Page 18 of Married to the Mafia Devil

In the center of the room, a grand spiral staircase curls upwards, hinting at more literary wonders on the floors above. The air is filled with the rich, comforting scent of old paper and leather, mixed with a hint of the musty sweetness that only decades—or centuries—of cherished tomes can produce. It’s like The Book Nook times a thousand.

Lush Persian rugs soften the ancient wooden floors, their intricate patterns complementing the majestic rows of books. Plush armchairs and well-worn leather sofas are scattered thoughtfully throughout the space, inviting visitors to sink into their depths with a good book.

Near one of the large, mullioned windows, a small oak table holds an antique brass lamp, casting a pool of light perfect for reading.

I settle into a cozy corner with a commanding view of the entire library, but as magical as the environment is, my mind keeps drifting back to Matteo, his image overlaying the tranquil haven like a persistent shadow.

This beautiful library and he chooses to read in the conservatory? It takes me too long to choose a book but eventually I settle in a corner and instantly lose myself in the words.

Hours later, Matteo enters, his presence immediately altering the quiet atmosphere. I look up from my book, struck again by how seamlessly he fits into the orderly world he's created here. “You’ve made yourself at home,” he says as he walks over to me.

“This place is spotless and full of books,” I comment. “How could I not love it?”

He gives a small nod, a trace of a smile on his lips. “I like things well organized,” he admits.

“How come you don’t read in here?”

“I do, in that chair you’re sitting in. I just chose the conservatory today. I had calls to make and the service in here is poor.”

“I see.”

“I’ll leave you to it. The wedding dress should be here soon. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

“Do we really have to get married?” I ask. The question slips out, a whisper of my lingering doubts.

“You lie to yourself that you don’t want me. I see through those lies. You get to be with me and I make sure you’re safe.”

“Why do you even care what happens to me? You said it yourself, I’m broken. I’ve no job, no future. I have nothing to offer. Why do you give a shit about me?”

“I told you, I admire your spirit. You care about your family. You care for your sister enough to remain with me despite knowing who I am. You cared about those women we freed today. You're a far better human than I could ever be. Such goodness deserves protection, don’t you think?”

“You don’t care about goodness. You care about power. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want power over Petrovitch and you want power over me. That’s what you care about.”

“I hired Dr. Summers to treat your sister. I let your father live. Was that for power?”

“To impress me. To control me. I don’t want to be controlled.”

“Are you sure? Everything about you says you want to be safe, to be protected. I can offer you that for the rest of your life.”

I shake my head. “You said it was only until Petrovitch was dead.”

“Is that what you want.” He closes the distance between us. “Or do you want to feel my lips on yours? You find out who you really are when you’re naked with another person. Aren’t you curious to know who you are?”

“You want to have sex with me? Is that why you’ve done all this? Sex?”

“You don’t want me to fuck you? I heard you in the shower. I heard you whisper my name, moan when you came.”

I freeze on the spot. “You were listening? You had no right.”

“It’s my house. I heard a cry, I thought you were in pain.” He smiles, taking another step my way, towering over me. “Admit you want me. I can make you scream in ecstasy. Don’t you want that?”

“No,” I lie but the word is weak, slipping out of my lips as my shoulders sag. “I’m fine on my own.”

He places a finger under my chin, lifting my face so I’m staring into his eyes. “I told myself that for years,” he says. “Didn’t need anyone or anything. We tell ourselves so many lies, don’t we? Your OCD, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

I say nothing, unable to trust myself to speak.

“It’s the pressure building inside you. Taking care of everyone, no one to take care of you. I am not a good man. I don’t pretend to be. But I am a strong man, I can protect you like no other man ever could. With me, you’ll be safe. You’ll want for nothing. Just tell me you want me. Admit the truth. It will set you free, Emma. You want me, don’t you?”

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