Claimed by My Mafia Stepson

CHAPTER 6

The quiet of the room was shattered as the glass met the floor. Whiskey spilled. Shards flew.

The room was a mess. But I was a disaster—too mortified to blink.

What had I done?

The question echoed again in my head... louder this time. My chest heaved. Like I’d just outrun something I couldn’t name.

Heat rushed to my face. Followed quickly by something colder.

Panic?

Shame?

I took a step away from him. Then another.

“I—I” My voice failed me.

Nothing came out. Not even a lie. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.

Apologize? Explain? Pretend it hadn’t just happened?

I left home broken because Androa had betrayed our marriage. And here I stood, just as terrible as him. Maybe worse.

He hadn’t hesitated to be with his mistress… and neither had I.

At least Androa knew what he was risking. I—on the other hand, didn’t even stop to care.

I let someone I barely knew take me to a hotel suite and give me the best orgasm of my life.

He made me feel cherished. Desired.

My whole body was still trembling from the aftermath. And maybe I wanted more.

I pushed him with all my strength. He didn't budge an inch. It was like trying to move a mountain.

“Stay away from me.”

He raised a brow. “What do you think you’re doing, Little Bird?”

My breath caught.

Little Bird.

Did he just call me that?

Had I become some bird he could simply snap his fingers and trap in his wicked cage?

“I said stay away from me!” I cried. “I don't want to see you again.”

I slipped back the straps of my nightdress.

He caught my wrist. “We had a deal.”

“To hell with your deal.”

I was angry. Not at him but myself. For falling too quickly. For believing any of this was real.

He was probably drunk… and would regret this by morning.

I snatched my hand and scurried to the door.

He didn't try to stop me. Just slipped his hands into his pockets and watched. His gaze unreadable.

I shut the door and flew down the stairs. The elevator was taking forever.

I could still feel the heat of him against my body. Hear his husky voice whispering into my ear. The forbidden taste of his lips against mine.

The receptionist and the valet had that knowing look. Like I was just another helpless bird caught in his trap.

I sucked in a breath and stepped outside.

The rain had reduced to a drizzle. I checked my phone, but the signal was still down.

I walked a little and found a taxi. Jumped in.

“To Morvanti Mansion!”

I leaned back and tried to enjoy the ride.

But my thoughts swirled faster than any storm.

His face was everywhere. His voice as he fingered me.

“Fvck! ...You're so tight.”

Heat pooled in my belly.

How could desire feel so wrong and yet so right?

I groaned and gazed out the window.

The taxi slowed before the Morvanti Mansion. The hellhole.

I paid the driver and headed inside. The hallways were as quiet as ever.

Back in my room, I changed into another dress and slid under the covers.

I shut my eyes and forced myself to sleep.

The next morning, I slid out of bed with a resolution to forget everything about last night.

But each time I glanced at my wet dress on the floor, memories reared. Igniting a warmth I couldn't control.

I snatched the dress and tossed it into the laundry basket.

Was it too late to walk away? Or had I already crossed the line?

A knock sounded on the door.

“Mrs. Morvanti?”

I froze— my eyes darting to the portal.

I answered the door, and it was a housekeeper.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Morvanti. Breakfast is ready.”

I offered a polite smile. “Thank you.”

“The Master of the house has asked me to prepare your bath water,” she added.

My brows furrowed.

What? Were we in—some medieval times?

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

She returned my smile and left. I shut the door again and retreated into my room. The bathwater was warm and refreshing.

I tried to focus on the scent of the soap, but all I could smell was whiskey and his scent. His voice was a low hum in the back of my mind.

Little Bird. The name burned on my skin like a brand rather than an insult.

I traced the line where he had kissed my jaw. My ear. My fingers trembling.

My n*pples peaked at the memory of him—the weight of his hands fondling them... the heat of his mouth as he took me in and sucked.

A moan slipped from my lips.

I slammed a hand over my mouth, breathless.

What was I doing? I'd left home last night to escape the shadow of a mistress, only to become a slave to a stranger's touch.

A good thing we didn't exchange contacts. No names. No way to find him again even if I lost my mind and tried to find him.

I took a breath and emerged from the tub.

Time drifted as I stepped into a floral dress, then brushed my hair.

Satisfied with my appearance, I headed out.

I rounded the corner, still adjusting the floral silk of my dress, and overheard two housekeepers dusting the portraits.

“Is it true the master of the house is back?” the first one whispered.

“Yes. I heard he flew in last night,” the second chimed.

My brows furrowed.

Had Androa left the mansion last night and returned this morning?

I stepped into the foyer and ran into her.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Elisa.

She stood in another red dress, her eyes filled with resentment. Like she belonged here and I, didn't.

My hands clenched into fists. I was about to throw a stone—until I remembered I was standing in a house of glass.

How could I play the betrayed wife when my own skin was still marked by a man whose name I didn't even know?

We were two different versions of the same sin.

“Hello, Elisa.”

She approached. Arms folded and a smirk curving her lips.

​"Did you wait up for him? Or did you finally realize that even on your wedding night, you were just a signature on a contract?”

My nails dug into my palms. So hard I drew blood.

“Elisa. I'm not here to bandy words with you.”

“Oh, it's not as if you stand a chance,” she sneered, angling her head. “I'm the Lady of this house. And unless you want to be kicked out, you better stay out of my way.”

“Elisa,” someone called.

Androa.

He gave her a knowing look that had her shoulders dropping in a heavy sigh. “Fine. I'll be waiting in the dining room.”

She walked past, and I brought back my gaze to my husband.

After what happened last night, I thought he'd be remorseful. But no. He simply smiled and laced his arm through mine like last night was normal.

His smile felt like a fresh insult.

The casual press of his arm against mine made my skin crawl.

“Good morning, Androa,” I muttered.

He beamed and patted my hand. “Come. There's someone important I would like to introduce you to.”

“Who's that?” I asked as we approached the living room.

“My son.”

A scent hit me.

It was addictive.

Achingly familiar. Stirred something deep in my core.

We stepped into the living room and Androa let go. He gestured toward a figure on the couch.

“Meet my son, Dominic Morvanti.”

I searched his face.

It was him.

The stranger from last night.