Oh No, My Mafia Husband Is About to Lose Control Chapter 02

Oh No, My Mafia Husband Is About to Lose Control Chapter 02

I knew exactly what this was. A contract marriage.

Leon didn’t have feelings for me.

He’d told me, more than once, that I could leave whenever I wanted.

So fine. Was I just in this to be Mrs. Moretti?

…Okay, yes. Partly.

But mostly I wanted that criminally beautiful face. And that body, carved like a sculpture.

I’d been shallow about looks since I was a kid. Sue me.

Except—he actually moved into a separate bedroom.

He left early every morning and came back late every night. If he wasn’t at the port, he was at a casino, or up in the Moretti Capital tower.

Two of us in the same estate, living like roommates who never crossed paths.

I paced my room in a slip of a nightgown, half ready to storm into his study and drag him out from behind that mountain of paperwork.

Then one night, an anonymous local forum post popped up on my phone.

[My wife loves my mother and takes wonderful care of the estate. But she doesn’t want jewelry. She doesn’t want designer bags. How am I supposed to thank her?]

Distance: under one hundred meters.

My eyes shot wide open.

That was posted from inside this estate.

Obviously, Leon had written it.

The top reply:

[She’s your wife, dude—you can’t treat her like a business partner. Start with companionship. Don’t be a brick wall who only knows how to sign contracts.]

Leon replied with a single question mark.

[Define “companionship.”]

The comments lost their minds.

[Are you actually a married man?? Your wife hasn’t divorced you yet? She’s a saint.]

[Eat with her. Talk with her. Watch movies with her. Hug her. Kiss her. Do we really have to teach you this?]

[…You’re not, like, broken, are you?]

I read comments all night, my face burning hotter and hotter.

The next day, Leon came home early for once. He was sitting on the living room couch, tablet in hand.

I poured myself a cup of tea.

Then, casually, I poured one for him.

He took it without a word. Then suddenly, he smiled.

Leon looked down at the cup. Something unreadable in his voice. “Do I look like I need a drink?”

I froze, scrambling to explain.

His gaze slid lower, slowly, over the pale lavender silk slip I was wearing.

Restrained. Careful.

But it burned. Like a hidden fire creeping up my back.

His throat moved. His voice came out rough. “Actually—I think I do.”

That night, I learned exactly how unreliable the words “cold-blooded,” “controlled,” and “uninterested in women” were when applied to Leon Moretti.

The moment he tipped me back onto the bed, I thought, hazy and breathless:

Bless those netizens.

I finally got into bed with this gorgeous man.

After that, I made it my mission to coax Leon into new role-play scenarios.

Beyond every kind of uniform, I used his money to buy him an entire wardrobe of soft, domestic loungewear.

By day, he wore black coats—the kind of mafia boss who could make the East Coast bow its head.

But at night, when he changed into a soft knit sweater and stood at the kitchen stove searing me a steak, he looked like a husband who belonged only to me.

On weekends, he’d sometimes cook in the clothes I bought him.

One hand in his pocket, the other working the pan.

This was a man the entire East Coast was afraid of, and he was bending down to let me taste the sauce.

That image hit every single button I had.

I’d sneak up behind him, wrap my arms around him at the kitchen island, and bother him on purpose.

Up on tiptoe, I bit his ear, voice deliberately soft. “Husband. What’s more important—the steak, or me?”

His hand on the spatula stilled.

He looked down at me, eyes dark. “Bella. Don’t mess around in the kitchen.”

I tilted my face up, pretending to be innocent. “But you look so good in this. I can’t help it.”

Leon closed his eyes like he was barely holding on.

A few seconds later he turned the stove off, spun around, and pinned me against the counter, voice low and rough. “Then the steak’s getting cold.”

It got very, very cold.

I’d thought we’d live like this, shameless and happy, forever.

I never expected he had a destined leading lady.

And that I was the ex-wife about to be thrown out.

I didn’t sleep that whole night.

I made up my mind: from now on, I’d behave. I wouldn’t make Leon hate me any more than he already did.

I wasn’t about to walk away with nothing.

The next morning, Leon hadn’t left yet.

His eyes landed on the dark circles under mine, and his brow furrowed.

He looked at me, voice quieter than usual. “Didn’t sleep? Was it because last night we didn’t…”

I almost choked on my water.

“No—no, I just woke up too early,” I rushed to say.

Back when I was at my most obsessed with him, I’d cling to his waist and pout that I couldn’t sleep without him.

Then use that excuse to keep him up half the night, every night.

Leon didn’t say anything else. He stood and walked toward the foyer.

He picked up his coat. Voice flat. “I have a family meeting tonight. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. Get some sleep.”

[Aaaa, the male lead gets alone time with Elena AGAIN. This is amazing.]

[This is the arc where they go through the books, the shipping routes, and the traitor lists together. Every glance is a sugar rush.]

[The ex-wife’s gonna throw a tantrum the second she hears he’s not coming home. Insufferable.]

The old me would’ve pouted. Complained. Hung off him until he kissed me dizzy.

I would’ve made him promise to wear an outfit of my choosing as compensation when he got back.

But now, I had to learn to sleep alone.

I forced an understanding smile.

I waved at him, doing my best to look generous and easygoing. “Okay. Hurry, don’t be late.”

Leon’s body went still.

He turned and looked at me. Something searching flashed through his dark eyes.

His brow creased. “Bella. Is something wrong today?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He pressed his lips together but said nothing.

In the end, he gave me one long look, opened the door, and left.