Claimed by My Mafia Stepson

CHAPTER 9

—Madeline—

The air in the room felt too thin to breathe.

No.

The stranger I shared a passionate moment with last night was my husband’s estranged son?

Why was he in the club last night? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere—far away?

I closed my eyes.

Reopened them. He was still seated there, dressed in all black.

Androa linked his arm through mine again. A fake smile played on his lips— the same hollow expression he'd worn throughout our wedding.

“Meet my lovely wife, Madeline. Now, Mrs. Morvanti.”

My gaze traveled back to him.

Dominic.

He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just watched me with the same hooded gaze that had seared my skin last night.

My heart pounded.

The morning sunlight felt too bright. Too sharp in contrast to the cold, heavy silence that'd followed in the living room.

“Madeline.”

He stripped the title away... leaving only my name hanging in the air like a forbidden secret as he reached for a glass of whiskey on the coffee table.

“Have we met before?”

“No, no,” I blurted and glanced at the hefty man near the window. “We have not met.”

Dominic raised a brow.

He didn't speak. Not immediately.

He lifted the glass and took a slow sip— his gaze dipping to my lips before meeting mine again.

“Then you must forgive me,” he said, voice low. “ I must have mistaken you for someone… unforgettable.”

I swallowed hard. “It's okay. A lot of people share a striking resemblance.”

Androa beamed, unaware of what was happening.

“Now that the introductions are out of the way,” he said, his hands drifting to the small of my back. “May we proceed to the dining room for breakfast?”

“Of course.” Dominic lifted his glass. “After you.”

Androa turned to me. “Shall we?”

He guided me toward the door with the same fake smile that churned my stomach. I glanced over my shoulder. He was still seated on the couch.

Like he’d already decided how this would end before it even began.

“Are you okay?” Androa asked in the hallway.

For a moment, I thought he cared about me. Until we stepped into the dining room and he walked back into Elisa's arms.

He didn't even wait for my reply.

“Why did you take so long?” she purred, running her hands over his chest.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered.

“Promise me you won't leave me alone like that again,” she drawled.

“You have my words.”

They didn't mind that I was standing there and that some domestic staff were with us in the room.

He pulled out a chair for her. After she'd settled in— he took the seat at the head of the table, ignoring me.

My fingers dug into my palm until the pain grounded me.

I could've yelled right there. Told him to his face he was a terrible husband.

But once again, how could I play the betrayed wife when my skin still burned with my stepson's touch?

Just as I reached for my chair, a familiar scent hit me before a hand brushed past mine.

Dominic.

My breath caught.

We stared at each other; his gaze dark and unreadable pinned mine.

“Dominic,” Elisa said, her tone cutting. “Nice of you to have joined us.”

He didn't spare her a glance. His gaze was locked on the woman before him. Me.

He pulled out the chair, his chest so close to my back I could feel the heat radiating through his black shirt.

“A lady doesn't have to reach for her chair,” Dominic said and glanced at his father. “Don't you think so, Dad?”

Androa let out a dry, short laugh.

“Quite right. My son is simply eager to show he still remembers how I raised him.”

The room went deathly still.

Dominic didn't step back.

Not until I'd settled into my chair. He stared at me for a beat too long— like he was making sure I was okay.

Then he rounded the table and sat down.

We made our choices from the bowls the servants passed around; the only sound was of silver against porcelain.

I couldn't look up. I knew if I did— I would find Dominic’s gaze waiting for me— stripping me bare while his father casually buttered his toast.

Elisa gasped.

I looked up to find her shamelessly brushing Androa's jaw with a napkin. “There you go.”

She turned to us, especially me with a bright smile. “H–he had a butter stain.”

“How was your trip from the Island?” Androa asked.

“Very smooth,” Dominic replied, tone relaxed. “The Island was... quiet. But I found the city much more interesting last night.”

My gaze lifted and met his.

He took a slow bite of his food, as if he were tasting me— not the food on his plate.

My fingers tightened around the fork. I glanced away and forced a bite I couldn't taste.

Androa sighed and reached for his glass of water. “It's a shame you missed the wedding. It was really spectacular.”

“Was it, Madeline?” Dominic asked.

Androa looked at me with a sweet, deadly smile.

“Tell him, cara how lovely our wedding was.”

Heat climbed my neck. Slow. Suffocating.

It had been less than twenty-four hours… and already, I couldn’t breathe in this marriage.

I wanted out.

But my father’s face flashed in my mind. The pride. The relief. Everything he had poured into this—five hundred thousand.

Enough to break him if I walked away now.

“It was lovely,” I whispered, the lie tasting like dry paper in my mouth. “It was everything it needed to be.”

Dominic set down his glass with a familiar ‘clink' that echoed the room.

“How are you finding life as a Morvanti? Is it everything you hoped for... when you said your vows?”

Androa squeezed my hand.

“Yes, tell him, cara. Tell him how happy we are.”

Anger washed through me.

“It is more than I deserve,” I said, my voice shaky. “Androa has been more than generous. I’ve found a peace here I never thought possible.”

Dominic's gaze shifted to our hands. Something dark passed through his eyes before he masked it again.

“How did you meet?” he asked.

“At a party last month,” Androa said. “It was an instant connection.”

Elisa coughed.

I reached for my coffee.

“Mm.” Dominic tilted his head. As if he were considering something— then said nothing.

Silence stretched as we turned back to our plates.

No one was hungry. We were all just performing.

I knew he was watching.

Knew if I looked up our eyes would meet.

I did it anyway.

Our eyes locked.

This time— I didn’t look away.

I held it as I took a slow sip of my coffee and for the first time since morning, something flickered in his eyes.

Shock?

Challenge?

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stood.

“I need to take this call. Excuse me.”

He walked away.

Elisa's fork clattered on her plate. She dabbed at her lips though there was nothing there before turning to Androa, brushing her fingers lazily over his sleeve.

“I just remembered, you promised to take me to the jewelry store this morning.”

Androa didn't say a word.

He met my gaze across the table.

“You'll be visiting the tailor tomorrow,” he said. “There will be a welcoming party for you this weekend.”

Elisa leaned back in her chair. “A welcoming party? How exciting. We’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

She bared her teeth at me. I took another measured sip of my drink, my gaze dropping to her fingers on his sleeve.

I schooled my disgust into a forced smile.

Androa glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

“They're here.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Business partners,” he said, already stepping away from the table.

“I'm coming too,” Elisa said, rising and looping her arms around his. “Don't be bored, Madeline. You can play the piano or take a stroll outside.”

I didn't say a word. Just watched them leave and let out the breath I'd been holding.

It wasn't a dream.

The stranger from last night— the one who stirred something dangerous in me— was my stepson.

I didn't just feel sick. I felt cornered.

My feet moved before my mind could catch up.

I stepped into the hallway— rounded the corner and ran straight into him.

Dominic.