The mafia don’s obsession

Elodie’s pov The scream of tires on wet asphalt shattered the quiet night. I froze at the nursery window, heart slamming against my ribs as headlights sliced through the darkness. Then came the gunfire, relentless cracks that tore through the silence like thunder. “Get down!” I hissed, scooping little Amy into my arms and dropping to the floor with her. The four-year-old buried her face in my neck, trembling. I’d only been at the Flynn estate for three weeks, but I already knew the rules: when bullets flew, you didn’t ask questions. You ran. Another burst of shots and shouts erupted outside. The screech of a car speeding away, then a heavy, deadly silence. My hands shook as I checked Amy for injuries. She was unharmed, just terrified. Footsteps pounded down the hallway. The door burst open. “Don Flynn’s been hit!” a man barked, blood splattered across his shirt. “The safe med room. Now!” They carried Matteo Flynn past the nursery like a broken king. His powerful body limp, designer shirt soaked crimson and face pale as death. For one brief second, his dark eyes met mine through the cracked door, hazy with pain. I swallowed hard. I was just the nanny. A former battlefield nurse who had sworn I’d never touch that life again. But the underboss’s desperate gaze locked on me. “You. Nurse. Come with us.” I had no choice. Minutes later, in the fortified basement medical room that looked more like a high-tech bunker, I worked frantically under harsh lights. Matteo had lost too much blood. The bullet had torn through his side, and his pulse was weakening. I stemmed the bleeding, started an IV with trembling fingers, and fought to stabilize him while armed men hovered like vultures. “Stay with me,” I whispered, pressing down on the wound. Sweat beaded on my forehead while his skin burned under my hands. Matteo’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and feverish. His large hand suddenly shot up, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. He signaled for everyone to leave, and they obeyed without question. He pulled me closer, his breath hot against my neck. “You…” he rasped, voice rough with pain and something darker. “Please don’t leave me.” Before I could pull away, his other arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me half onto the narrow medical bed with him. His body—still bleeding—pressed against mine in a haze of desperation and raw need. “Don Flynn, you need to stay still—” I started, trying to push back, but his arm locked around my waist like a steel band. His skin was burning with fever, his dark eyes glassy yet fierce. “Don’t… leave,” he rasped. Blood seeped through the fresh bandages as he shifted, pressing me closer. The scent of gunpowder, sweat, and copper filled the air. His free hand tangled in my hair, tilting my face to his. “You saved me…” The words were slurred, delirious, but the hunger behind them was raw. Before I could protest, his mouth crashed against mine in a brutal, desperate kiss. His tongue thrust deep, tasting of pain and blood. I pushed at his chest, but he was too strong, too fevered. A fresh wave of blood seeped through his bandages as he ground his hardening c**k against my thigh, thick and insistent. I froze for a heartbeat. His large hand shoved my uniform skirt up roughly, fingers tearing at my panties until they ripped away. Cool air hit my exposed skin. He didn’t wait. In one powerful motion, he freed himself and thrust into me in a single deep stroke, stretching me painfully full. I cried out, my walls clenching around his girth as he filled me completely. “Please, you’re hurt—” I gasped, trying to pull away. A low growl escaped him. In one fluid, pain-fueled motion, he rolled us, pinning me beneath his heavier frame. My fingers dug into his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Pleasure coiled tight and unwanted in my belly as his c**k dragged against that perfect spot inside me with every savage thrust. His mouth latched onto my breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing my n****e while his hand pinned my hip, holding me in place for his relentless pounding. The danger outside heightened everything—every moan, every wet slap of skin felt like it could be our last. Matteo’s rhythm grew erratic, deeper, more desperate. He lifted my leg higher, angling to hit even deeper, grinding against my c**t with every stroke. The movement tore a groan from his throat as blood stained the sheets darker, but he didn’t stop. Time blurred. The monitors beeped frantically. When it finally ended, he collapsed half on top of me, breathing hard, blood and sweat mixing on our skin. His eyes fluttered shut, the fever pulling him under again. I lay there staring at the cold ceiling, body trembling. Tears burned in my eyes. I felt used, dirty, taken advantage of. This was a mistake that would destroy me. Yet as I carefully slid out from under his heavy arm and began cleaning the blood from both of us with shaking hands, Matteo’s lips moved in his half-conscious state. His whisper chilled me to the bone: “You’re mine now.” Not in a million years had I imagined my first night with a drug lord would be like this. Talkless of Matteo Flynn. My uniform was ruined—torn panties somewhere on the floor, skirt wrinkled and stained, the metallic scent of his blood clinging to my skin like a brand. My body still hummed with unwanted aftershocks, but my mind screamed in protest. He looked almost peaceful now, the fever breaking, dark lashes fanned against pale cheeks. The same man who had just taken me without permission, driven by pain, delirium, and raw power. The Don of the Flynn syndicate. A married man, a killer according to the rumors that circulated like poison through the estate staff. I needed to get out. I needed air. But as I turned toward the reinforced door, his earlier command replayed—Don’t leave—and I knew the guards outside would never let me simply walk away. Not after what they’d probably heard. Exhausted, I sank into the chair beside his bed, pulling my knees to my chest. My thoughts drifted back to the beginning, to the moment everything shifted.