The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)-Chapter 44: Chat, is He Cooked?

[Adam's Pov]

I'm nestled against Caterina's chest, my massive white casts resting lazily like hibernating polar bears. The penthouse living room surrounds us in muted luxury. Boston glitters beneath us, tiny cars and tinier people moving in miniature, a world I used to belong to.

The massive television mounted on the wall flickers with bright colors, the roar of engines filling the room as Formula 1 cars tear around a track at impossible speeds. I'm only half paying attention.

"So that's Valentina," Caterina says, her breath warm against my ear as she points toward a slim figure in a red racing suit. The camera zooms in on a woman removing her helmet, revealing a face that shares Caterina's sharp features and determined jaw, though her hair is shorter, cut in a practical bob rather than flowing blonde locks.

"She looks like you," I mumble, watching as Valentina strides toward a group of reporters, her posture radiating the same predatory confidence I've come to recognize in Caterina.

"She's my Mother's sister's daughter," Caterina explains, her fingers idly stroking my hair. "The De Luca competitive streak runs strong in both of us."

On screen, Valentina answers questions with a tight smile, her Italian accent thicker than the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 which killed 21 people in Boston.

'Did that still happen?'

The camera pans to her car, sleek and red, with sponsor logos plastered across every surface. The announcers are discussing something about tire strategy and pit stops, their voices blending together in a meaningless drone as my attention drifts. Valentina's face appears again, this time with a clear expression of disappointment.

"Is she good?" I ask, watching as Valentina removes her racing gloves with sharp, frustrated movements.

Caterina sighs, her chest rising and falling beneath my head. "She was the best. Seven world championships with Mercedes, but since she switched to Ferrari, she's only made the podium a few times."

I nod as if this means something to me. "Oh, so like she got nervous?"

"No," Caterina says, her tone suggesting I've said something ridiculous. "Ferrari just sucks."

"It's like Mario Kart, right?" I ask, genuinely trying to find some point of reference in my foggy brain. "Why can't she win with Ferrari?"

"Mario Kart?" Caterina repeats, her brow furrowing in confusion like she's never heard of it.

She shakes her head slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "This is more of a girl thing," she explains with exaggerated patience. "A boy like you wouldn't care about F1."

I stare at Caterina for a long moment, feeling like I should argue with her dismissive categorization. After all, I might enjoy racing. I could have interests she doesn't know about. But as our eyes meet, the fight drains out of me like air from a punctured tire.

'I don't give a fuck about racing, to be honest.'

"You're probably right," I say with a shrug. "I've never really followed sports."

Caterina smiles, triumphant yet tender, and runs her fingers through my hair. The sensation sends pleasant tingles down my spine, and I lean into her touch like a cat seeking affection.

"So we're gonna go to Italy to see her race?" I ask, my voice lifting with unexpected enthusiasm.

"Yeah," she says, leaning down to kiss the back of my head. Her lips linger there, warm and possessive. "We'll fly out in a few weeks. I've already arranged everything."

A thought occurs to me, fragments of my old life surfacing through the chemical haze. "Do I have a passport?"

Caterina laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest against my ear. "Baby, you have dozens of passports, remember?" She traces her finger along my jawline. "American, Canadian, British, whatever you need."

I furrow my brow, trying to focus. "I think I only need one."

She kisses my neck, her lips finding that sensitive spot just below my ear. "Yeah, baby. Don't worry about anything."

As her words sink in, I feel a strange lightness spreading through me, like a helium filling a balloon.

Lately, my entire life has revolved around just following Caterina, but I have no worries at all. I eat lavish meals, she fucks me every night, I sleep well, and the drugs are a ton of fun. There's no bills to pay, no deadlines to meet, no responsibilities weighing me down. Just pleasure, comfort, and the steady rhythm of days spent in luxurious captivity.

"Adam," Caterina says, her crimson eyes studying my face with curious intensity, "you're so happy right now."

"What?" I blink, pulled from my thoughts.

"You're smiling so wide," she observes, her head tilting slightly. "What are you thinking about?"

The question catches me off-guard. I can't tell her the truth, that despite everything she's done, despite the broken hands and the drugged haze and the murder of an innocent woman, I'm finding comfort in this twisted arrangement. That would be admitting to be complicit.

"I don't know," I say instead, the lie slipping easily from my lips.

Caterina's hand moves to cup my cheek, turning my body toward hers. Her crimson eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"I love you," she says softly, the words hanging in the air between us.

I hesitate for a moment, not because I'm unwilling to say it, but because I'm afraid I might mean it. Somewhere along the way, between the drugs, the pain, and the warped comfort she provides, something has shifted inside me. The line between compliance for survival and genuine feeling has blurred beyond recognition.

"I love you too," I finally whisper, unsure if I want to be obedient or if it's something deeper.

