Accidentally Kidnapping The Mafia Boss

15

KATHERINE

The cabin was too quiet.

The fire Christophe had built had burned down to embers, glowing like a heartbeat in the dark.

Shadows clung to the walls, stretching long and heavy, pressing in on me the way his presence always did.

I couldn’t stop watching him.

He sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders tense, his wounded arm bound in the strips of cloth I’d torn from one of the old curtains.

The bandage was already dark with blood, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was on the door, on the windows, on everything except me.

That should’ve made it easier. But it didn’t.

Because I knew he was listening for every sound, every shift of the night, ready to move if someone came for us.

And somehow, knowing he was ready to fight made me feel both safe and terrified.

I hugged my knees tighter to my chest on the other couch. The silence between us dragged like a weight, thick with everything neither of us wanted to say.

Finally, I whispered, “How long do we stay here?”

Christophe’s head turned, slow, deliberate. His eyes caught mine across the dim light. They were darker than the night outside, unreadable. “As long as it’s safe.”

A bitter laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. “Safe? You think this feels safe?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Safer than being out there. Safer than being with them.”

Them. The men who had come after him. The ones who had nearly killed him. The ones he said would keep coming.

The reminder made my chest tighten. I looked away, staring at the dying fire. “You said they’d find us eventually.”

“They will.” His voice was calm, steady, like he wasn’t afraid at all. “But not tonight.”

I should’ve felt relieved. Instead, my skin prickled. Because if tonight wasn’t the night, then another night would be.

My throat felt dry. “And what happens when they do?”

He didn’t answer right away. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy, pulling, like he could peel me open without touching me.

Then he said quietly, “I’ll make sure they don’t touch you.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Something sharp lodged in my chest, a mix of anger and something else I didn’t want to name.

“You can’t promise that,” I whispered.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “I already have.”

The silence stretched again, heavy and suffocating. My heart thudded in my chest, too loud, too fast. I didn’t want to feel the way I did not now, not here, not with him. But I couldn’t stop it.

I finally forced myself to move, pushing to my feet. “I need air.”

Christophe’s gaze flicked to the door. “Not outside.”

“I wasn’t going to.” My voice came out sharper than I meant. I crossed the room instead, heading to the small window over the sink.

I pushed it open just enough to let the night breeze spill in. Cool air kissed my skin, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and something wild that clung to this place.

I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes.

But it didn’t help. Because I could still feel him.

Even across the room, his presence pressed against me like a shadow I couldn’t escape. And worse, a part of me didn’t want to.

When I opened my eyes again, he was watching me. Not guarded. Not distant. Just watching.

Heat coiled low in my stomach. I gripped the counter harder. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like-” My throat closed around the words. Like you want me. Like you’re trying to strip me bare without moving a finger. Like you’re dangerous in ways I can’t resist.

But I couldn’t say any of that. So I shook my head and turned back toward the window.

Behind me, I heard the slow creak of the couch. Then, footsteps. Steady. Measured. Closer.

My pulse jumped.

I didn’t turn until I felt him at my back, close enough that his heat seeped into me.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, his breath brushing the curve of my neck.

The words shivered through me. I squeezed my eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter.”

His hand came down on the counter beside mine, his palm braced against the wood.

He didn’t touch me, not really, but the cage of his body around mine was enough.

“It matters to me,” he said.

The air thickened, charged. My chest rose and fell too quickly, my breath shallow. “Why?”

“Because you’re not like them,” he murmured. His voice was low, rough, and dangerous. “You still flinch at the sight of blood. You still believe there’s a way out. You don’t belong in this world, Katherine. And yet…”

He leaned closer. I felt the warmth of him against my back, the brush of his words against my skin.

“You’re still here.”

My body went rigid. My grip on the counter tightened until my knuckles ached.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you should’ve walked away.”

I should’ve. I knew I should’ve. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to.

I turned then, slowly, my back pressing into the counter. He was right there, his face only inches from mine. His eyes burned into me, shadows and fire all at once.

My voice came out shaky. “You’re dangerous.”

His lips curved, the faintest ghost of a smile. “So are you.”

The air between us snapped like a live wire. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

And still, I didn’t move.

His gaze dropped, just for a second, to my mouth. Then back up. His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His knuckles grazed my cheek, light as a whisper, and I felt it everywhere.

“You should hate me,” he said, his voice low.

“Maybe I do.” My words trembled, betraying me.

“Liar.”

The single word stole the air from my lungs.

His hand slid lower, cupping the side of my neck. Not tight. Not threatening. But enough to remind me of the strength there, the power he could unleash in a heartbeat.

And instead of fear, a shiver of heat raced through me.

I hated myself for it.

I hated him for it.

But I didn’t stop him.

The firelight flickered across his face, carving shadows along his sharp jaw, the scar near his temple, the intensity in his eyes.

He was every warning I’d ever ignored, every danger I should’ve run from.

And still, when his mouth brushed mine, soft and fleeting, I let him.

My breath hitched. The taste of him lingered, dark and unsteady.

