The Ruthless Mafia King

The night didn't end with that kiss.

Not even close.

Emilia had barely caught her breath before Alessandro kissed her again — slower this time, like he was memorizing every inch of her. Her robe slipped to the floor. His hands trembled when they touched her skin, like even the king of the underworld could lose control.

And she let him.

There were no titles between them in that moment. No war. No bloodline. Just fire. Flesh. Need.

They didn't speak much.

But everything they didn't say echoed in every touch — every gasp, every shiver, every time he whispered her name like it was a secret only he could own.

By the time the storm outside died down, they lay tangled in his sheets — limbs intertwined, hearts louder than the silence.

But peace never lasted long in Alessandro's world.

Morning came with a knock on the penthouse door.

Emilia stirred, but Alessandro was already out of bed, slipping into a pair of black slacks with deadly grace. His eyes met hers for a brief second — unreadable, restrained.

"Stay here," he said.

She nodded, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself as he stepped into the hallway.

Through the crack in the bedroom door, she listened.

"Sir," came a familiar voice — one of his guards. "The photos… they're out."

Alessandro's voice was ice. "What photos?"

"Of her. Coming in. Last night. From the cameras at the south garage entrance. Someone leaked them to a rival family. The Mancinis."

A pause.

Then a curse — low, venomous.

"Shut it down. Anyone who touched that file — find them. Now."

He slammed the door shut behind him and returned to the room.

"They know," he said.

"Who knows?"

"The Mancinis. About you. About us."

Emilia sat up, heart pounding. "What does that mean?"

"It means they'll come," he said flatly. "Not for your head. For your worth."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "I thought you said I was safe here."

"You were," he replied, jaw tight. "Until we became real."

And in that moment, she realized something devastating.

Loving Alessandro wasn't just a risk.

It was a weapon — and someone had just pulled the trigger.