She Sat On A Mafia Boss’s Lap To Escape Her Toxic Ex — His Whisper Changed Everything That Night
War and Betrayal
They left Ivan unconscious on the floor for the security team to dispose of safely outside the gates. They walked down the aisle ten minutes later as Flora said, “I do.”
Looking at the man who had just nearly committed murder for her, she realized with a terrifying jolt that her heart was racing—not from fear, but from adrenaline and something else. When he kissed her to seal the vows, he didn’t play for the cameras.
He held her like he was trying to anchor himself to the earth.
The honeymoon was a lie. There was no trip to Italy or France; it was too dangerous.
Instead, they retreated to a fortified estate in upstate New York, a modern glass mansion hidden deep in the forest, surrounded by electric fences and guards with assault rifles. Two weeks had passed since the wedding.
The media frenzy was dying down, but the tension inside the house was rising. They were living in a strange limbo.
They shared a bed every night to keep up appearances for the staff, who could be spies. But they hadn’t crossed the line physically since the wedding kiss.
They slept with backs turned, a wall of pillows between them. But during the day, the air was thick.
Flora would catch Enzo watching her read in the library; Enzo would catch Flora watching him work out in the home gym. One rainy Tuesday, Flora walked into Enzo’s home office.
He was on a call, speaking rapid-fire Italian, his hand rubbing his temple. He slammed the phone down when he saw her.
“I knocked,” she said defensively. “What is it?” He sounded exhausted.
“I’m bored, Enzo. I can’t leave the property. I have no phone access. I feel like a prisoner.”
“You are safe,” he grunted, returning to his paperwork. “That is what matters.”
“Safe isn’t living,” she snapped. “And you—you’re avoiding me.”
Breach of Contract
Enzo stopped writing. He looked up slowly.
“I am avoiding you because if I don’t, I will do something that breaches our contract.”
“What does that mean?”
He stood up and walked around the desk. He backed her against the bookshelves.
“It means,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper. “That I am having a very hard time remembering that this is fake. I look at you, Flora, and I forget that you are just a job.”
Flora’s breath hitched. “Maybe… maybe I don’t want to be just a job.”
The admission hung in the air. Enzo’s eyes dilated.
He reached out, his hand tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat—the throat Ivan had bruised, the throat Enzo had healed.
He leaned in, his lips hovering inches from hers. “Be careful, Toro. If you cross this line, there is no going back. I don’t let things go. If you give yourself to me, I keep you forever.”
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered.
He kissed her. This time, it wasn’t for show; it was hungry, desperate, and filled with a raw intensity that made her knees buckle.
The Ambush at the Glass House
He lifted her onto the mahogany desk, scattering papers everywhere. Just as his hand slid up her thigh, the room exploded—not metaphorically.
The large glass window behind the desk shattered inward with a deafening crash. A bullet whizzed past Enzo’s ear, embedding itself in the bookshelf.
Enzo didn’t hesitate. He tackled Flora, throwing them both to the floor behind the heavy oak desk just as a hail of automatic gunfire tore through the room.
“Stay down!” he roared, pulling his gun from the holster under the desk. He had weapons taped everywhere.
“What is happening?” Flora screamed, covering her ears as glass rained down.
“A hit,” Enzo growled, checking the magazine. “They bypassed the perimeter. Someone on the inside sold us out.”
The gunfire stopped for a second; the shooters were reloading. “Can you shoot?” Enzo asked, looking at her.
“No!”
“Learn fast.” He shoved a spare pistol into her hand.
“The safety is off. Point and squeeze. I need to get to the panic room, but the hallway is exposed. We have to run.”
“Enzo, I can’t!”
“You can. You survived Ivan. You survived me. You can survive this.”
He grabbed her face, fierce and terrifying. “I will not let you die, Flora. Do you hear me? Not today.”
He stood up and fired three shots out the broken window, suppressing the attackers. “Run now!”
The Escape and the Grenade
They sprinted into the hallway. Bullets chewed up the drywall behind them.
They reached the end of the hall, but the keypad to the safe room was shot out. It was dead.
“Damn it!” Enzo kicked the door. He looked around. “The garage! We have to take the car!”
They scrambled down the back stairs to the garage. Enzo threw her into the passenger seat of a specialized armored SUV.
He jumped in the driver’s side and hit the ignition. As the garage door opened, three men in balaclavas were waiting, blocking the driveway with a van.
“Hold on,” Enzo said, shifting gears.
“Enzo, what are you doing?”
“Buckle up, Flora!”
He slammed his foot on the gas. The armored SUV roared.
He didn’t brake; he rammed straight into the side of the van, metal screeching, glass flying. The impact threw the van aside like a toy.
They burst out onto the main road, rain lashing against the windshield. “Are you okay?” Enzo shouted over the engine.
“I think so,” Flora gasped, clutching the dashboard.
Enzo checked the rearview mirror. “Don’t get comfortable. We have a tail.”
Two black sedans were speeding behind them, headlights flashing. Enzo reached into the center console and pulled out a phone.
He dialed a number. “It’s me. Code Black. The house is compromised. I’m on Route 9 heading south. I have the package. I repeat, I have the wife.”
He looked at Flora. “Reach into the back seat. There’s a bag. Open it.”
She did. Inside were grenades.
“Enzo!”
“Roll down your window just a crack,” he commanded, his face set in a mask of grim determination. “When I say drop, you pull the pin and drop it. Can you do that?”
Flora looked at the grenade. It was heavy, cold death in her hand.
She looked at Enzo, the man who had just kissed her like he wanted to devour her soul. “Yes,” she said.
“Good girl.”
Enzo swerved, tires screeching on the wet asphalt as bullets pinged off the armored glass. “Get ready! Now!” Enzo roared.
Flora didn’t think. She didn’t let the morality of the act stop her.
She pulled the pin, the metal ring cold against her sweating finger, and dropped the grenade out the cracked window. “Head down!” Enzo shouted, swerving the heavy SUV violently to the left.
She ducked, covering her head with her arms. Boom!
The explosion wasn’t just a sound; it was a pressure wave that slammed against the back of their car. Flora dared to look up in the side mirror.
The lead sedan behind them had driven straight over the explosive. The car flipped—a twisted mess of fire and metal blocking the narrow road entirely.
The second sedan screeched to a halt to avoid the wreckage. They were clear.