Then he pulled back, just far enough to look at me. His thumb stroked once against my skin. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.” The words were out before I could stop them.

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

Then his mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time. It was raw, desperate, and demanding. His hand slid into my hair, his body pressing into mine, pinning me against the counter.

I gasped, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

And God, I felt everything.

The hunger in him. The darkness. The fire that burned between us, wild and consuming.

My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

When he finally tore his mouth from mine, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against mine.

“You don’t know what this will cost you.”

My chest rose and fell against his. “Maybe I don’t care.”

His laugh was low, rough, and dangerous. “You should.”

And yet, when his lips found mine again, I didn’t stop him.

Not even when I knew I should.

His kiss tasted like fire and shadows. Like something I shouldn’t want but craved anyway.

Every part of me screamed that this was wrong, that he was wrong. But my hands refused to let go of him. My body pressed closer, betraying me with every shiver that ran through it.

Christophe kissed like a man who’d been holding back too long. Like someone who didn’t know when or if he’d get another chance.

And the truth was, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this night was all we had before everything caught up to us.

That thought made me reckless.

I dragged him closer, fingers tangled in his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath. Hard. Solid. Heat radiated from him, wrapping around me, filling every cold corner I had left.

His mouth broke from mine, but only to trail lower, down my jaw, to the place where my pulse hammered. His lips brushed there, slow, almost cruel in the way they made my knees weaken.

“Christophe…” My voice broke, whisper-thin.

“Say it again.” His words were against my skin, low, rough, dangerous.

I shivered. “Christophe.”

He groaned, a dark sound, and his grip on my waist tightened, hauling me against him. My breath caught when I felt the full weight of his desire, hot and undeniable.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. My hips shifted against him, my chest rising and falling too fast.

But then

A sound.

Sharp. From outside.

Both of us froze.

The cabin fell into silence, except for our ragged breathing.

Christophe lifted his head, his eyes narrowing toward the door.

His whole body went still, like a predator scenting danger. The heat of the moment bled out, replaced with cold dread that sank deep into my bones.

“What was that?” I whispered.

He pressed a finger to his lips. Quiet. His eyes never left the door.

My pulse raced.

The world outside suddenly felt too close, the thin wooden walls of the cabin like paper. Whoever was out there could rip them open with ease.

Christophe moved away, his body tense, controlled. He reached for the gun he’d left on the counter earlier. His fingers wrapped around it like it was a part of him.

I stayed pressed to the counter, every nerve in me strung tight. My mind screamed to hide, to run, but my body refused to move.

The night outside stretched on, still and silent.

Then another sound. Branches snapping.

Heavy footsteps, deliberate, circling the cabin.

Fear clawed up my throat. “They found us,” I breathed.

Christophe glanced back at me, his face unreadable, but his eyes burned. “Stay here.”

I shook my head, panic breaking through. “No, you can’t:”

“Stay,” he repeated, sharper this time. His voice carried an edge that left no room for argument.

But the thought of him stepping out there alone twisted something deep inside me. Because I knew what waited for him. Blood. Violence. Maybe death.

He moved to the window, peering through a sliver in the curtain. His shoulders stiffened. “Two men.”

Only two. But the way he said it made it clear that was enough.

I swallowed hard. My hands trembled, where I gripped the counter. My mind screamed at me to do something, anything, but I couldn’t move.

Christophe’s eyes flicked back to me. “If they come through that door, you run. Don’t look back.”

My chest tightened painfully. “And leave you?”

His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’ve been harder to kill than most men.”

But I didn’t believe it. Not completely.

Because tonight, it wasn’t just his life at risk. It was mine too.

The footsteps drew closer, heavier, and deliberate. Whoever was outside wanted us to know they were there.

Christophe’s grip on the gun tightened. His jaw locked, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the wild beat of my heart. But nothing could slow it. Because I knew, deep down, that whatever happened next would change everything.

And I wasn’t ready.

Not for the blood. Not for the danger. Not for the way my heart was already tied to him in ways it shouldn’t be.

The doorknob rattled.

My breath stopped.

Christophe raised the gun, steady, unflinching.

The door creaked, slow, as if someone was testing it.

I clutched the counter, nails digging into the wood.

Then silence.

The kind of silence that stretched too long. Heavy. Suspicious.

Christophe didn’t move, didn’t lower the gun. His gaze was locked on the door, his body rigid.

My voice was a whisper. “Are they gone?”

He didn’t answer.

Seconds passed.

Then, a loud bang shook the cabin as the door was slammed from the outside, hard enough to rattle the frame.

I yelped, stumbling back.

Christophe didn’t flinch. He aimed, ready, waiting.

Another slam. Then another. The wood groaned under the force, the hinges whining.

“They’re breaking in,” I whispered, terror choking me.

Christophe’s voice was steady, calm in a way that only made the fear worse. “Then let them try.”

The next slam cracked the wood near the lock. Splinters sprayed across the floor.

I pressed myself against the counter, heart hammering so loud I thought it might give us away.

Christophe’s finger tightened on the trigger.

And I realized. this was it.

The night that would decide if we lived. Or if this cabin became our grave.