S*X Contract With Invalid Mafia Boss

Chapter 11

Luca's POV

I stirred awake in the early light, my limbs heavy, sore from the night before. But it was the silence that woke me most, pressing in from every corner of the room. Luca was gone, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne and a hollow ache in his absence. I pulled myself upright, the soft robe slipping from my shoulders, offering little warmth against the chill that lingered.

Every night blurred into the next—Luca’s sharp gaze, his cold touch, his silent, detached way of making me feel like nothing more than a transaction. His words echoed in my mind, cold and cutting. Debt, he’d said, was my only worth. And somehow, each encounter felt less human, more like a cold business deal.

Each time I tried to speak to him, even to ask about something simple, he brushed me off, eyes already fixed on his phone or the next task. When I finally worked up the courage to ask, “Luca, do I mean nothing more than a debt to you?” he didn’t hesitate, his response as unfeeling as the man himself.

“Debt?” he’d smirked, his gaze leveled at me. “It’s the only value you’ve got left.”

I’d swallowed hard, every word etching deep into me, hollowing me out. Loneliness clawed at me, and I found myself turning my anger toward the only person within reach—my maid. She watched me with eyes full of pity, reminding me of my own name, who I used to be. It was too much to bear.

Luca's empty words and our hollow interactions echoed in my mind, and I bit my lip against the anger building up inside, threatening to tear me apart.

---

*Luca’s POV*

The early light filtering through the curtains caught my eye as I shrugged into my shirt, fastening each button with practiced ease. Christine’s gaze remained fixed on me, her silence pressing against me like a weight. But I had no words for her, no time for her unspoken questions. She was a fixture, a quiet presence that lingered, more routine than revelation.

The bathroom light cast shadows over the room as I prepared, my mind already shifting to the day’s agenda. As I left, I paused, signaling the maid with a quick glance and low command. “She’s to be taken care of. Make sure she eats, rests.”

The maid’s surprised flicker of acknowledgment didn’t go unnoticed, but I turned away, making my way downstairs. The guards were already assembled, the ten men I trusted with everything—my life, my empire, and the secrets that bound them all.

I let my gaze sweep over each of their faces, a reminder of the loyalty I required. “Christine’s safety is non-negotiable. If there’s any issue, no matter how small, you report it directly to me. Understand?” My voice was a measured calm, but I saw the tension ripple through them, each man reminded of the personal stakes at hand.

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison, their voices steady.

Satisfied, I made my way to the car, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The drive was smooth, my mind already racing ahead, but the thought of Christine lingered, an unspoken worry I brushed aside.

---

The main floor of the office buzzed with quiet efficiency, a well-oiled machine where every face, every movement, reflected the discipline I demanded. Rows of employees bowed slightly as I passed, greeting me with a respect I’d cultivated through years of careful control. I returned their nods, stepping into the sanctuary of my office.

Mario awaited me, his usual stoic expression softened by a knowing smirk as he handed over the day’s documents. Mario had been by my side for years, a second-in-command who knew my world inside and out. He didn’t need my orders; he already anticipated them, his loyalty sharpened by more than duty.

“The board wants an update on the expansion plan,” he began, his tone low and steady. “They’re getting restless.”

I raised an eyebrow, flipping through the files. “Restless? They’re not paid to be restless. Tell them they’ll have their update on my time, not theirs.”

Mario’s smirk grew faintly. “Understood.”

We went through the day’s agenda with the precision we’d honed over years, each task met with exacting standards. But as we moved on, a sudden call interrupted, the distinct ring of the front desk line drawing my attention. I picked it up, my voice clipped and to the point.

“Mr. Ferrante, your fiancée has arrived,” the receptionist informed me. “Shall I send her up to your office or direct her to the lounge?”

The news hit like a sudden jolt, and I felt Mario’s gaze sharpen beside me. My fiancée—a strategic arrangement, nothing more, but a detail I’d let slip from my immediate priorities. The marriage served a purpose, a well-calculated move, yet even the thought of it felt strangely foreign, out of place in the rigid control I kept over my life. And Christine.

I glanced at Mario, catching his raised eyebrow, his faint look of amusement.

“Send her to the lounge,” I replied, my tone colder than I intended. As I hung up, a tension remained, threading through the quiet that followed. The fiancée was necessary, a part of the game, yet an irritation I hadn’t quite accounted for.

“Preparing for the big day, boss?” Mario asked, his smirk unmistakable.

I met his gaze with a knowing look. “Nothing in my life happens without purpose, Mario. Including this.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Of course.”

The marriage was inevitable, a step that would bolster my empire. Yet something about Christine, her silence, her empty stare as I left this morning, lingered in my mind, a thread I couldn’t seem to shake.