Sold To The Mafia's Boss

Chapter Seven:Ghost In The Garden

Carmela's POV

Two nights later, sleep still refused to come easily. The warnings Giovanni had given me echoed in my head every time I closed my eyes — stay out of the east wing, avoid the locked rooms on the third floor, don't let curiosity get you killed. But the more he warned me, the more the questions burned. The house was full of secrets, and I was tired of being the only one left in the dark, waiting for the next threat to find me. Every hallway I passed during the day seemed to hold its breath around me, like the walls themselves knew things I wasn't allowed to.

I slipped out of bed, the cool marble floor sending a shiver up my bare legs. I pulled on a thin robe over my nightgown and moved quietly through the dimly lit corridors. The estate felt alive at night, every shadow stretching longer, every creak of the old wood making my heart jump. I told myself I was getting some air, but my feet carried me toward the garden doors anyway, as if they had a mind of their own.

The night air was cool and carried the sweet scent of roses mixed with something earthier, like damp soil after rain. Moonlight silvered the hedges, turning the garden into something ethereal and dangerous. I stepped onto the stone path, the cool stones biting into my bare feet. For a moment, everything was peaceful. The fountain in the center trickled softly, and a light breeze rustled the leaves. I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the constant knot of tension in my chest. Part of me almost laughed at myself, standing barefoot in a mafia estate's garden at midnight, looking for answers no one wanted to give me.

Then I saw her.

The woman in the pale dress stood motionless among the rose bushes, her dark hair shifting gently in the breeze. She looked straight up at me, and that same chilling smile curved her lips — the one that promised pain. My breath caught in my throat. I stumbled back, nearly tripping over the edge of the path. When I looked again, the garden was empty. Nothing but silvered roses and silent fountains, moonlight pooling undisturbed across the grass.

I ran back inside, heart slamming against my ribs. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely turn the handle to the master suite. Giovanni was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, hair tousled like he hadn't slept either. He stopped the moment he saw my face.

"Carmela? What happened?"

His eyes swept over me, checking for blood, for bruises, for anything he could point a gun at. Finding nothing, his shoulders dropped half an inch — the only sign he'd been afraid at all.

I told him everything, my voice shaking despite my efforts to keep it steady. The pale dress, the smile, the way she had stared like she knew exactly who I was and what I was afraid of. His face transformed in real time — the casual exhaustion sharpening into something cold and lethal, the kind of look I imagined he wore right before someone disappeared and was never spoken of again. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me against his chest, one hand tangling in my hair, the other pressing firmly at the small of my back like he could shield me with his body alone.

"She's no ghost," he murmured against my hair, lips brushing my temple. "Her name is Valentina. She wants what's mine."

His voice dropped, rough with possession that sent an unwelcome shiver through me. "You're mine now, Carmela."

The words should have made me furious — a declaration, not a comfort, from a man who'd never once asked what I wanted. Instead, heat pooled low in my belly, treacherous and undeniable. I looked up, our faces inches apart. His pale blue eyes had darkened, breath warm on my lips.

"Giovanni…" I whispered, the name tasting like both curse and prayer.

He kissed me then — hard, desperate, claiming. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that stole my breath. I kissed him back, fingers digging into his shoulders, months of fear, fury, and unwanted longing pouring out in that single moment. His hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against him. I felt every hard inch of his body, the way he hardened against me, and for the first time, I didn't fight the pull.

We broke apart, both breathing raggedly. His forehead rested against mine, one hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness.

"I won't let them touch you," he said, voice raw and fierce. "Not Valentina. Not my mother. No one."

In that moment, pressed against the solid warmth of him, I believed every word. And I hated how much I wanted him — not just his protection, but him.

He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. His hands explored with purpose, sliding under my robe to trace my skin. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers found sensitive places, drawing sounds from me I didn't know I could make. The world narrowed to his touch, his scent, the way he whispered my name like a vow.

We didn't go further that night — not yet. But the promise lingered in every lingering caress, every heated look. When we finally lay down, his arm wrapped around me, I fell asleep feeling safer than I had since this nightmare began… and more alive than I ever had.

The next morning, I woke to the feeling of warmth against my back. Giovanni's arm was draped over my waist, his body curled protectively around mine. For a moment, I allowed myself to stay there, breathing in his scent, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then reality crashed back in. I stiffened and tried to pull away, but his arm tightened gently, holding me in place.

"Stay," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "Just a little longer."

I should have fought. Instead, I closed my eyes and let myself feel the solid strength of him for a few more precious seconds. His hand splayed across my stomach, warm and possessive, and a shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with fear. Everything about last night should have scared me more than it did — instead, it felt like the first honest thing that had happened since I'd arrived in this house. When he finally released me and sat up, I missed the contact more than I wanted to admit.

He dressed quickly, every movement efficient and controlled. Before he left the room, he turned back to me with a serious expression. "The east wing and the locked rooms on the third floor — stay out of them. Curiosity will get you killed here. Promise me."

I nodded, but the warning only made the pull stronger. As soon as he was gone, I knew I would break that promise. Whatever Giovanni was hiding behind those locked doors, it had to be connected to Valentina, to the blood on my pillow, to all of it — and I was done waiting in the dark for someone else to hand me the truth.