Married to the Mafia Alpha

CHAPTER 5: CLAIMED IN THE DARK

Isabella’s POV

THE WORLD narrowed to a flash of red on my shoulder. A sniper’s mark.

Before I could inhale, Dominic was on me — one arm crushing me to his chest, the other driving us both to the ground behind the marble balustrade. My breath punched out in a startled gasp as the crack of a suppressed shot split the air.

“Stay down,” he snarled, his voice pitched low but edged with violence.

The gala’s golden chatter exploded into shrieks and shouts. Glass shattered somewhere. High heels scraped across stone as guests scattered like startled birds.

“Was that—” I began, but Dominic was already hauling me to my feet, his grip iron on my wrist.

“Move.”

I dug my heels in, but it was like trying to stop a charging bull. He dragged me through a side door, down a service hallway that smelled faintly of bleach and copper. A black SUV idled in the alley, headlights off, a hulking shadow of a vehicle.

The rear door opened before we reached it. Dominic shoved me inside, sliding in after me. The door slammed. We were moving before my brain caught up.

I twisted toward him, breathless and furious. “What the hell was that?”

“A sniper.” He didn’t look at me.

“I got that part,” I snapped. “What I want to know is if you staged it. A little scare tactic to make sure I run straight into your arms? Convenient timing, don’t you think?”

His gaze flicked to mine, then — silver-grey, sharp enough to slice. “You think I’d risk your life to prove a point?”

I held his stare. “I think you’re the kind of man who makes the rules up as you go.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And you’re the kind of woman who doesn’t know when she’s in over her head.”

“Oh, I know exactly where I am. You just don’t like that I’m not afraid of you.”

His lips curved — not a smile, but the dangerous ghost of one. “You’re not afraid yet.”

The mate-bond thrummed in the air between us, a heat that made my pulse quicken and my skin too tight. Every bump in the road seemed to shift me closer to him, no matter how I angled my body away.

We didn’t speak again until the car stopped.

When the door opened, icy night air bit my skin. We were in the underground garage of a building that could have doubled as a fortress. Black marble walls. Steel security doors. Cameras angled like sentinels.

“Where are we?” I asked as he guided me, not roughly, but with that same unyielding grip.

“My place,” he said. “You’re staying here until I deal with whoever pulled that trigger.”

I dug my heels in again. “I’m not—”

“You are.” His tone left no room for argument.

We stepped into a private elevator that opened directly into a penthouse.

It was obscene in its perfection. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the city skyline like a painting. The furniture was sleek and masculine — black leather, steel accents, deep wood polished to a mirror shine. And underneath it all, the faint, unmistakable scent of him.

“I don’t need your protection,” I said, scanning the space.

“You have it anyway.”

I turned on him then, hands on my hips. “You don’t get to decide that.”

His gaze swept over me, slow, deliberate, like he was measuring every ounce of my defiance. He took a step toward me. Just one. But it was enough to steal the air from my lungs.

Another step, and my back met the wall.

He didn’t touch me — not yet—but he filled my space, his heat seeping into my skin. His scent was stronger here, cedar and smoke wrapping around me like invisible hands.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something dark and velvety, “is this stubbornness just for me, or are you reckless with everyone who could break you in half?”

“I’m not breakable.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Everyone breaks, Bella.”

His palm came up, bracing beside my head, caging me in. His other hand hovered at my hip, the heat of it burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

Every nerve screamed in awareness. My chest rose and fell faster, my n*****s tightening under the intensity of his stare. The mate-bond pulled taut, so potent it felt like it had claws.

I swallowed, but my voice came out steady. “Now what, Dominic? You're going to keep me here like a pretty bird in a gilded cage?”

“No.” His lips ghosted my ear. “A bird, I’d set free. You—” His hand slid from the wall to my jaw, fingers curling against my skin, tipping my head up until our mouths were an inch apart. “I keep.”

The first brush of his mouth against mine was a test — slow, controlled. But when I didn’t push him away, the restraint cracked.

His lips crushed mine in a kiss that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t patient. His tongue swept past my parted lips, taking, claiming, and I couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that betrayed me. His hand at my jaw slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss until my knees trembled.

I felt the hard press of his body against mine — the solid muscle, the raw heat, the proof of his arousal. His thigh wedged between mine, and my body betrayed me by pressing down, the friction sending sparks racing up my spine.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against me. His hand at my hip slid lower, fingers brushing the edge of my thigh.

“You’re mine now, Isabella,” he said against my mouth, his breath hot. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll never belong to a man like you,” I shot back, though my voice was breathless, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.

That dangerous smirk curved his lips again. “We’ll see.”

For a heartbeat, the air between us was molten — all I had to do was lean that last inch and we’d burn.

Then his phone rang.

The sound was sharp, jarring. He stepped back, answering without taking his eyes off me. “Valtieri.”

I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw the shift in him — predator’s focus sharpening into something colder, more lethal.

“When?” His tone dropped.

A pause. Then: “Handle it.”

He slid the phone into his pocket, gaze still locked on me.

“What now?” I asked, wary.

“You tell me something,” he said. “When was the last time you spoke to your father?”

The question hit like a sucker punch. “A while. Why?”

His eyes didn’t soften, but the air in the room felt heavier. “Because your father’s debt to the mafia just came due.”

Cold prickled over my skin. “What debt?”

He took one slow step forward. “The debt,” he said, voice like velvet over steel, “that I own.”