MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

Look At Me

Julian sank into her in one slow, deliberate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Isabella’s back arched, a broken sound catching in her throat as her still-sensitive body stretched around him again. He didn’t rush. He f****d her with deep, measured strokes, eyes locked on her face the entire time, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh and holding it open.

“Look at me,” he ordered quietly. “I want to see it when you realize you’re not going anywhere.”

She came with a soft, shattered cry, cunt fluttering helplessly around him. Julian followed a few strokes later, grinding deep and spilling inside her once more, filling her until it leaked out around his c**k. He stayed buried for a long moment, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard.

Then the sharp buzz of his phone on the nightstand cut through the quiet.

Julian’s jaw tightened. He reached for it without pulling out of her, checked the screen, and answered on the second ring.

“What.”

A deep male voice came through, low and urgent. “Boss. We’ve got a situation downstairs. Marco’s here. He’s insisting on seeing you. Says it’s about the shipment that went missing last week.”

Julian’s eyes flicked to Isabella’s face. He didn’t move off her. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“He’s not leaving. Brought two of his men. Dante’s holding them in the foyer, but it’s getting tense.”

A muscle ticked in Julian’s jaw. “Fine. Five minutes. Keep them contained.”

He ended the call and finally eased out of her. c*m slipped down her thighs. He looked at the mess with dark satisfaction before standing and pulling his jeans up just enough to be decent.

“Get dressed,” he said, voice calm but edged. “My shirt is fine. Nothing else.”

Isabella sat up slowly, still flushed and shaky. “What’s happening?”

“Business.” He crossed to the closet, pulled on a black button-down, and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. “You’re coming with me.”

She blinked. “To meet your… associates?”

“Yes.” He stepped back to the bed, cupped her jaw, and tilted her face up. “You’re in my bed. Covered in my c*m. Wearing my clothes. It’s time a few people understand what that means.”

Before she could answer, he took her hand and led her out of the master suite.

The penthouse was even larger than she’d realized. Long hallways of dark wood and glass opened into a vast living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Two men stood near the elevator: one broad-shouldered and silent, the other leaner, sharp-eyed, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

The scarred man—Dante—looked up first. His gaze flicked over Isabella in the oversized black shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs, then to Julian, then back again. Something unreadable passed through his expression, but he only gave a short nod.

“Boss.”

The broader man, Marco, turned. He was older, mid-forties, with cold eyes and a suit that didn’t quite hide the gun at his side. His attention landed on Isabella and lingered a second too long.

Julian’s hand settled on the small of her back, possessive and deliberate.

“Marco,” he said evenly. “You have sixty seconds. Make them count.”

Marco’s mouth tightened. “The shipment never made it to the docks. My men are saying your crew intercepted it. That’s a problem.”

“Is it?” Julian’s voice was soft. Dangerous. “Because from where I’m standing, the only problem is you showing up at my private residence uninvited and staring at what’s mine.”

Marco’s eyes cut back to Isabella. “Didn’t realize you’d started keeping pets.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

Dante shifted almost imperceptibly, hand drifting closer to his jacket. Julian, however, only smiled—slow and cold.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re already on thin ice. Don’t make me demonstrate what happens when someone disrespects what’s under my roof.”

Isabella felt the weight of every gaze in the room. Her pulse hammered, but she didn’t look away. Julian’s thumb stroked once across her lower back, a silent command to stay exactly where she was.

Marco’s jaw worked. “We need to settle the shipment. Tonight.”

“We’ll settle it,” Julian replied. “But not here. And not while you’re looking at her like that.” He glanced at Dante. “Escort our guest downstairs. If he or his men are still in the building in three minutes, remove them permanently.”

Dante gave a short, sharp nod. “Understood.”

Marco’s face darkened, but he clearly recognized the line he’d crossed. He turned toward the elevator without another word. Dante followed, already speaking low into an earpiece.

When the elevator doors closed, the penthouse fell silent again.

Julian turned Isabella to face him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned.

“You handled that well,” he murmured. “Most women would have tried to hide.”

“I’m not most women.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.” His hand slid up to rest lightly around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. “That was Dante. He’s the only man in this city I trust with my life. Marco is a necessary inconvenience—for now. There will be more of them. Men who will test boundaries. Men who will look at you and wonder if you’re a weakness they can use.”

His thumb brushed over the bruise on her neck.

“They’ll learn quickly that you’re not a weakness. You’re a statement.”

Isabella’s breath was uneven. “And what statement is that?”

Julian leaned down until his lips were almost against hers.

“That the most dangerous man in this city has claimed something. And he doesn’t share.”

He kissed her hard, right there in the open living room, one hand still at her throat, the other sliding under the hem of the shirt to grip her bare ass and pull her flush against him.

Somewhere deeper in the penthouse, a door closed. Footsteps approached—Dante returning.

Julian didn’t stop kissing her until the other man cleared his throat.

Dante stood a respectful distance away, expression carefully neutral, though his eyes missed nothing.

“They’re gone,” he reported. “Marco’s people are leaving the building. Want me to put eyes on them?”

“Yes,” Julian said, still looking at Isabella. “And clear my schedule for the rest of the night. I’m not leaving the penthouse.”

Dante’s gaze flicked briefly to Isabella again, then back to his boss. A faint, knowing smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

“Understood. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

He turned and left without another word.

When they were alone again, Julian’s voice dropped.

“Still think you can walk away?”

Isabella met his eyes. Her body ached. Her thighs were still slick. The reality of his world had just stepped into the room and looked her in the face.

She didn’t answer with words.

She simply reached up, fisted her hands in his shirt, and pulled his mouth back down to hers.