MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

Safe With Me

The next morning.

Dante was already in the kitchen when they walked in.

He looked up once. His eyes moved over Isabella — bare legs, Julian’s black shirt hanging off one shoulder, the visible marks on her throat — then returned to the coffee press like none of it surprised him.

Julian pulled out a chair for her at the long black dining table and sat beside her. His hand settled high on her bare thigh under the table and stayed there.

Dante set a cup of coffee in front of each of them and leaned against the counter.

“Marco’s men have been asking questions,” he said without preamble. “They want to know who the girl is. Levi’s been running his mouth more than he should. And Thomas requested a meeting. Tonight. Here.”

Julian’s fingers tightened slightly on Isabella’s thigh.

“Tell Thomas he can have ten minutes. Not a second more.” His gaze cut to Isabella. “She stays in the room.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change, but something knowing flickered behind his eyes. “Understood. I’ll be downstairs if it goes sideways.”

When Dante left, the penthouse felt quieter. Julian turned Isabella’s chair so she was facing him, then pulled her into his lap in one smooth movement. The shirt rode up immediately. He pushed it higher and settled her so her bare cunt rested against the hard line of his c**k through his pants.

He fed her pieces of cut fruit with one hand. The other slipped between her legs, two fingers gliding through the mess he had left inside her earlier.

“You’re going to sit right here while I deal with Thomas,” he said against her ear, voice calm. “Looking exactly like this. If he stares too long, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”

Isabella’s breath stuttered as his fingers pushed inside her again, slow and lazy.

“Julian—”

“Quiet. Eat.”

He kept his fingers moving the entire time she tried to swallow fruit and coffee, working her open with unhurried strokes until she was dripping onto his trousers and making soft, helpless sounds she couldn’t swallow.

Thomas arrived at exactly eight.

He was as composed as expected — silver starting at the temples, tailored suit, eyes that revealed almost nothing. Dante showed him in and then positioned himself near the elevator, silent and watchful.

Isabella sat on the low black couch wearing only Julian’s shirt. Julian stood behind her, one hand resting possessively on the back of her neck.

Thomas barely looked at her at first. He spoke in measured tones about shifting alliances, about optics, about how visible soft things became leverage in their world. Julian listened without interrupting, thumb stroking slowly along the side of Isabella’s neck.

When Thomas’s gaze finally lingered on her for longer than a second — taking in the bruises, the bare legs, the way she sat so still under Julian’s hand — Julian’s voice dropped.

“You’ve made your point. Look somewhere else.”

Thomas held his eyes for a beat. “I’m only saying what others are already thinking. Men like us don’t get to keep things just because we want them. Eventually someone tries to take them.”

“Let them try,” Julian said quietly.

The meeting ended shortly after. When the elevator doors closed behind Thomas, Julian didn’t wait. He pulled Isabella up, shoved the shirt higher, and bent her forward over the back of the couch. He freed his c**k and sank into her in one hard thrust, burying himself completely while she was still gasping.

He f****d her with deep, punishing strokes, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.

“He looked at you,” Julian said, voice rough. “I don’t like it when people look at you.”

Isabella could only hold on as he used her, the wet sound of it filling the open living room. He came deep inside her with a low growl, grinding against her like he was trying to leave another mark no one could see.

Isabella’s phone rang while she was still trying to catch her breath.

Julian reached for it first. The name on the screen made his expression cool. He answered on speaker and set the phone on the table.

Eleanor, Isabella’s mother, spoke first, her voice tight and worried.

“Isabella? Baby, where are you? We’ve been calling for days. Ethan said he hasn’t heard from you either. Your father is—”

“She’s fine,” Julian said calmly. “She’s with me.”

A heavy silence followed. Then Richard, Isabella’s father, spoke, his voice harder and colder.

“Put my daughter on the phone. Now.”

Julian didn’t raise his voice. He simply shifted Isabella closer against his side, one arm resting securely around her shoulders, his hand gently cradling the back of her head. His thumb moved in slow, soothing strokes through her hair as he answered.

“She’s listening. Go ahead.”

The conversation that followed was sharp and ugly. Accusations. Demands. Thinly veiled threats about involving the authorities and old contacts. Isabella tensed in his arms and opened her mouth to speak, but Julian only held her a little tighter and pressed a quiet kiss to her temple, silently telling her she didn’t have to handle this alone.

When he’d heard enough, he ended the call and set the phone aside.

He turned her face up to his with careful fingers, eyes searching hers.

“They’ll come,” he said, voice low but steady. “When they do, you stay behind me. I’ll deal with them. You don’t have to carry any of it. Understand?”

Isabella swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

Julian’s expression softened in a way it never did for anyone else. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then the corner of her mouth, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re safe with me,” he murmured against her skin. “That’s all that matters.”