Tinu_Ebun

He was my childhood best friend—my protector, my secret crush. Now he's the most feared mafia boss in Italy… and I’m his favorite possession.

Luca Moretti is cold, calculating, and devastatingly beautiful—a billionaire crime lord who owns Milan’s underground. When Elio Romano, the soft-spoken artist he once protected as a boy, returns to Italy broken and alone, Luca claims him—not with words, but with chains, kisses, and bruised devotion.

What starts as protection becomes obsession.
What was once friendship becomes a deadly, irresistible game.
Because toys don’t get to say no… especially not to the Mafia King.


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The Mafia Toy

Not the kind you could see—though those were there too. Bite marks on my collarbone. Finger-shaped shadows on my hips. A soreness between my legs that made every shift in bed a reminder.

No, the real bruises were under my skin.

I sat up slowly, wrapped the silk sheet around me, and stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

A king who ruled with chains and charm.

And me—a toy in his glass cabinet.

Last night hadn't been sex. Not really. It had been ownership, carved into my body with teeth and spit and whispered promises laced with steel. I let him take it. All of it.

And I hated how much I'd loved it.

Luca entered like a storm in slow motion—black trousers, half-buttoned shirt, no apology in his stride. He held coffee. And a single ring box.

"You tracked the bartender down after I left, didn't you?"

"He didn't touch me. He didn't even know me."

"He looked at you like he wanted to," Luca said quietly.

I stood, the sheet falling. My body bared, unashamed. "You call this protection, but it's not. It's obsession."

He set the coffee on the nightstand. "I've never claimed it was love."

He walked to me, close but not touching. "You've been starving for affection your whole life. I gave it to you, didn't I?"

I swallowed. "Is that how you see me? Starving?"

"No." His hand reached out, but hovered. "I see you aching."

"You didn't even ask if I was okay after last night."

He flinched, almost imperceptibly. "You didn't tell me to stop."

"That doesn't mean you weren't rough."

The silence between us cracked like thin ice.

"You think I don't love you?" he said finally.

"I think you don't know what love is."

He stepped forward. "Love isn't soft."

"I don't want to be something you own," I said. "I want to be someone you choose—over and over. Even when I piss you off. Even when I smile at strangers."

He looked up. And for a moment, I saw the boy I used to know—the one who held my bloody knees after I fell off his bike, who gave me his last bite of bread in foster care.

"I'll teach you," I said. "But only if you let me be mine before I can be yours."

Slow. Careful. Like a man walking a wire with fire on both sides.

I walked into his arms. Let my forehead press to his shoulder. Felt the quiet quake under his stillness.

But maybe, just maybe, it was the first honest one we'd had.

Chapter 9: Obsession Isn't Love