MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

Blood On The Marble

Isabella didn’t move for a long time after he fell asleep.

Julian’s head was still heavy on her chest, one arm locked around her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. She kept running her fingers through his hair even after his breathing slowed. It felt strange seeing him like this. Soft. Quiet. Nothing like the man who usually walked around like he owned every room he entered.

Her arm started going numb, so she carefully shifted him onto the pillow. He frowned in his sleep and made a small sound, but settled once she stayed close. She pulled the sheet over them and lay on her side facing him.

She couldn’t sleep right away.

Her mind kept going back to everything that had happened — the argument about her mother, the days he barely touched her, the way he looked when he found her crying in the bathroom. Tonight felt different. Not just s*x. Something quieter.

Eventually she drifted off.

When she woke up, morning light was coming through the windows. Julian was already awake, lying on his side watching her. His hand was resting on her waist, thumb moving slowly back and forth.

“You’re still here,” he said.

His voice was rough from sleep.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just kept looking at her, like he was checking she was real. Then he pulled her a little closer and rested his forehead against hers.Julian’s hand stayed on her waist, his thumb still moving slowly.

After a while he spoke again, voice quieter than usual.

“I kept thinking you were going to change your mind in the middle of the night.”

Isabella shifted closer. “I didn’t.”

“I know.” He let out a short breath. “Doesn’t mean I stopped waiting for it.”

She reached up and touched the side of his face. He leaned into it without thinking, eyes closing for a second.

They stayed like that until his phone started vibrating on the nightstand. Julian ignored it the first time. When it rang again he reached over, checked the screen, and frowned.

“Dante,” he muttered.

He answered, still lying next to her, one arm around her.

“What.”

Isabella could only hear his side of the conversation. Short replies. A longer silence. Then:

“Keep him there. I’m coming down in twenty.”

He ended the call and stared at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at her.

“Your father sent someone to the building again. Not him this time. One of his people.”

Isabella’s stomach tightened. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to them.” Julian sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re staying here. Don’t leave the floor.”

He got dressed quickly — black shirt, pants, watch. Before he left the room he came back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her once, firm and brief.

“I’ll be back.”

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Julian had only been gone a few minutes when the first shot cracked through the lower floors.

Isabella sat up straight on the bed. For a second she thought she had imagined it. Then came another shot, closer, followed by shouting and the heavy sound of someone hitting the floor.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She scrambled out of bed, pulled on the nearest pair of pants, and ran to the bedroom door. The moment she opened it, the private elevator at the end of the hall dinged. The doors slid open and two men she didn’t recognize stepped out, guns already raised.

Isabella froze.

Before either of them could aim properly, Dante came around the corner from the stairwell and fired twice. The first man dropped. The second managed to get a shot off — the bullet tore into the wall beside Isabella’s head — before Dante put him down as well.

“Stay in the room!” Dante shouted at her.

More gunfire erupted from the floors below. The whole building seemed to shake with it. Isabella backed into the bedroom, hands shaking, and shut the door. She could hear running footsteps, more shots, someone yelling orders in a language she didn’t understand.

Downstairs, Julian moved through the lobby with cold precision.

The men Richard had sent weren’t professionals — they were desperate and loud. One of them had already wounded one of Julian’s security. Julian dropped to one knee behind a marble pillar, fired twice, and watched the man collapse. Another came around the front desk shooting wildly. Julian didn’t flinch. He put two bullets in his chest before the man even finished turning.

Dante’s voice came through the earpiece.

“Two more tried the service elevator. Both down. Your woman is safe upstairs.”

Julian’s jaw tightened. “Keep it that way.”

The last of the attackers tried to run for the exit. Julian stepped out from cover and fired once. The man crumpled just short of the glass doors.

Silence fell hard and sudden.

Julian stood in the middle of the lobby, gun still raised, breathing steady. Blood was starting to spread across the polished floor. One of his own men was down but alive. The rest of the attackers weren’t

He spoke into the earpiece, voice flat.

“No police. Clean it fast. And find out exactly who Richard paid for this.”

Then he turned toward the elevator, blood seeping through his shirt, already heading back up to Isabella — because the real problem hadn’t been the men with guns.

It was the message they had been sent to deliver.