The Mafia Prince's obsession (MM)

Elijah

The silence in the car is like a thick fog–dense, unmoving, and full of things left unsaid.

I'm sitting pressed to the door, eyes locked on the blur of passing trees beyond the window. My white suit feels tight around my chest, and not just because of fabric. My mind is still reeling. Everything just happened way too fast.

And now here I am, in the backseat of a luxurious car with a man I just married —technically —and neither of us have said a word.

I don't dare glance at him.

Not because I don't want to, but because if I do....I might start wanting him more. And that terrifies me.

The car comes to a smooth stop in front of a grand estate nestled behind tall iron gates. It's beautiful. Like something out of a painting –quite, secluded, warm‐lit windows glowing like promises in the night.

Dante steps out first. The door opens on my side. I hesitate, then slide out slowly, feet touching gravel. The air smells faintly of pine and something sweet blooming in the garden.

Dante doesn't say anything at first, just leads the way into the house. I follow, feeling like an intruder in someone else's dream.

Inside, the place is stunning —marble floors, velvet accents, soft lighting that makes the space feel more a home than a fortress.

Dante finally breaks the silence. "Are you hungry?"

I blink. "What?"

"I asked if you are hungry. I can make you something." His voice is casual, like we haven't just signed our lives away.

I hesitate. "Uh... yeah, I guess. "

He turns to one of the house staff waiting by the entrance. "Take his bags to the main bedroom."

I follow him inside. The foyer alone makes me pause ‐elegant chandeliers, polished floors, warm lighting. A place built with intention. Mybe not for love, but certainly for someone to feel....something.

We move to the kitchen, which is absolutely stunning—modern and sleek, with marble counters and dark wood cabinets. Dante rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and starts pulling ingredients from the fridge like he has done it a thousand times.

The smell of garlic and herbs fills the kitchen, warm and inviting. I sit at the kitchen island, arms folded loosely over the counter, watching him move with surprising ease.

I smile despite myself.

When Dante places a plate in front of me, I blink at it. " It looks good."

"Try it before you praise me."

I do. And it's really good. The flavors hit just right, warm and grounding. I let out a soft hum of appreciation as I chew. "Okay, fine. You've earned a compliment."

He chuckles, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossed as he watches me eat. It's quiet—but it's not awkward anymore. Just still. Settled.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I ask him, lifting an eyebrow with a faint smile.

He doesn't answer at first. His eyes are softer than usual, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he walks around the island and stops right in front of me.

"You've got something—" he gestures  vaguely near my mouth.

As I'm about to wipe it, Dante catches my wrist gently, and before I can react, he reaches out with his thumbs and brushes the corner of my lips, slow and deliberate.

The touch lingers.

And then—he leans in.

His lips find mine in a kiss, so tender it startles me. It's not rushed. It's not forceful. It's just.....like a quiet promise in the shape of a moment.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock to mine, voice low and sure. "I told you I would make everything right."

I blink, breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. "What....what do you mean?"

He doesn't explain. He just leans in again, this time resting his forehead against mine for a second, grounding us both.

"You should get some rest," he murmurs. "It's been a long day."

He kisses my forehead, then pulls back and walks off with that maddening quiet confidence of his.

I sit there, lips still tingling, heart confused and full. I don't know what Dante meant. Not yet. But I want to find out.