The Mafia Ghost And His Obsession

Chapter8:RuniedCake

TAMARA

The cake itself tasted delicious, sweet and moist on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it. The colors ruined everything. Our chosen palette for the wedding day had been soft and dreamy- peach, pink, and sky blue. But the cake before me carried a darker mix of maroon, brown, and white. The clash was like a bruise against all the careful planning I had made.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the woman with a polite smile, though my voice held a sharper edge than intended. “I thought we agreed on lighter colors that day. Why am I seeing these instead?”

The woman immediately looked flustered. Her eyes darted nervously over my shoulder, straight to Isaiah, who stood behind me like a looming bodyguard, silent and intimidating. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly trembling, but I could guess his stare was frightening her more than she cared to admit.

I leaned forward, trying to soften the moment with a warm smile, pulling her attention back to me.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “But after you and your man friend left that day, we received a call asking to change the colors.”

Man friend. My cheeks flushed instantly. Noel.

“What?” The word burst out of me, astonished, caught between disbelief and confusion. “Did he say who he was?”

“Yes,” the woman replied with a nervous nod. “I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere.” Her gaze swept quickly across her cluttered table before she whispered under her breath and pulled out a card from beneath a pile of cake books. She handed it over to me.

I took it and began to read, my frown deepening. Why would he—

Before I could finish the thought, the card was snatched from my hand with a sharp, forceful motion. I spun to glare at Isaiah, but he was already staring down at the paper as if he could bore holes straight through it.

“Did you or did you not have a conversation on the type of cake you wanted for your wedding, Tamara?” His voice was calm, deceptively calm, but each syllable throbbed with a suppressed rage that made the air vibrate.

He had called me Tamara, not church girl, not malyshka

I snatched the paper back from him with equal force, my words sharp as knives. “It’s none of your business.”

His nostrils flared, his jaw ticking as he shot me a clipped reply. “It is my business if your fiancé doesn’t respect your wishes and insists on having things done his way, malyshka. Especially if said fiancé is my brother.”

We locked eyes, neither of us willing to break the tension. Heat stretched between us like a wire pulled too tight. I wanted to know what he was thinking, why he was even here when surely he had better things to do than meddle in my wedding preparations, why my body still betrayed me every time we stood this close. I wanted to know why he was so different from his brother—different in ways both dangerous and irresistible. Why, no matter how much I told myself Noel was the safer choice, I still wanted the bad man, the net with the dangerous holes.

A voice cleared beside us, and I was forced to be the one to break first.

“So what should I do with the cake?” the woman asked timidly, glancing between us like she wished she could vanish from the room entirely.

My eyes lingered on the cake, and suddenly a sting filled them, a sharp urge to cry rising in my chest. I didn’t understand why Noel would go behind my back and undo the decisions we had made together.

It’s just a cake, Tamara.

But it wasn’t. It was my wedding cake. My damn wedding cake. Blin'.

Then I felt the brush of Isaiah’s suit behind me, his presence leaning in as his voice cut the air above my head.

“Discard this,” he growled.

The woman blinked. “Sorry?”

“Discard this and maintain the initial agreement. Keep the colors and everything exactly as it was. You still have those records, don’t you?” His voice was commanding, leaving no room for argument.

The woman nodded quickly, stunned into silence.

“Good. Do not worry about the bill. Send it to me immediately when you are done.”

Her entire face lit up in relief, breaking into a wide smile. She hurried to the back, holding my ruined cake in her hands as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it. My eyes followed it as though she was carrying away a piece of my soul.

When she was gone, the room fell quiet. I let out a heavy sigh, I was too weak to argue about him not doing anything for me. My body suddenly aware of his nearness, his scent wrapping around me like smoke, his presence overwhelming. My knees weakened, my heart pounded faster, and I hated that what he had done for me made me feel warmer, softer, vulnerable.

I turned, a small gasp escaping my lips at just how close he was. Closer than I had thought. Close enough to feel the hard lines of his body pressing into mine, the heat radiating off him and seeping into every part of me until I was dizzy.

“I—”

But the words died on my tongue. The look in Isaiah’s eyes undid me completely. Hunger burned in them, sharp and unhidden, a need that looked ready to consume me whole.

“Mi fai venire voglia di ammazzare chiunque ti abbia fatto del male…” he murmured, his tone low, reverent and dark.

My entire body responded, tightening as a tremor ran down my spine. The raw promise in his words, so violent yet so unwavering, sparked a heat I couldn’t control. My throat went dry. My brain emptied of words.

“What… what did you say to me?” I whispered shyly. I knew it was Italian, but I didn’t understand the meaning. I only knew the sound of it made my body ache, my mind tumble into forbidden places.

Isaiah smiled then. A rare, soft smile that took me back ten years. “Telling you the meaning makes it lose its effect, króshka.”

We stared at each other, the air between us alive and burning. Isaiah leaned closer, pulling me further into the heat of him, and I felt the hardness of his length press against my belly. A sharp breath left me, my body betraying me again as arousal pooled low, pulsing, insistent.

“You still react heavily to me, church girl,”

Isaiah murmured with a smirk, grinding against me with deliberate pressure. “How on earth are you going to cope being with my brother?”

I clutched my gown tightly, goosebumps breaking across my skin as excitement hummed through me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing.

“I react even better to Noel. Don’t flatter yourself.” The lie burned as it left my lips.

Isaiah tilted his head, studying me with a dark grin. “I’m sure you do,” he growled. “I’m sure you also wish that he could understand your body and its needs the way I do.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the sharp calling of my name froze the words in my throat and made me turn.