Married to Mafia Boss novel Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Aria’s POV

Marco ran his thumb across his lower lip, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The grature seemed unconscious, as it he was replaying an recent kiss.

I sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands neatly folded in my lap. My body tingled with awareness, and every few minutes, I would steal glances at his gre -the strong jawline, perfect nose, and those impossibly long eyelashes–only to quickly look away when he seemed about to catch me staring

The Ice Prince, that’s what the women at the office called him behind his bac

1. k. Cold, untouchable, yet devastatingly handsome. He was the kind of man wher could freeze you with a look or melt you with a smile and he knew exactly which to use and when.

Half an hour later, Marco pulled over to the curb in front of a towering glass structure that pierced the night sky like a gleaming spear.

Sky Tower!” whispered as Marco handed his keys to a waiting attendant.

As we approached the entrance, he slipped his arm around me, and I responded by wrapping my arm around his, distinctly feeling the solid warmth of his bicep beneath the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

The doorman nodded respectfully as we passed. I noticed how everyone seemed to straighten up whenever Marco walked by.

Sky Tower was Portano’s most iconic landmark–a 98–story glass and steel monument to luxury and excess. Francesca and I had visited once, shortly after moving to Portano. We’d saved for weeks just to afford tickets to the observation deck, joining the throngs of tourists eager for a panoramic view of the city.

Tonight, however, the usually bustling lobby was eerily quiet. No tour groups, no couples taking selfies, no families with excited children. Just a few staff members who nodded respectfully as we passed.

‘Where is everyone?” I asked Marco in a low voice as we approached a private elevator.

He glanced around the empty lobby, then down at me. “Hmm?*

“The tourists. This place is usually packed, even on weeknights.”

Marco took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and led me toward a golden elevator marked “VIP Access Only.”

“It’s just us tonight,” he said simply, his thumb brushing against my palm.

I realized I was still holding his hand tightly, and a hint of amusement crossed his face.

“Have you eaten here before?” I asked as the elevator doors closed.

“Yes,” he replied, his attention seemingly focused on scanning the security cameras installed in each corner of the elevator.

The elevator rose smoothly, numbers flashing on the digital display: 50… 60… 70… Finally, we reached the 98th floor, and the doors opened directly into the famous revolving restaurant.

The sight before me took my breath away. The restaurant was decorated with hundreds of Italian red roses, their rich fragrance filling the air. A single table sat in the center, surrounded by roses arranged in the shape of a heart. The city lights of Portano twinkled through the floor–to–ceiling windows, creating a backdrop worthy of a movie scene.

More striking than the decorations, however, was the emptiness. Apart from a few staff members standing discreetly along the walls and what appeared to be security personnel in black uniforms near the exits, the entire 98th floor was deserted.

“Good evening, Mr. Vittorio,” a young female server greeted us, her appreciative gaze lingering on Marco before shifting to me with a noticeably cooler smile.

“Ma’am.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Beautiful women are like water, capable of brewing disaster. Handsome men are like demons, capable of creating havoc. No wonder women fall at Marco’s feet wherever he goes.”

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Chapter 30

Marco observed this exchange, his expressium darkening slightly. Instead of acknowledging the server a presting, he turned sa i muilu i nie

to be the manager

“Replace her,” Marco said quietly, his voice barely audible but carrying unmistakable authority

The manager’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, murmuring something in rapid Italian to the young woman.

The color drained from her face, and she hurriedly bowed and backed away.

“Was that necessary? I asked as Marco guided me to our table. To decide someone’s fate just like that?

Marco pulled out my chair, waiting for me to sit before taking his own seat. “I didn’t like her, he said simply, so I had her replaced.

I stared at him, trying to gauge if he was joking. His expression remained impassive. ‘Is that how your world works? You don’t like something, so you change it?

His mouth twitched slightly. “Do you care about her?

“Marco, did you just have her reassigned because she stared at you too long?” I was concerned about the server’s job.

Marco’s gaze softened slightly. “She was merely reassigned to another post for the evening, not fired. I simply didn’t want our night interrupted by unnecessary attention.”

Before I could respond, a familiar Italian melody began to play softly. I recognized it immediately–Il tuo profumo (Your Fragrance), one of my favorite songs. Without thinking, I hummed along, swaying gently to the haunting tune.

Marco watched me intently, making my cheeks flush. “You know this song?” he asked.

“I love it,” I admitted. “It reminds me of Italian summer nights when I was a child.”

He nodded, then gestured to a server who approached with a bottle of wine.

“This is from my family’s vineyard in Altoria,” Marco said as the server presented the bottle. “1682, a good year.”

The server poured a small amount into Marco’s glass for him to taste. After Marco nodded his approval, the server filled both our glasses before retreating.

I picked up my glass, admiring its deep ruby color, then took a sip. No, not a sip–I downed half the glass in one go, as if it were a shot of tequila.

Marco raised an eyebrow slightly. “The ’82 Falco Nero Reserve isn’t meant to be consumed that way,” he said, his tone more amused than critical.

I set down my glass, suddenly self–conscious. “Sorry. Bad habit from college.”

Marco’s gaze lingered on me. “Be careful,” he said softly. “It’s stronger than most.”

I nodded, unconsciously licking my lips to catch a drop of the rich liquid. Marco’s eyes followed the movement of my tongue, his expression subtly shifting as a flash of heat passed through his gaze, making my heart race.

‘Not good to drink on an empty stomach,” he said, his yoice a touch deeper than before. “Let’s eat.”

As if on cue, servers brought out our first course–an Italian fruit salad, followed by perfectly cooked medium–rare filet mignon. Only when the food arrived did I realize how hungry I was, eagerly picking up my fork.

To my surprise, Marco had already cut a piece of steak and placed it on my plate.

Marco’s gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful.

I took a bite of the tender, juicy steak, briefly closing my eyes at the rich flavor.

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Married to Mafia Boss