Her face transforms, lighting up with a joy so pure and intense it's almost painful to witness. She then composes herself back to the usual Caterina I know.

"Are you excited to get your casts off?" she asks, her fingers tracing the edge of the plaster where it meets my skin.

I glance down at the bulky white encasements that have become such a familiar part of my existence. "I'm excited not to bash anything with them anymore," I reply with a small laugh. The humor fades quickly as I voice the fear that's been growing inside me. "I'm really nervous my hands will never be the same again, though."

Caterina leans closer, her lips brushing against my ear. "A part of me hopes the nerve damage is so bad that I have to always hold it while you piss," she whispers, her voice dropping dangerously low.

A corrupted warmth spreads through me at her words. A disgusting piece of me wants that, too. Wants to be cared for, dependent, bound to her through necessity as much as emotion. The thought should horrify me, but instead, it fills me with a perverse comfort.

"Wouldn't you rather not have to wait on me all the time?" I ask, trying to sound reasonable despite the flush spreading across my cheeks.

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She scoffs, pulling back to look at me with amused disbelief. "You're so easy, practically no trouble at all." Her hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulls me closer. "You're such a good boy, after all."

I melt into her, my body responding to her praise like a flower turning toward the sun. Her approval washes over me, drowning out the small voice of reason that still tries to remind me of who she really is, of what she's done.

'Loving her would keep Connor safe.' I think to myself another justification for these feelings. 'It seems to be the most selfless choice.'

*****

The evening stretches on, Formula 1 coverage giving way to some documentary about marine life that neither of us is really watching. My mind drifts like seaweed in the ocean currents.

As I watch a school of colorful fish dart across the massive television screen, a sudden realization crashes through my consciousness with startling clarity. We must be in the third month now. The deal Claire made with Caterina was for four months. The thought sends a strange jolt of anxiety through me.

'I'm not sure I'm ready for this to end so soon.'

"Cat," I say, my voice sounding more nervous than I would like, "the deal you made with..." I pause, deliberately avoiding Claire's name, knowing how it triggers Caterina's wrath, "with her. It was for four months, right?"

Caterina's body tenses beneath mine, the gentle rhythm of her breathing interrupted by my question. Her fingers, which had been absently stroking my hair, freeze mid-motion. The sudden stillness radiates through her like a shockwave, and I can feel her crimson eyes boring into the top of my head, though I don't dare look up.

"What did you just ask me?" she says, her voice filled with the same malice it had before she swung the hammer.

I swallow hard, regretting my question immediately but unable to take it back. "The arrangement," I clarify, trying to sound casual despite the rapid acceleration of my heart rate. "It was temporary, wasn't it? For four months?"

The seconds stretch into an eternity as I wait for her response, for the explosion of rage that will surely follow my question. But instead, her arms tighten around me, pulling me closer with a desperation that catches me off guard.

"Is that what you want?" she asks, her voice empty of emotion. "For our arrangement to end?"

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a thunderous reminder of how much I've changed. The thought of her discarding me fills me with panic that claws up my throat like a desperate animal.

"I mean..." I stammer, avoiding her piercing crimson gaze. "Four months doesn't really seem like enough time for everything, you know? It doesn't seem fair to you."

I swallow hard, searching for words that will maybe extend my time even a little bit. "Four months to cover four hundred thousand dollars from her gambling debts? Surely thats not a fair exchange right?"

I watch Caterina's face transform, a mesmerizing progression of emotions crossing her perfect features. First comes surprise, her eyes wide and calculating. Then, unexpectedly, her lips twitch upward, a surprised laugh bubbling from her throat. The sound is genuine, unguarded in a way I've rarely heard from her.

But what truly shocks me is what follows, her crimson eyes grow shiny with moisture, her expression softening into something so vulnerable it's almost unrecognizable. She looks... touched. Moved by my pathetic attempt to extend my captivity.

"Are you asking if you can stay, Adam?" Caterina asks. I feel surprised to see her so unbalanced.

"Of course not," I lie quickly. "I just wonder if... if maybe I'd be safer with you for a bit longer."

She wipes a tear away as she laughs through her emotions, the sound somewhere between joy and disbelief. Her hand trembles slightly against my face.

"Adam," she says, shaking her head. "You're stuck here. You're not going anywhere. You were never going anywhere. I was never going to release you. You will die with me."

'What a terrifying way to put it.'

She hugs me tight again, pulling me against her chest. "But I'm so happy to see you wanting to stay on your own," she whispers, her lips brushing against my hair.

She shifts, her mouth finding my ear. Her breath is hot against my skin as she whispers seductively, "You're a very, very good boy, after all."

I'm disappointed with myself for how much those words make me swoon. A warm shiver runs down my spine, and I feel myself melting into her embrace like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. My broken hands twitch uselessly at my sides, wanting to return her embrace despite everything she's done to me.

"Thanks," I murmur against her shoulder.