The Mafia Boss's Pet Wife

The next morning, the sunlight pouring through the vast windows did little to dispel the unease curling in my stomach. My thoughts from the night before clung to me, heavy and confusing. His voice, his touch, the way he seemed to command my mind as much as my body-it all lingered, like an imprint I couldn't shake off.

I tried to shake it as I dressed in the simple yet elegant outfit left for me on the chair near the bed: a soft cream blouse and tailored black trousers. It was modest, practical, yet undeniably expensive. Even in something as simple as clothing, he was exerting control over me.

The hallway was quiet as I stepped out, the distant hum of activity from the lower levels barely audible. I wasn't sure where I was going he hadn't given me instructions this morning-but I couldn't stay locked in that room any longer. As I reached the grand staircase, his voice called out, startling me.

"Good. You're up."

I turned, my breath catching slightly as he appeared at the base of the stairs. He was dressed more casually today, a black shirt rolled up at the sleeves and dark slacks that still looked tailored. Even when he wasn't trying, he exuded power. "I didn't think I was allowed to leave my room without permission," I said, folding my arms.

"You aren't," he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I appreciate initiative."

I didn't know how to respond to that. His eyes traced me, not with the same intensity as the night before but with a calculated sort of amusement.

"Follow me," he said, turning and walking away without waiting for my answer.

Against my better judgment, I did.

He led me to another room, one entirely different from the one we'd been in last night. This one was warm and inviting, with sunlight streaming in through tall windows and bookshelves lining the walls. A grand piano sat in the corner, its polished surface reflecting the light.

"Do you play?" he asked, gesturing to the piano.

I blinked. "No."

"Pity. Music can be a powerful tool for expression."

I didn't miss the double meaning in his words. Everything with him felt layered, as if he was constantly testing me, pushing me to reveal parts of myself I wasn't ready to share.

"Why am I here?" I asked, deciding to cut to the chase.

He walked to the window, his back to me, and spoke without turning around. "Because I want to know who you are, Sophia. Beneath the defiance, beneath the fear. I need to see who you are when you're stripped of everything." His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated how easily he affected me. "Why do you care?"

"Because I have plans for you," he said simply, turning to face me again. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt trapped under his gaze. "Plans that require trust. Yesterday was a step, but today we'll push further."

My heart thudded in my chest. "Push further how?"

He approached me slowly, each step deliberate. "By exploring boundaries. Yours, and mine."

I took a step back instinctively, and his lips twitched in amusement. "Do you always run when things get uncomfortable?"

"I'm not running," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

"Good." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture was soft, almost tender, but it made my pulse race. "Then stay."

The lesson began as something more subtle than the night before. He asked questions-not about my past, but about my desires, my fears, my limits. At first, I refused to answer, determined to keep some part of myself hidden from him. But he had a way of wearing me down, his patience unnerving.

"Why do you keep holding back?" he asked, his tone both curious and challenging.

"Why do you keep pushing?" I countered, glaring at him.

"Because I see potential in you," he said, his voice softening just enough to make me pause. "You've been hiding for so long, Sophia. Don't you want to know what it feels like to be seen? Truly seen?"

The honesty in his words caught me off guard. I didn't answer, but something in my expression must have betrayed me because he smiled.

"That's it," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Let go. Just a little."

Before I knew it, we were back in that dance of control and surrender. He didn't blindfold me this time, but the intensity of his gaze was just as disarming. He guided me again, his hands never lingering too long, his voice steady and calm. "Tell me when it's too much," he said at one point, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders.

"It's not," I replied, surprising even myself.

He chuckled softly. "Good girl."

When it was over, I felt drained but oddly exhilarated. He watched me closely, as if gauging my reaction.

"You're learning," he said, his tone almost proud.

"What am I learning?" I asked, frustrated. "To obey you?"

"To trust yourself," he corrected. "And to trust me."

I shook my head, not ready to admit that there might be some truth to his words. "This is all a game to you, isn't it?"

He stepped closer, his expression serious. "It's not a game, Sophia. It's a choice. One you'll have to make every day you're here."

"And if I choose wrong?"

"There's no wrong choice," he said, his voice low. "Only consequences."

The weight of his words settled over me as he turned and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

For the first time, I wondered if I was starting to trust him-not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't seem to stop myself.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.