Indebted to the Mafia King

Tatiana

The morning sun warms my skin, stirring me gently from sleep. I stretch my arms above my head, muscles loosening as a sense of peace settles over me. It's strange how a good night's sleep can reset everything-my mood, my resolve, even my sense of purpose. Today, I feel new. Whole.

Turning to my side, I gaze at Angelo. He's still asleep, facing me, his features relaxed and soft in the quiet light. I take him in the curve of his lips, the strong line of his jaw, those unruly dark curls that slip over closed eyes, guarded by lashes so long they could make any woman jealous.

He looks like a different man when he's asleep-unbothered, weightless. Awake, he carries the world like it's chained to his back.

A part of me wants to believe I'm the reason for that peace. That I'm helping him, in the way he's helped me just by being here, by seeing him, really seeing him, the way that no one else has. Just as he's able to see me differently.

My heart pounds as flashes of the past two weeks flicker through my mind. These two weeks have changed everything. I've felt more, lived more, than I did in the twenty- four years before I met him.

If I could go back and rewrite my story, there are a hundred things I'd do differently— but not meeting Angelo? Not having this relationship with him-whatever it is?

That's the one thing I'd never change.

Everything about him is perfect. I wouldn't change a thing.

But I'm not ready to say I love him. It's not that love scares me. It's the thought of losing him. The risk we live in every day is suffocating. And Angelo's always at the center of it more exposed, more hunted than I'll ever be.

I try to picture a future with him, something peaceful, something real. But as long as Oleg breathes, peace is a fantasy. That man is a shadow over our lives.

And then it hits me.

The only way forward is through him.

Oleg has to die.

I know Angelo and his team have been planning, watching, waiting for the right opportunity. But I'm done waiting. I know what I need to do.

"Good morning, baby," Angelo murmurs, stirring beside me. I hadn't even realized he was awake.

"I have to kill Oleg," I blurt, the words slipping out like a secret too heavy to keep.

His eyes snap wide open. Confusion creases his brow as he shifts to face me. "What did you just say?" His voice is rough, laced with sleep and disbelief.

"I have to kill him," I repeat, firmer this time. "Oleg."

He watches me closely, the fog of sleep fading as he processes what I'm saying.

"That would be suicide," he says, his tone calm, almost gentle-like he's trying to protect me from myself.noveldrama

Maybe he is. But I don't care. I sit up, a wave of rage rising through me, pushing logic to the background. "I'm the only one who can get close enough. Maybe he still thinks I'm useful. I could pretend I was taken, not that I escaped. Pretend I want back in on his twisted plan."

Angelo is already sitting up, shaking his head hard. "That's crazy, baby. He'd kill you the second you walk through the door."

I hate how his words make my stomach turn, not because they're harsh-but because they might be true. "Then help me," I plead, grabbing his arm. "Help me end this. Help me end him."

He sighs deeply. "We're already on it. I have people tracking him right now. Why would I risk you, knowing how dangerous this is?"

Let me? The word scrapes against my pride. I bite back the ugly retort already forming in my mind. He doesn't own me. I'm not one of his soldiers. And I'm certainly not helpless.

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"If we're not smart about this," he says softly, "you'll lose more than your chance at revenge. You'll lose your life. And he'll win."

"It's not revenge," I reply, my voice trembling with fury. "It's justice. And you, of all people, should understand that."

His expression shifts-less guarded, more vulnerable. "I do," he says. "Trust me. But I can't let you walk into a situation where you might get hurt. We're close. Closer than we've ever been."

His reassurance feels like a leash.

"I can't sit still while you handle all of it. If you won't help me, I'll do it myself."

The truth is, I have no plan. No clear path. But I will find one.

Angelo stares at me like he wants to say more, but instead, he shakes his head and stands, without another word. He slips on his pants and walks out of the room.

I fall back onto the mattress with a groan, glaring at the ceiling. Fuck. Why did I corner him like that? Why now? With no strategy, no backup?

I'm still drowning in regret when the door clicks open again. Angelo steps back inside, calm, quiet. He climbs onto the bed, scanning my face with something softer in his eyes than before.

Relief floods me.

I'm sorry," he says, brushing hair from my cheek, his thumb trailing warmth across my skin.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," I whisper. "I'm just... I don't know. A fucking mess."

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He cradles my face. "I'm just trying to protect you. All of this-it's not just dangerous. It's deadly."

I nod, but I'm done with this argument. Until I know what to say what to do I'll keep my mouth shut. Instead, I inch closer, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my forehead to his. "Let's talk about something else," I murmur, then raise a teasing brow. "Or do something else."

His eyes darken in an instant. His hands grip my waist with urgency. "I have work to do," he says, though he makes no move to leave.

"Right..." I say innocently, starting to pull away.

But his grip tightens, yanking me back onto his lap. "It can wait," he growls as his

hands slip under my shirt, trailing fire along my back.

"I hope they're not counting on you," I tease, kissing his neck, biting his ear.

"They'll be just fine for a little bit longer," he groans.

The rest blurs into heat, skin, and breath. His hands, his mouth, the way he touches me like he's trying to memorize every inch-I lose myself in it, forget the world outside this room, forget everything but us.

And when we collapse, tangled and breathless, I feel more alive than I have in days.

"I really do have to go now," he says after a moment, regret etched in his voice.

I nod, already plotting. Already thinking.

Because I might not have a plan yet.

But I will.