[BL] The Mafia Boss Wants My Body-Chapter 4: Breakfast with the Devil

"If you don’t have a code, go back upstairs and get one, Playboy," Tony chuckled, nodding toward the stairs. "Without it, you’re not going anywhere."

Adrian stood paralyzed for a moment, his gaze darting from Tony’s amused face to the stone-faced guards flanking the exit. They looked less like men and more like granite statues, their hands clasped firmly in front of them, but the bulge of firearms beneath their blazers was unmistakable. The message was silent but deafening: You only leave when he says you can.

Adrian let out a sharp breath and muttered a few curses under his breath before turning around. He ignored Tony’s quiet laughter and walked back toward the grand staircase. Each step felt heavier as he climbed, the thought of returning to Matteo’s room making his stomach tighten.

Adrian reached for the heavy oak handle, ready to storm back in, but the door wouldn’t budge. He spun around, glaring at the bodyguards. One of them stepped forward silently, engaged the electronic lock, and retreated to his post without a word.

Adrian pushed the door open, expecting to find Matteo enthroned in his chair.

Instead, the seat was empty.

The room felt too still and quiet.

A crease formed between his brows. Had he been tricked?

He turned toward the door, ready to leave and the sudden click of a door closing behind him made him stop cold.

The master bathroom door swung open, and Matteo stepped out. A towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water sliding from his dark hair down the sculpted lines of his chest and abdomen.

Adrian’s anger stuttered.

His gaze betrayed him, dragging over the hard planes of Matteo’s body, over the effortless strength in the way he carried himself. Heat rose unexpectedly to his throat, leaving it dry.

When their eyes finally locked, Adrian caught the faint curve of amusement on Matteo’s lips.

The look snapped him back to himself.

"I need the code," Adrian said sharply, stepping back, keeping his distance as if crossing the space between them would set him on fire.

Matteo tilted his head, a slow spark igniting in his eyes. "Is that so? I thought you were done with me."

"Don’t play games," Adrian shot back, his voice tight with frustration. He clenched his fists at his sides as he added, "Your man downstairs said I can’t leave without a permission code. So give it to me... so I can go home."

Matteo didn’t respond. He strolled with deliberate calm into his enormous walk-in closet, completely ignoring Adrian’s frantic demands.

When he returned, clad in dark silk sleepwear that clung to his frame, his voice dropped to a low, unsettling timbre.

"I don’t understand your hurry," he said smoothly. "This estate is high-security. The streets aren’t safe for you at this hour. You’re staying here tonight."

"I am not staying."

"I’m not in a rush, and I won’t force you," Matteo said, running a hand through his damp hair before slipping under the duvet. He gestured to the space beside him with a calm, deliberate pat.

"Sleep. When you’re ready, I’ll take you home tomorrow."

Adrian hissed in frustration. He refused to touch that bed. Instead, he marched to the long sofa across the room and threw himself onto it, cursing his friends Charles and Frank for every second of this nightmare.

As Adrian finally surrendered to his fate, sinking into the sofa and letting his eyes flutter closed, the room suddenly plunged into complete darkness. Matteo’s hand reached out, flicking off both nightstand lights, leaving them in absolute blackness.

"No!" Adrian shouted, his voice cracking. "Don’t turn off the light!"

Matteo stayed silent.

"Don’t leave the room dark! I can’t... I can’t see anything!" Adrian’s nyctalopia turned the shadows into a living wall. He began to shake, the trauma of the past rushing back in the blackness.

"Sleep beside me," Matteo’s voice rumbled through the darkness. "I’ll be your light."

"I don’t want you to be my light! Just turn on the fucking lamp!"

"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble," Matteo warned quietly.

A moment later, the nightstand lamp clicked on, filling the room with a soft, warm light. Matteo looked straight at Adrian.

"I don’t sleep with the lights on," he said calmly.

"And I don’t sleep in the dark," Adrian countered.

For reasons Matteo couldn’t quite explain, the most feared man in Central City didn’t argue. He simply left the light on.

The next morning, Adrian woke to find the bed empty. His work bag had been placed neatly on the table beside him. He grabbed his things and bolted downstairs, desperate to find an exit. In the dining hall, he found Matteo sitting with Tony.

Tony looked up as Adrian came down the stairs. Normally, mornings in this house followed a simple pattern. Matteo’s overnight guests never stayed long. They slipped out quietly, sometimes without even seeing him again. If they did, a single look or a few words were enough before the guards showed them the door.

So Tony expected the same thing.

But before Adrian could say anything, Matteo spoke from the table.

"Have breakfast before you leave."

Tony’s head snapped up. The bodyguards in the room exchanged surprised glances. No one had ever stayed for breakfast before, let alone been invited to the table.

"Please," Adrian murmured, ignoring Matteo’s invitation and the food on the table. "Can I leave now?"

Matteo pointed toward the entrance. "My men will drop you."

Adrian didn’t wait. He turned and walked straight toward the door. The guards stepped aside as he passed and opened the entrance.

Outside, a black car was already waiting in the driveway. Adrian walked quickly toward it and got inside. Once the door closed behind him, he leaned back in the seat, eager to be away from the house.

After Adrian left, Tony leaned over, concern knitting his brow as he pressed a hand to Matteo’s forehead. "Mat, what’s going on? Are you feeling sick?"

Matteo shoved his hand away, his face returning to its usual mask of iron. "What is your problem, Tony?"

"I almost thought a ghost had replaced you," Tony said, staring at him in disbelief. "Breakfast? Did you really just invite him to breakfast?"

Matteo ignored him. He stood up and turned to his lead guard. "We head out in thirty minutes," he commanded his men.

"Okay, Boss," the bodyguard replied in unison.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Tony teased as he watched his friend head back upstairs.

The drive passed in silence. Matteo’s men sat in the front without speaking, their presence a constant reminder that Adrian was only being allowed to leave because their boss said so.

He asked them to stop two blocks from his home. He had no intention of letting them know exactly where he lived.

When the black car drove away, Adrian walked the rest of the distance on foot, his steps quick as he headed home.

For the next two days, Adrian was a shell of himself. He worked in his studio in total silence, refusing to tell his assistants, Kate and James, why he looked so haunted. Finally, on the third day, he met Charles and Frank at their usual spot.

He looked unsettled, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his glass. It was obvious something was weighing on him, so his friends pressed, asking what was wrong. The dam broke, and he poured out everything, every detail, every moment, without holding back. He spoke of Matteo’s help, and how the man had told him that the only way to repay the debt... was with his body.

"That’s complete nonsense!" Charles shouted. "You didn’t even go to him for help!"

"Why did you have to tell him you didn’t want to owe him?" Frank groaned. "That was your first mistake."

"Asking you to sleep with him... that’s a sick joke," Charles added. "The man is a psychopath. I hope you never cross paths with him again. What kind of monster does that? Did you even get his name?"

"Of course I did," Adrian said, pulling the black card from his bag. "He gave me this."

Charles looked at him with a crooked smile, raising his glass to take a sip. "Well?" he said lightly. "Who is he?"

Adrian frowned, trying to remember it correctly. "His name is... Matteo Marcone."

The smile vanished from Charles’s face. He lowered his glass slowly, the ice clinking in the silence. Frank stared at Adrian, his mouth hanging open.

"Matteo... who?" Charles said, his face turning a shade of ghostly white.

"Matteo Marcone," Adrian repeated, his voice shorter this time. "Why? Do you know him?"

Frank whistled in shock, turning to Charles. Their eyes met, and then, as if on cue, they both shouted, "What?!" Their voices rang out, raw with disbelief and fear.