Claimed by the Mafia Boss

Afterglow

The room was wrapped in the soft hush of dawn, golden light leaking through the blinds and dancing across tangled sheets. Her body lay half-covered by the silken blanket, the imprint of his hands still lingering on her skin — not just from last night, but from the way he touched her soul.

Dominic propped himself up on one elbow, eyes tracing the shape of her like he was still trying to believe she was real. Her lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks, lips parted slightly from the rhythm of deep sleep, and his chest tightened at the sight.

He hadn't just had her. He’d claimed her — over and over, until her moans were etched into his memory.

She stirred beneath him, her legs instinctively curling as if shy even in sleep. That innocence still clung to her like perfume — sweet, delicate… intoxicating.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over her jaw.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, dazed, like she wasn’t sure where she was.

Then the flush came.

She turned her face, shy and utterly undone.

“I—last night…” she whispered, voice scratchy and soft.

He leaned in, his voice a growl near her ear. “Last night, you were mine. Every sound, every look, every time you gasped my name…”

She whimpered — and it wasn’t fear. It was that innocent kind of overwhelmed.

Dominic pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “I’m not done with you yet, dolcezza. But right now, just rest. Let me hold you.”

She melted into his arms like she was made to fit there.

For a man who’d only known violence and shadows, this—her—felt like the only thing real.

And even as the fire between them still simmered, in the quiet afterglow, he already knew:

He’d burn down the world to feel this again.