THE MAFIA KING BROKEN ROSE novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155

Aria’s POV

Coffee or tea. I said to myself as I stood barefoot in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mugs like they held the secret to world peace. My ankle was finally strong enough to walk without limping, and the taste of hospital antiseptic had just started to leave my tongue. Progress, in its most mundane glory.

I reached for the tea–less caffeine, less bitterness.

Before I could finish pouring the hot water, I heard the footsteps. Slow, purposeful, and very familiar.

Dominic.

He didn’t knock. He never did.

He walked into the room like he always belonged there–tall, sharp suit, dark eyes focused only on me.

“You’re not in bed,” he said, eyes sweeping over me like I might shatter just from standing.

I gave him a look. “That line’s getting old.”

He raised a brow. “I’m overprotective. You’re fragile.”

“I’m healing,” I corrected, stirring the tea. “Big difference.”

He said nothing to that. Just watched me for a second too long. Then he stepped forward, leaned against the marble counter like he hadn’t nearly burned down the world for me two weeks ago.

“We made a truce,” he said suddenly.

I turned to him, brow raised. “We did?”

His lips twitched. “About trying. About making… this“-he gestured between us-“something more than trauma–bonding and dramatic declarations during gunfights.”

I blinked. “That was poetic. Proud of you.”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice gentler now. “We said we’d try. That we’d talk. Be better.”

I tilted my head. “Are you here to talk or trying to win points with another blanket and threatening my nurses again?”

He didn’t smile. Not fully. But the corner of his mouth lifted. “Neither.”

That’s when I noticed the faint glint in his hand.

A key fob.

He tossed it to me. I caught it, barely.

“What’s this?”

He straightened. “Your chariot.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you on a date.”

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09:41′ Sat, 24 May GuB.

Chapter 155

I stared.

He just stared back, dead serious.

“You? Dominic De Luca? On a date?”

“I made a reservation.“”

I narrowed my eyes. “Does it involve a bulletproof car, three backup security teams, and a sniper on standby?”

He paused. “…yes.”

I laughed. “Of course it does.”

He stepped closer, resting his hand gently on my waist. “You said you wanted normal. Weekly dates. A real try. So this is me, trying. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I never said I wanted you to cook dinner and wear an apron,” I teased.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to the side of my head. “If it gets you in the car, I’ll wear one.”

I snorted. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I looked up at him—this impossibly dangerous man trying to play soft for me–and felt something warm bloom in my chest.

“You’re really doing this?” I asked.

He nodded. “Every week. One date. No guns. No threats. Just us.”

I smiled into my tea.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s see if we can survive something scarier than death.”

His brow rose, amused. “Like what?”

“Dinner without an explosion.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. For all his brooding and power plays, Dominic De Luca was terrible at hiding his amusement.

“I can’t promise there won’t be explosions,” he said, stepping closer, “but I can promise no one’s dying over dessert.”

“Mm, progress,” I said, sipping my tea.

He leaned against the counter next to me, his eyes still on my face. “You’re smiling more.”

“Must be the meds.”

“Oh?”

“Or maybe the domestic mafia boyfriend energy is starting to work for me.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Domestic?”

“Mm–hmm.”

“Say that again.”

I smirked. “What, ‘domestic‘? You in an apron, maybe doing laundry, folding towels-”

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Sat, 24 May

Chapter 155

His hand shot out before I could finish, fingers digging into my waist. I yelped.

“Dominic!”

“You think I won’t defend my reputation?”

I tried to wiggle away, laughing too hard to be threatening. “Stop! My ribs–still healing–Dominic!”

He didn’t stop. One hand kept gently tickling just below my side while the other held me in place with frustrating ease.

“You’re evil,” I gasped between giggles.

“You said domestic,” he teased, eyes brighter now, like seeing me laugh was better than any revenge. “I kill people for less.”

I finally managed to squirm out of his hold, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. “You tickle. You definitely can’t act like a cold–hearted killer after that.”

He stepped forward slowly, trapping me against the counter again, eyes hooded but still smiling.

“I only tickle the people I’d kill for,” he murmured.

My laughter faded into something quieter. Warmer.

That look in his eyes–it stripped everything else away.

I reached up, brushing my fingers down the front of his shirt. “Then I guess I’m lucky.”

“You’re more than lucky,” he said, voice low. “You’re mine.”

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