In Love With The Mafia Kings Son

Chapter 6

Letty finally escaped the humid confines of the gym, her mind still reeling from her unexpected recruitment into Isabella’s clique. She needed silence, routine, and the blessed anonymity of the bus. She bolted through the main doors and across the expansive school parking lot, only to skid to a stop at the curb.

The heavy, municipal vehicle was already pulling away, its diesel engine groaning as it merged into traffic.

“s**t,” Letty whispered under her breath, a rare slip in her meticulous self-control. She missed the bus.

She checked her phone. The next bus wouldn't arrive for over an hour, and her father was already gone for the night. The thought of waiting alone in the darkening evening, exposed at the bus stop, was unbearable. Deciding to walk was the lesser evil. The walk home was long—maybe two miles—but she knew the route well enough from her daily commute.

For the first mile, the walk was unremarkable. She passed small storefronts and quiet, middle-class bungalows that slowly gave way to the rougher, less manicured edges of the neighborhood near the valley's border. The streetlights here were dimmer, the graffiti was bolder, and the shadows were deeper.

Letty quickened her pace, hugging the wall of a liquor store, instinctively sensing the change in atmosphere.

That’s when she saw them.

A small group of three men were standing near a burned-out street lamp, their postures loose and predatory. As Letty drew closer, their heads turned in unison. They were looking and pointing at her, a slow, deliberate assessment that made her stomach clench. A few of them smiled—a slow, evil curl of the lip that promised trouble.

Letty dropped her head, hoping her invisibility charm would finally work, and sped up into a near-run. It didn't work. When she risked a glance back, they had moved. They were now closing the distance, following her with a confident, rhythmic stride.

Panic seized her throat. It was the same cold, metallic terror she remembered from when she was six, the feeling of the world shrinking around her, isolating her for the kill. She started to run, her worn backpack bouncing painfully against her shoulders. The men laughed—a loud, barking sound that echoed in the growing darkness. They were closing in.

Just as the nearest figure lunged, cutting off her path to the corner, the sound of a powerful, throaty engine roared to life behind her.

A sleek black 1987 Shelby GT500 rolled up to the curb right beside her and parked with a sharp squeal of rubber. It wasn't just a car; it was a statement—a vintage piece of raw, untamed power that looked utterly foreign in this dismal neighborhood.

The men stopped dead in their tracks. Their predatory smiles vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense fear.

The driver door opened, and a large, imposing figure emerged. He stood six-foot-three, his silhouette broad and instantly recognizable.

As soon as the group of men saw the driver, they didn't hesitate. They didn't run; they simply melted away, turning their backs and walking quickly into the shadows of a nearby alley, their bravado completely extinguished by a single presence.

Letty was left gasping, trembling against the cold brick wall. She turned slowly to face her savior, though the term felt wrong.

It was Dante Rossi.

He walked around the front of the powerful black machine toward her, his posture radiating cool, proprietary control. He was dressed in a simple, dark t-shirt that stretched over his muscular chest, and the light stubble on his jaw made him look lethal. A familiar, flirty smirk played on his lips.

He stopped a foot away, forcing her to look up at his overwhelming size. “What are you doing all the way out here, little one?”

Letty swallowed hard, forcing the panic down. The air around him was the familiar, intoxicating mix of sweet tobacco and spice. “I’m… walking home. I missed the bus.”

Dante raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, amused by her explanation. He reached past her and opened the passenger-side door of the Shelby with a heavy thunk.

“This is a rough neighborhood, Nicolette. Here,” he commanded softly. “I'll give you a ride. Get in.”

Letty’s trauma-driven compliance immediately warred with her father’s solemn warning. This was the exact kind of "friend" she was meant to avoid.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I can walk.”

Dante tilted his head slightly, his smile fading just enough to reveal the cold dominance beneath the charm. His eyes, fixed on hers, were utterly serious.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Letty hesitated. Every alarm bell, fueled by her father’s warnings and her own trauma, screamed at her to run. Yet, as she looked up at the massive figure blocking her path, seeing the street thugs vanish at his arrival, an inexplicable, terrifying feeling settled over her. Something about Dante, despite his obvious danger and colossal size, made her feel safe. He was the apex predator, and nothing else dared approach.

