Not Yours To Claim, My Mafia Ex

Luciano’s cold blue eyes narrowed as they locked on the woman laughing softly across the table from another man.

His ex-wife.

His blood boiled.

She looked like sin wrapped in silk—a knee-length black skirt clinging to her hips, a white crop top hugging that fuckable little body, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders like she walked out of a wet dream. And across from her sat some polished prick in a suit, bold enough to rest his damn hand over hers like she already belonged to him.

Luciano’s fists clenched.

So this is what she’d sunk to? Playing high-class slut in fancy hotels, spreading her legs for any man with a fat wallet?

A bitter taste filled his mouth as memories came flooding back. Five years ago, after that night—the one he couldn’t remember because Rosa had drugged him—he’d woken up naked beside her, blood staining the sheets. Panic had gripped him. And then Laura, Rosa’s cousin and his girlfriend at the time, had told him that Rosa had staged the whole thing, faking her being a virgin and even using blood as part of a trap to tie him down with guilt. Laura had also claimed that Rosa had always been a gold digger, that she’d slept around before, and only wanted to stake a claim to his name—to trap him in their unwanted marriage forever.

The fury that had followed was blinding. He’d felt violated, manipulated, humiliated. No one had ever dared to play him like that. No one made a fool out of him.

And the Italian Don had decided to make his cunning little wife pay for her filth. He divorced her and sent her away, wanting nothing more than to erase that deceptively innocent face from his life. Back then, he was young and blinded by rage. Over time, a part of him had questioned if he’d been too harsh.

But that guilt vanished after seeing her last night—playing the same damn trick all over again. She hadn’t changed. They said looks could be deceiving, and with her, that saying couldn’t be more true. Now, seeing her whoring herself out for money in luxury hotels, he felt no regret. She deserved every bit of what he did to her.

The fury only intensified when he saw her shamelessly laughing with that man, seducing him with those innocent looks and dangerously alluring beauty.

Such a bitch.

Hadn't she been screaming his name all night? Moaning beneath him like she couldn’t get enough—clawing at his back, begging him not to stop as he buried himself deep in her tight, soaking heat and drove into her again and again?

And now… now she didn’t even wait a goddamn day before crawling back into another man’s lap?

Was she that desperate? For sex? For money? Or both?

Why would he care if she slept with the whole city? He didn’t care for a whore. Would he?

But what enraged him even more was the burning in his chest—the thought of her using the same seductive tricks, those sensual moves she’d used on him last night, now on another man.

Would she moan that bastard’s name the way she screamed his when he was buried deep inside her?

Would that man touch her the same way he did just hours ago, like he owned every inch of her?

The fury boiled over. Before he could think rationally, he was at their table, grabbing her hand and yanking her toward him.

Her soft brown eyes blinked up at him before panic spread across her face.

"Mr. Mancini… w-what are you doing here?"

"Come with me," he said coldly, already grabbing her wrist and dragging her with him.

"Hey, mister! Leave her alone!"

The interrupting voice made Luciano frown. He turned toward the man in the suit, who protested, stepping forward—but was quickly blocked by Luciano’s bodyguards.

"Shut up and stay the fuck away from her," Luciano snapped, not sparing the man another glance as he pulled Rosa along, ignoring her protests.

He didn’t stop until they reached the private room he had reserved for an urgent business meeting—

A meeting that clearly wasn’t happening now.

His mood had been completely ruined because of this woman.

“Mr. Mancini, let me go! Are you out of your mind?” she yelled at him in frustration.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her face close until their breaths collided, hot and uneven.

“You done playing your little games, Rosie?” he hissed, his voice low and laced with venom. “Or do you need a reminder of whose name you were screaming last night?”