A Dangerous Affair
The moment I saw her, I knew I was in trouble. Valeria Esposito walked into the room like she owned not just the place, but the entire world. Dressed in a sleek black suit that hugged her body in all the right ways, she carried herself with the kind of confidence that could crush anyone who dared challenge her.
Her eyes locked on mine, dark and calculating, yet filled with a flicker of curiosity. I wasn’t supposed to be here—an outsider at this underground poker game—but my best friend had begged me to come. “It’s harmless,” she’d said. But there was nothing harmless about Valeria.
She sauntered toward me, her lips curving into a smirk. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” she asked, her voice low and smooth like velvet.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool. “Guess I like danger.”
She chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Danger, huh? Careful what you wish for.”
From that moment, I couldn’t stay away from her. She was intoxicating—an addictive mix of charm and menace. We started meeting in secret, stolen moments that felt like holding a live wire. Every touch, every kiss, was electric, charged with the knowledge that being with her could destroy me.
One night, she showed up at my apartment, her suit jacket discarded, her hair slightly messy. She leaned against the doorframe, looking like sin incarnate. “Let me in,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I stepped aside, my heart pounding as she strode in. She closed the distance between us, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “Do you know what you’re getting into?” she murmured, her breath warm against my skin.
“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “But I don’t care.”
Her lips crashed into mine, fierce and demanding. She tasted like whiskey and danger, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as the world faded around us. It was just her—powerful, intoxicating, and utterly consuming.
But loving Valeria wasn’t just passion and heat. It was late-night calls where her voice was edged with tension, whispers of threats I couldn’t understand. It was watching her slip a gun into her holster before she kissed me goodbye, her eyes shadowed with secrets she refused to share.
One evening, as we lay tangled in my bed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin, I dared to ask, “What happens if they find out about us?”
Her hand stilled, and she met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “They won’t,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
But there was something in her eyes—fear, vulnerability—that she tried to hide. In that moment, I realized just how much power she held over me. She was my addiction, my undoing, and I would follow her into the fire if she asked.
Falling in love with a mafia queen wasn’t a fairytale. It was raw, dangerous, and exhilarating. It was waking up every day knowing the risks and choosing her anyway. Because with Valeria, the danger was worth it.
Even if it destroyed me.