Without a word, she stepped forward. Without breaking eye contact with his intense chocolate gaze, she slid into the low passenger seat of the 1987 Shelby GT500.

Dante’s body blocked the light as he leaned down and closed the door with a solid thunk. The slight break in eye contact was enough for Letty’s heart to race, the panic resurfacing. She barely knew him, and all she truly knew was that he was the Mafia King’s son.

The car's interior was a contradiction of classic power and modern luxury: black, soft leather seats, black dash, illuminated by a low, soft red LED light that gave the cabin an intimate, dangerous glow.

Dante opened the driver’s side door and slid his huge frame into the seat. His effortless movement somehow managed to occupy all available space. He closed the door, the final sound sealing them into their small, velvet box of power.

“Where to, little one?” he asked, his hands resting easily on the wheel.

The name, spoken in that deep, soft voice laced with gravel, made a tingling shiver of pleasure run through Letty’s body. She cleared her throat, pushing the sensation down deep. The address to her unremarkable apartment complex felt almost embarrassing in this expensive space.

“Twelve forty-six, Maple Street,” she whispered.

Dante’s lips curved into a slow smirk, amused by her timid response. He confirmed the address with a tilt of his head and smoothly pulled the powerful car out onto the road.

The drive was silent, but not uncomfortable. The engine rumbled low and deep beneath them. Letty was acutely aware of Dante’s intoxicating scent—the powerful, masculine mix of sweet tobacco, vanilla, and spice that made her skin prickle. Her body tingled, and subconsciously, she began to rub her fairly thick thighs together, attempting to relieve some of the electric sensation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dante noticed the subtle, faltering rhythm of her movement. The slight shift caused the plaid skirt of her uniform to ride a little higher, revealing a sliver more of her caramel-colored skin.

Amusing.

Dante had been with countless women, all of them beautiful, confident, and skilled in the art of demanding attention. They saw him as the prize, the conqueror. But Letty was different. He wasn't sure if it was her trauma-fueled timidity or the fierce intelligence hiding behind the fear, but he was consumed by an unprecedented curiosity. For the first time, he actually wanted to know someone instead of just conquer or dominate them.

He broke the silence, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Where are you originally from, Nicolette? The accent isn’t West Coast.”

Letty flinched slightly at the personal question, but answered immediately. “Detroit. We moved from there. Before that, Boston.”

“Boston,” Dante murmured, stealing a glance at her face. He noticed the way her fingers worried the strap of her backpack, the small tremor in her hand. “And what do you do with your time when you aren’t shocking the Chemistry department?”

Letty’s response was shy, yet truthful. “I like solitude. Reading. Writing. Simple things.”

Dante nodded slowly, processing the information, noticing the way the soft red LED light caught the delicate spray of freckles across her nose. She was an anomaly, a quiet universe of secrets.

The black Shelby rolled quietly to a stop in front of Letty’s modest apartment building. The streetlights here were yellow and harsh, a final contrast to the car’s soft interior.

Dante did not move to exit. Instead, he leaned over, getting very close to Letty, his massive chest and shoulder invading her personal space. His proximity was sudden, overwhelming, and utterly intimate.

Letty froze, her pulse quickening slightly, her entire body warming up under the sudden, intense heat of his skin. Her senses were overwhelmed by his presence, his signature scent now thick and intoxicating. She could feel his warm breath near her ear. The space between them was electric, a silent tension that felt almost s****l in its intensity.

Dante’s hand, huge and warm, reached across her body, his movement deliberate. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to taste the sweet berry scent of her neck. Instead, his fingers connected with the cool metal of the door handle.

He pushed the passenger door open. The night air rushed in.

Dante pulled back, his eyes catching hers in the gloom. “See you tomorrow…” His mouth curved into a proprietary smile, the hint of gravel returning to his voice as he delivered the final, non-negotiable word.

“My little one.”

Letty stepped out onto the sidewalk, her legs unsteady. She closed the car door, the thunk sounding deafening in the quiet night. She walked toward her apartment door in a daze, her mind still numb from the collision of fear and desire.

It wasn’t until her hand reached the cold metal of her own doorknob that the full, chilling implication of his words finally hit her.

My little one.

Dante Rossi, the Mafia Prince, hadn't just given her a ride. He had staked a claim.