[BL] The Mafia Boss Wants My Body-Chapter 9: Standing Naked Before the Matteo

With that settled, Matteo guided Adrian toward the private back exit, away from the crowd and the flashing lights of the club.

Adrian followed, slightly unsteady on his feet, but Matteo’s hand stayed firm at his waist as he led him outside and into the black sedan waiting by the curb.

On their way to the estate, the car moved quickly through the city, neon lights blurring past the windows. Inside the car, Matteo didn’t miss the chance to tear into him.

"You can’t drink, yet you drown yourself in it," Matteo said, his voice smooth but biting. "You can’t see, yet you cry until you’re practically blind. You’re a mess, Adrian."

Adrian slumped against the leather seat and turned his head toward him, though his eyes didn’t quite focus. The city lights outside the window were nothing but shifting colors now.

His pride flared through the haze of alcohol.

"I didn’t say I was blind," he muttered, his words slightly slurred. "I can see just fine."

He squinted as if trying to prove it, but his gaze drifted somewhere near Matteo’s shoulder instead of his face.

"And I can drink," he added stubbornly. "I’m just... heartbroken."

Adrian leaned closer, invading Matteo’s space until their faces were only inches apart. His balance wavered slightly as he tried to focus.

"Shut up," he murmured. "You don’t know anything about me."

The air in the car turned arctic. Matteo’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in the dark. "No one dares tell me to shut up."

"I don’t care who you are," Adrian muttered, completely unfazed by the threat.

He lifted a finger, fumbling in the air as he tried to find Matteo’s face. When he finally brushed against Matteo’s lips, he pressed his finger there in a clumsy, defiant shush.

"So... quiet."

Matteo didn’t explode. Instead, a slow, predatory smirk pulled at his mouth. He found the sheer audacity of the artist, the way he stared death in the face and told it to be silent, infinitely more interesting than fear. He let out a short, huffed laugh, his expression softening into something dark and amused.

In the front seat, the driver and the lead guard both let out synchronized, nervous coughs, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Matteo’s face instantly hardened, his "Boss" persona snapping back into place. "Focus on the road," he commanded, his voice like a whip.

"Yes, Sir," they replied in unison, eyes locked straight ahead.

Adrian’s head lolls back against the headrest, his eyes sliding shut as the adrenaline fades into a drunken stupor. Matteo watched him in silence for the rest of the journey.

When they arrived at the estate, two bodyguards stepped forward to help Adrian out of the car, half-supporting him as they guided him through the grand foyer. Tony was waiting in the living room and rose to greet Matteo as usual, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw Adrian’s pale, tear-streaked face.

"Why is he back here?" Tony asked, confusion quickly turning into concern. He glanced at the guards, but they remained silent.

As Matteo walked in behind them, Tony stepped into his path.

"Mat, what’s going on?" he asked. "Since when do you bring the same one-night stand back twice? You’ve never repeated the same person before."

Matteo walked past him and headed for the liquor cabinet, his expression indifferent.

"When did I ever say he was one of those?" he replied calmly.

Tony followed him, his voice rising.

"You confirmed it that first night," Tony shot back. "You called him a Playboy. And now you’re bringing an outsider back into our sanctuary? Do you realize how much of a risk that is for all of us?"

Matteo poured himself a glass of scotch, his back still turned to his friend.

"Tony, that’s enough," he said evenly. "He’s here because I want him here. End of story."

"It’s not the end of the story!" Tony snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. "You’re acting recklessly over some artist. You’re risking the security of this house for—"

"QUIET!"

The word echoed through the marble halls like a thunderclap.

Matteo spun around, his presence suddenly massive and suffocating. He took two long strides toward Tony, his eyes flashing with the cold, absolute authority of a man who ruled by blood and iron.

"How dare you question me?" Matteo said, his voice low but heavy with warning. "This is my house. I decide who comes and who leaves."

He stopped in front of Tony, his gaze unwavering.

"You are my friend, Tony, not my keeper. I give the orders here, and no one, not even you, dares to demand an explanation from me."

The room fell into a deathly silence. The guards lowered their heads, not daring to breathe. The power dynamic was clear: in this house, there was only one law, and it belonged to Matteo Marcone.

Tony’s jaw tightened, his face flushing, but he saw the finality in Matteo’s gaze. He lowered his head, yielding to the boss. "Understood, Boss. My apologies."

Matteo didn’t offer a reconciliation. He set his glass down, turned on his heel, and walked out of the living room in a cold, controlled rage, heading straight upstairs to the bedroom where Adrian had been taken.

The guards stationed outside his door bowed in silent unison, pulling the heavy oak doors open for him. Matteo stepped inside, expecting to find Adrian passed out in a drunken stupor.

Instead, he found the artist sitting on the edge of the massive bed, clumsily struggling with the buttons of his shirt. His trousers had already been kicked aside and lay forgotten on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Matteo asked, his voice low.

Adrian looked up, his eyes unfocused and glassy. "Need... need a shower," he managed, his fingers fumbling uselessly against the silk of his shirt. "Before I sleep."

"You don’t need a shower," Matteo countered, crossing the room. "Just lie down and sleep it off."

"No," Adrian insisted, a stubborn spark in his gaze. "I feel hot. I need the water."

Matteo stopped a step away, his shadow falling over Adrian.

"Adrian," he said quietly, "think about what you’re doing. Going naked in front of me is an invitation. Do you really expect me to stand here, look at you, and not touch you?"

His eyes hardened slightly.

"I’m not a very patient man."

"I need to shower," Adrian repeated, still fighting a losing battle with his shirt.

Matteo let out a sharp, frustrated breath. He caught Adrian’s fumbling hands and pushed them aside, his own fingers taking over with controlled, practiced efficiency. One button slipped free, then another.

As the shirt slowly opened, strips of pale skin appeared beneath the fabric. Matteo’s jaw tightened. His fingers slowed for a brief second, his throat working as he swallowed. Adrian’s chest was smooth and warm under the soft light, rising and falling with uneven drunken breaths.

By the time the last button came undone, Matteo’s patience was hanging by a thread.

He slid the shirt off Adrian’s shoulders. The fabric fell away, leaving Adrian sitting there in nothing but his underwear, completely unaware of the effect he was having.

Then, with a clumsy drunken motion, Adrian hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down.

Matteo’s breath caught in his throat.

"Fuck, Adrian," he muttered under his breath.

The sight was enough to make Matteo’s blood boil. Adrian was beautifully made, with pale skin, lean muscle, and a thick, impressive length that moved slightly as he stood on shaky legs. Matteo’s body reacted instantly, a surge of heat blooming in his gut that he couldn’t suppress.

"Water," Adrian murmured, swaying.

Matteo grabbed him by the waist, half-leading and half-carrying him into the opulent marble bathroom.

He reached in and turned on the rainfall shower, the hiss of the water filling the room.

He stepped back just enough to let the spray hit Adrian, watching as the water cascaded down his chest, slicking his skin and tracing the lines of his body.

Matteo’s gaze followed the path of the water down to where it pooled at Adrian’s feet, his eyes darkening with a possessive, predatory hunger.

"Fuck, Adrian," Matteo muttered under his breath, his voice rough.

He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself.

"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he said quietly.

His gaze lingered on Adrian’s cock again, slow and intense.

"There’s no way I’m letting you slip out of my life now," Matteo murmured, his voice low and certain. "Not after seeing you like this."

He took a slow breath.

"You’ve already crossed the line, Adrian. Whether you realize it or not."