[BL] The Mafia Boss Wants My Body-Chapter 5: The Devil’s Invitation

"What?!" Their voices rang out, raw with disbelief and fear.

The atmosphere at the table shifted from casual concern to dread. Charles’s hand trembled violently, while Frank looked like he was ready to bolt from the restaurant at any moment.

"Why?" Adrian asked, a nervous laugh slipping out of him. "What is he some kind of serial killer?"

Frank’s expression darkened.

"He’s worse than a serial killer," he said in a low voice. "You didn’t just run into some psychopath, Adrian. You crossed paths with the most dangerous man on this coast."

He leaned closer across the table. "Do you even know who the Marcones are?"

Adrian’s laugh faded. In his mind, he tried to match the quiet, well-mannered man who had left the light on for him with the fear he now saw on his friends’ faces.

"I know he has a lot of bodyguards," he said slowly. "I know he lives in what looks like a fortress. But he’s still just a man... isn’t he?"

"He isn’t just anyone!" Charles snapped, leaning across the table until he was only inches from Adrian’s face. "The Marcones run Central City. They don’t just control the gangs, they control the people who are supposed to stop them. Judges. Senators. Police chiefs. Everyone has a price, and Matteo Marcone is the one who pays it."

He lowered his voice, but the intensity didn’t fade.

"If he wants a building gone, it burns. If he wants a man to disappear, that man is never seen again. In this city, nothing happens, no deal, no blood, not even a single bullet fired, without Matteo Marcone’s permission."

Frank nodded quickly, his eyes flicking toward the door as if he expected a black sedan to appear outside at any second.

"And Matteo..." he said, lowering his voice. "He’s the worst of them. His father was a businessman who knew how to use a blade. But Matteo?"

Frank shook his head slowly.

"He’s a surgeon. Cold. Precise. Calculating. And he never does anything without a reason." He leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. "The fact that he saved you twice... and then let you walk out of his house alive..."

"It means he’s not done with you," Charles finished, his voice trembling. "He didn’t let you go, Adrian. He just gave you a longer leash."

Adrian felt a sudden wave of fear.

"He said... I’m in his debt now," Adrian said quietly. "Because I refused to sleep with him."

"Of course you are," Frank said, rubbing his face with both hands. "That’s his excuse now. By refusing him, you gave him a reason to keep coming after you. A Marcone debt isn’t settled with money, Adrian. It’s settled one way or another."

"I’m straight," Adrian snapped, clearly irritated. "How could I sleep with a man? I spend my days drawing charcoal nudes. There’s nothing about me he should want."

"He wants the one thing he can’t buy," Charles said quietly. "Defiance. Everyone in this city bows to him. You didn’t. To a man like Matteo, that makes you interesting."

"What do I do?" Adrian asked, his voice finally cracking.

Before Frank or Charles could say anything else, the restaurant’s front doors opened. Two men in black suits walked inside. They didn’t look around the room. Instead, they walked straight toward Adrian’s table.

Frank and Charles exchanged a look of pure, unfiltered panic.

When the bodyguards reached the table, they didn’t reach for their weapons. Instead, they bowed respectfully to Adrian. One of them placed a thick invitation card on the table, followed by a small matte-black business card.

"Our boss said you didn’t contact him using the card he gave you last time," the guard said. He slid the black card across the table. "He asked that you use this one."

The guard then gestured toward the invitation.

"You’re invited to his birthday gala in five days. Your friends are welcome to attend as well."

Frank and Charles sat frozen, their inner thoughts screaming in unison: Which friends? Not us!

As soon as the guards left the restaurant, Adrian looked at his friends. For a moment, no one spoke.

"I’m too young to die," Charles finally blurted out, his face pale. "Please, Adrian, for the love of God, do not invite me. I have so much left to live for."

"I haven’t even tried a threesome yet!" Frank added, his hands trembling. "I can’t come with you. Go alone. Go with anyone else, leave me out of the Devil’s lair."

Adrian let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "You don’t have to be scared. I’m not going to his party, and I’m sure as hell not contacting him. I’m going to ignore his existence until he gets bored and forgets I ever existed."

Charles and Frank looked at him with profound pity. "You don’t ignore a Marcone, Adrian," Charles said.

"It’s both your fault I’m in this mess in the first place," Adrian snapped, rising from his chair. "If I have to go to hell, I’m dragging both of you with me. I’m going home."

Frank and Charles shot to their feet at the same time.

"You can’t do that," Frank protested quickly. "We were only trying to help you live a little."

"Yeah," Charles added nervously. "This wasn’t supposed to end with you on a mafia boss’s radar."

Adrian let out a dry smirk. "And you see where that got me."

Before either of them could argue further, Adrian turned and walked out of the restaurant. His friends watched him go, the tension hanging heavy between them, before they finally went their separate ways for the night.

For the next two days, Adrian lived in a state of hyper-vigilance. He didn’t call the number. He didn’t open the invitation. He moved between his home and his studio like a shadow, looking over his shoulder at every black car that passed.

By the third day, Adrian had started to believe Matteo had forgotten about him. When he arrived at the studio, his assistant Kate was waiting for him with a clipboard.

"Sir, we have a private client booked for noon," she said. "They’ve requested an off-site session at their residence and paid the premium for a full private buyout. We need to head over there soon."

Adrian nodded, not thinking twice about it. High-profile clients often preferred the privacy of their own homes to avoid the gallery’s public eye. "Fine. Pack the charcoal and the heavy-duty canvases."

At noon, Adrian and Kate arrived at the location, a tall glass building in one of the most expensive parts of the city. Security gates surrounded the entrance. As they passed through, Adrian noticed the men standing guard. They were not ordinary security guards. The way they stood and watched the area reminded him more of trained soldiers.

When they reached the grand entrance, Kate leaned closer, her eyes widening as she took in the marble columns and the enormous scale of the foyer.

"Oh my God, Adrian," she whispered. "This person is insanely rich. Like... ridiculously rich."

"Lower your voice," Adrian said quietly. "It’s just a client. Professionals don’t stare."

Kate mimed zipping her lips, though the excitement still sparkled in her eyes. It only faded when the lead bodyguard stepped forward.

"The assistant stays downstairs," he said. "The artist will come with us to the master suite. The client wants to discuss the portrait first."

It was a normal request for private portrait work, so Adrian gave Kate a reassuring nod and followed the guards.

They entered a private elevator that took them to the upper level of the penthouse. When the doors opened, the guards led him down a quiet hallway and into a large private room prepared for the session.

The room was spacious and quiet. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors showed the city stretching out below. Dark wood covered the walls, and the furniture was simple but expensive. There was plenty of open space for setting up canvases, lighting, and a place for the subject to sit.

It was obvious the room had been prepared ahead of time. Whoever the client was, they valued privacy.

"Wait here," the guard instructed, motioning toward the center of the room. "The client is wrapping up a call. He’ll join you shortly."

Then he turned and stepped out, closing the door behind him. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Adrian lingered near the door, an uneasy weight settling in his chest for reasons he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t sit. Instead, he tightened his grip on the strap of his bag and turned his gaze toward the city beyond the glass, trying to steady himself.

Then the door behind him clicked open.

Adrian turned, a polite, professional greeting already forming on his lips, only for the words to die before they could leave his mouth.

Standing there, framed by the quiet luxury of the room he’d barely noticed moments ago, was Matteo Marcone.