All Chapters of Way Out: Owned by the Mafia Boss: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The Smoke Still LingersThe smell of blood still clung to me.I stood by the penthouse window, staring out at the city, hands gripping the edge of the table.Dante was behind me.Watching.Waiting.He always knew when my mind was spinning, when I was trying to make sense of the shifting pieces in my head.“You keep thinking like that, you’ll drive yourself insane,” he murmured.I exhaled slowly. “You think I should just forget about it?”Dante stepped closer. His presence always filled a room, always took up space until there was no room to breathe without him.“Not forget,” he said. “Just don’t let it own you.”I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening. “They’re going to come back.”Dante smirked. “They won’t get the chance.”He was so fucking sure.So certain that no one could touch us.Me?I still felt the ghost of that gun against my ribs.The reminder that I had been one second away from being dragged from him.Dante moved behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath agains

A Seat at the TableThe room was heavy with smoke and silence.A dozen men sat around the long marble table, their gazes sharp, assessing.At the head of the table—Dante.And beside him—me.The seat wasn’t just symbolic.It was a statement.I wasn’t just here as his.I was here as his second.The tension was thick. Not everyone in this room agreed with Dante’s choice.And some of them?Some of them were looking for any excuse to test me.Dante leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lazily against his glass of whiskey.Then, he spoke.“Luca handled last night’s attack,” he said, voice calm, casual. “Swiftly. Efficiently.”His gaze flicked across the room.“That tells me he’s ready for more.”Silence.Then—A man across the table scoffed.Nico. Mid-forties. Old-school. One of Dante’s longest-standing allies.And one of the few men who hadn’t fully accepted me yet.“Handled?” Nico mused, tilting his glass. “I heard he hesitated.”I felt Dante’s gaze flick toward me.But he didn’t say

The CaptiveThe man was tied to the chair.Wrists bound, head slumped forward, breathing ragged.He wasn’t dead.Not yet.But he’d wish he was before we were done.Dante stood in front of him, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.There was no rush.Pain was always more effective when it took its time.“Wake him up,” Dante said.I stepped forward.My knuckles connected with his jaw. Hard.His head snapped to the side, a groan escaping his lips.Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. Bleary. Bloodshot.And when he finally focused?He saw me.His expression flickered—surprise, then something darker.He wasn’t afraid of me.Not yet.But he would be.Who Sent the Hit?Dante crouched in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.“Let’s not waste time.”His voice was calm. Too calm.“Who ordered the hit?”The man exhaled sharply. A laugh—low, broken.“You think I’ll tell you?” His voice was hoarse.Dante smiled. Slow. Dangerous.“You will.”He stood, adjusting his cuffs, before looking

The car ride was silent.Dante sat beside me in the backseat, one hand resting against the leather seat, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. The faint glow of the ember cast shadows across his face.Outside, the city blurred past us—neon lights, dark streets, empty sidewalks.Everything felt too quiet.Too still.The scent of blood still clung to my skin, even after I’d wiped my hands clean. My shirt had specks of it, and the memory of Salvatore’s last breath still echoed in my mind.I had killed before. But this was different.This was power.This was becoming something I couldn’t walk away from.Dante exhaled smoke, his gaze fixed out the window. He hadn’t spoken since we left the warehouse.I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.Not yet.Not when my pulse was still pounding from the weight of everything that had just happened.The Penthouse: Only UsThe moment we stepped inside Dante’s penthouse, the world outside disappeared.The city was loud. The business was brutal. B

A False Sense of PeaceFor the first time in days, the tension had eased.Dante had called an emergency meeting with the capos, leaving me at the penthouse with orders to stay put.I didn’t argue.I needed space.Time to breathe.To figure out if I was really as trapped as Dante made me feel.But the thing about power?It never lets you rest.The HitThe first sign something was wrong was the silence.Dante’s penthouse was never truly quiet. His men were always around, stationed near the entrances, patrolling the halls.But tonight, there was nothing.The hair on the back of my neck stood up.I set my drink down, my mind already cataloging escape routes, weapons, weaknesses.Then—The lights went out.I moved instantly.The gun Dante had given me was in my hand before I even had time to think.A second later, the glass balcony doors shattered.I ducked behind the couch, heart hammering, gun raised.A shadow moved through the darkness. Silent. Trained.Not a random thug.A professional