Claimed by My Mafia Stepson

CHAPTER 4

Lightning streaked across the nightsky.

I turned toward the voice. And it was the stranger from the club.

The reporter froze as though he’d seen death itself— then stumbled backward and ran off like a scared mouse.

I turned to face him… and couldn't breathe.

He towered over me—his face unreadable, his breath steady and calm—while mine came in short, jagged hitches.

The black of his leather jacket was a sharp contrast to the white of my silk nightdress.

Something about the way he looked at me felt like I was finally stepping into a chapter I had been waiting for.

The club’s bass thumped through the walls, vibrating beneath my feet.

“Thank you.” I swallowed. “Though I had that under control.”

He raised a brow.

No words.

I let out a humorless chuckle and reached into my purse for my phone. It was difficult to think straight with him standing right there.

“I’ll book a cab now.”

I unlocked my phone and froze—

No signal.

Not even a single bar.

I walked to and fro— raising my phone in the air, searching for the slightest network.

The first droplets of rain hit me.

I turned back to the stranger, my fingers trembling as I swiped at the wet screen. “Network. I'll fix it. Just give me a moment.”

He said nothing.

Just watched under his hooded gaze as I helplessly paced the place.

The rain picked up, soaking us.

In two long strides, he reached and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing.

My breath caught, hands flying to his chest.

“What are you doing?”

He met my gaze. No explanation.

He simply started walking—toward the shadowed outline of a high-rise.

A hotel.

The valet opened the door, and the receptionist bowed as we headed for the elevator.

I should've probably screamed or thrashed, but I found myself leaning on him, drawn by the heat of his body.

My body softened against his in a surrender I couldn't stop.

What was wrong with me?

Had the bourbon finally hit my blood?

I didn’t even notice we'd stepped out of the elevator and entered his suite until the door clicked after us.

The room was tastefully furnished. It smelled of citrus, whiskey… and rain clinging to his jacket.

Slow jazz played through hidden speakers, but all I noticed was him, and the way my thighs thrummed with need.

He set me down on my feet.

His eyes didn't just hit my face— they tracked the line of my throat, the swell of my chest... and the way my dress clung to my hips.

A dark, unblinking gaze that made me feel more seen than I had in years.

My heart slammed against my ribs... a frantic, dirty rhythm.

He grabbed a blanket and gave it to me.

“You’re wet,” he finally said, and moved away.

Of course, I was wet. My body had already betrayed me.

I draped the blanket over my shoulders as he removed his jacket and walked to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink.

A wave of sadness swept through me.

“I gave him everything,” I choked out, a single tear trailing down my cheek. “I thought he chose me, but it was a lie. His heart already belonged to her.”

“He didn't even wait for the last guest to leave and he was already buried inside her... on our bed.”

“Drink?” the stranger asked.

I nodded.

He poured a second glass and gave it to me, his hands brushing my knuckles softly.

He didn't say ‘I'm sorry’ or tell me it would be okay.

He simply retired behind the counter and leaned against the mahogany bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

I swallowed. “Forgive me. I'm not supposed to burden you with my life—”

“He's an i***t,” he cut in.

I sighed. “Don't say it— I know. Most men prefer someone… younger.”

“Most men have poor taste,” he said.

“You don't need to lie to me to make me feel better,” I dismissed.

He set his glass down with a slow ‘clink’ that echoed in the quiet suite.

His eyes locked on mine, he rounded the bar and walked to me. He placed a finger under my chin and lifted until my mouth was only an inch from his, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Why do I need to lie to you?”

“I–I,” I stuttered.

“You aren't scared of what I’ll do to you—you’re terrified of how much you’re going to let me.”

My fingers tightened on the heavy wool of the blanket, but my body was leaning into the heat of his shadow.

“You think your husband is the one people should fear? They’re looking at the wrong monster.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s the wildfire in you. Once it’s unleashed. It can’t be tamed. Not by him or anyone else.”

I gasped, stepping back until my back hit the wall. “Are you— the one who's going to unleash my wildfire?”

He didn't pull away. Instead, his hand slid from my chin to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my damp hair with a proprietary grip that forced my head back.

“I'm the one that's going to pour gasoline on your fire and ruin you for anybody else.”

A soft whimper escaped me. I didn’t stop him.

He grabbed my blanket and tossed it on the floor.

“This is your chance to run,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Because once I cross this line… you won’t want to be saved.”