn’t sure I should. “Well, I managed, forcing a small grin, “I’m glad you did. She hesitated, then looked around before sliding into the seat across from me. Her movements were graceful but tense, like she was doing something forbidden. When she finally sat, her hands trembled slightly. “Coffee?” I asked, trying to sound casual. She nodded, and I waved at the barista. I could feel her eyes on me the whole time, watching, studying, unsure if she could trust me. When the coffee arrived, she didn’t drink it. She just wrapped her hands around the cup as if using it to warm her frozen soul. “You come here often?” she asked finally. I chuckled softly. “Only since the rain that night.” Her lips curved into a faint, almost sad smile. “You were staring.” I froze, embarrassed. “You noticed that?” “I notice everything,” she said quietly, her tone more weary than proud. “It’s a habit… where I come from, noticing things keeps you alive.” That caught my attention. Her words carried weight unspoken pain, unshared stories. I wanted to ask more, but I could tell by the stiffness in her posture that she didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Instead, I leaned forward slightly. “You looked sad that night.” Her eyes flickered up, meeting mine. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then she whispered, “Sadness is safer than anger. Anger makes mistakes.” Before I could respond, the cafe door opened again. A gust of cold air rushed in and with it, danger. Three men stepped inside. Black suits. Heavy boots. The kind of presence that doesn’t belong in small cafés at midnight. I saw Amy stiffen instantly. Her hand gripped her cup tighter, her breath caught. Then I knew they were hers. Or rather, his. The men scanned the room like wolves sniffing for scent. My stomach twisted. I leaned closer and whispered, “Do you know them?” She didn’t answer, just kept her eyes on the table, her lips pressed tight. Are they looking for you? I asked again, lower this time. Her fingers trembled. “If they see me here you need to leave. “Not without you, I said before I could stop myself. Her eyes widened part fear, part disbelief. “Please, she whispered. “You don’t understand. You’ll get hurt. The men moved closer, splitting up, pretending to browse the counter but clearly scanning faces. I could feel their eyes inching toward us. “Follow me, I murmured, grabbing her hand. She froze. “Jason “Trust me. I stood and pulled her gently toward the back, near the restroom hallway. The barista shot me a questioning look, but I ignored it. Once we were out of sight, I pressed my back against the wall and peeked out. Two of the men were heading our way. “s**t, I muttered. Amy’s breathing was shaky beside me. She looked terrified vulnerable, human. “I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “If they see me here, they’ll tell him. “Him? I asked, though I already knew who she meant. Enzo, she breathed. My husband. The word husband hit like a punch to the chest. Not that I didn’t know it, but hearing her say it hearing the fear behind it made it real. The footsteps grew louder. I looked around. There was a side exit narrow, dimly lit. Come on, I said, taking her hand again. She hesitated, then followed. We slipped through the door and into the alley behind the cafe. The night air hit us like ice. Rain dripped from the edge of the roof, splattering our shoes. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Amy leaned against the wall, breathing fast. Her hood fell back, revealing her hair dark, glistening, wild. Her eyes found mine in the half-darkness. Why did you help me? she whispered, voice breaking. You don’t even know me.” I swallowed hard, stepping closer. Because you looked like you needed saving.” A tear slid down her cheek. No one can save me. Maybe I can try, I said softly. For a moment, the world stilled. The distance between us vanished. Her lips parted, trembling, and I could almost feel the storm in her chest. Then, from the café’s direction, a man’s voice shouted something in Italian sharp and furious. Amy flinched. “They know. Come on, I said, grabbing her hand again. We ran down the alley, splashing through puddles. The sound of footsteps followed for a moment, then faded into the night. When we finally stopped, hidden behind an old building, she bent forward, catching her breath. Her eyes met mine again, wet with fear and something else something dangerous. I shouldn’t have come, she whispered. “But you did, I said. And I’m glad you did. We stood there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, rain dripping from the rooftops above. For the first time, she didn’t look like a queen trapped in a gilded cage. She looked real broken, alive, and beautiful. When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft but steady. My name is Amy, she said. “Amy Wills. I smiled faintly. Jason Hart. She nodded, her lips trembling into the smallest smile. Then, with a glance toward the shadows where her puruers had vanished, she whispered You have no idea what you’ve just done.