She Woke Up in the Mafia Boss’s Bed by Mistake, but His Mother Saw the Shoes and Changed Everything

At 1:30 in the morning, the heavy private elevator clicked open on the penthouse floor.

Emma kicked off her green silk heels the second her feet touched the hardwood floor, letting out a long, exhausted groan as she unzipped the back of her emerald dress slightly to breathe better.

Matteo walked in behind her, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto the dark leather sofa. He untied his black bow tie, letting it hang loose around his unbuttoned collar.

“You were extraordinary tonight,” Matteo said, walking over to the bar area to pour two fingers of amber bourbon into a crystal glass.

Emma leaned against the marble kitchen island, rubbing her aching arches. “I thought Alderman Henderson was going to have a stroke when you brought up his campaign audits.”

Matteo offered a rare, genuine laugh—a low, melodic sound that vibrated pleasantly through the quiet apartment. He walked over to her, handing her the glass of bourbon.

“Henderson is a coward,” Matteo said softly, leaning his elbow on the counter beside her. “He only bites people he thinks can't bite back.”

Emma took a small sip of the smoky liquor, feeling its warmth spread down her throat. She looked at him through the dim lighting of the kitchen.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked quietly.

Matteo raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About my character. About my intellect.” Emma held his gaze. “Or was that just part of the performance for the Caruso faction?”

Matteo was silent for a long moment. He set his glass down on the marble island, turning his body fully toward her. He stepped into her personal space, closing the distance until Emma could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

He reached out, his long fingers gently picking up a dark lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered against the warm skin of her neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

“I don't lie about things I respect, Emma,” Matteo whispered, his dark eyes intense and mesmerizing. “You are the sharpest, most resilient woman who has entered my life in ten years. Hiding you behind a contract is becoming... increasingly difficult.”

Emma’s breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her mouth suddenly dry. “Matteo... section seven of the contract...”

“Section seven was written by a lawyer who doesn't know how you look in green,” Matteo murmured softly, his gaze dipping down to her lips.

He leaned down slowly, giving her every opportunity to step back, pull away, or remind him of the rules.

Emma didn't move. She couldn't move.

His lips touched hers.

The kiss started as a slow, deliberate question—soft, warm, and deeply reverent. But the moment Emma let out a tiny, soft gasp and rested her hands against his broad chest, the restraint broke.

Matteo wrapped one heavy arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body, deepening the kiss with a fierce, possessive hunger that made Emma’s knees go completely weak. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, pulling him closer, melting into the intoxicating taste of bourbon, sandalwood, and raw, unrestrained desire.

When they finally broke apart for air, both of their chests were heaving.

Matteo rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark gold with intense emotion.