The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)

I freeze mid-bite, my fork suspended in the air as the doorbell’s echo fades. The sound reverberates through my skull like a death knell, each lingering note amplifying my hangover and sending fresh waves of dread coursing through my veins.

Candice rises from her chair, tightening the belt of her robe as she moves toward the hallway. “I’ll get it,” she calls over her shoulder, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floors.

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a trapped animal desperate for escape. Every instinct screams at me to run, to flee, to grab my duffel bag and disappear before…

The front door creaks open, hinges groaning slightly as if in warning. Candice’s voice drifts from the entryway, casual and welcoming. “Hello, can I help you?”

And then I hear it, a voice that sends ice water cascading down my spine, familiar yet out of place, like a nightmare invading waking life.

“Hello, ma’am, we’re with the Salem Police Department. We received a report that a man named Adam Anderson is currently in this residence.”

Lara’s voice. Unmistakable despite the professional veneer she’s adopted, the precise diction that somehow manages to sound both childlike and predatory.

My body moves before my brain can catch up, chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stand. The sudden motion sends a spike of pain through my skull, but the adrenaline flooding my system washes it away almost instantly.

“Where you going?” Connor asks, his brow furrowing with concern as he notices the panic that must be written across my face.

I don’t answer. Can’t answer. My throat has closed up, words trapped behind the knot of terror lodged there. I back away from the table, nearly knocking over my water glass in my haste.

June stands, too, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm as she takes in my reaction. “Adam? What’s wrong?”

But I’m already moving, turning away from their questioning faces, from the breakfast I’ll never finish, from the brief sanctuary that’s about to be shattered. My bare feet carry me swiftly toward the stairs.

Behind me, I hear Candice’s voice, polite but guarded. “May I see some identification, please?”

I race up the stairs, my bare feet barely making a sound on the carpeted steps. Each heartbeat pounds in my temples like a hammer, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins drowns out the hangover’s complaints. The guest room door stands ajar, sunlight streaming through the gap to illuminate the rumpled bed where Candice and I had... no time to think about that now.

I lunge for the duffel bag, still sitting untouched beside the nightstand. The zipper makes an obscenely loud sound as I yank it open, my fingers trembling as they push past stacks of cash to find the cold metal beneath. The weight of the gun is both familiar and alien in my hand. I tuck it into the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants and then zip the bag back up.

The cotton of my t-shirt drapes over it, concealing its presence. I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself.

The voices from downstairs drift up through the floorboards, Candice’s warm but increasingly confused tone, the professional cadence of Lara’s false police persona, and somewhere beneath it all, a third voice I can’t quite make out yet, but whose presence I can feel like a gathering storm.

Each step down the stairs feels like walking toward an execution. The wood creaks beneath my weight, announcing my descent to everyone below. I pause at the landing, gathering what little courage remains in my trembling body.

The scene in the entryway comes into focus like a nightmare materializing before my eyes. Lara and Maddy stand just inside the threshold, dressed in impeccable Salem Police Department uniforms that look like the real deal. Lara’s red hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her blue eyes gleaming with that familiar predatory light that makes my skin crawl. Maddy stands slightly behind her, her expression carefully neutral, though I catch the slight tightening around her eyes when she spots me on the stairs.

But it’s the third figure that causes my blood to freeze in my veins.

Caterina stands between them, achingly beautiful in a cream-colored pantsuit that hugs her slender frame. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders, framing a face that has haunted my dreams and nightmares alike. She looks pristine, powerful, untouchable.

Our eyes meet across the room, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The world narrows to just Caterina and me, locked in a silent exchange that transcends the crowded entryway. I see the storm brewing behind her crimson eyes, the barely contained fury simmering beneath her perfect composure. But there’s something else, too, something raw and vulnerable that catches me off guard.

Before I can process it further, Caterina’s face crumples. Her perfect features contort with anguish, tears welling up and spilling over in glistening tracks down her flawless cheeks. The transformation is so sudden, so complete, that everyone in the room seems frozen in shock.

“BABY!” she wails, her voice breaking with emotion as she rushes toward me, crossing the distance between us in long, desperate strides. “I thought I lost you!”

She throws herself at me, her arms encircling my body with crushing force. She just narrowly misses the gun. Her fingers dig into my back, clinging to me like I might disappear if she loosens her grip even slightly.

Her face presses against my neck, and I feel her hot tears against my skin. To anyone watching, she appears completely overcome with relief and concern, a woman reunited with her beloved after a terrifying separation.

But her lips brush against my ear, and she whispers, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss that only I can hear: “Did these people kidnap you?”

The threat in those words is unmistakable. But looking at the Harper family’s confused faces, I know I can’t let that happen.

“No, please don’t hurt them,” I whisper back frantically, my lips barely moving. “They’re innocent. They thought I was in trouble.”

Her nails dig deeper into my flesh, a warning, a promise of pain to come. “Then you better fucking play along unless you want them dead,” she breathes, her voice like ice against my skin.

And just like that, Caterina pulls back, her tear-streaked face transforming into a mask of composed gratitude. She wipes her eyes and turns to address the bewildered Harper family.

“I’m so sorry for any trouble my lover has caused,” she says, her voice thick with rehearsed emotion. Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with mine in a grip that feels more like a shackle than a loving touch. “He’s under my conservatorship. He’s deeply unwell, you see.”

I stand frozen in place as Caterina’s words hang in the air, her fingers digging into mine with enough force to make my knuckles whiten.

Connor steps forward, his face contorted with disbelief. “No,” he says, his voice rising with each word, “I don’t believe that for a second.” His eyes lock with mine, searching for confirmation that this is all some terrible mistake. “Adam’s not mentally ill. He told me everything about you, about what you did to him.”

I shake my head in a panic, trying to signal him to stop.

Candice moves to stand beside her daughters, her expression shifting from confusion to dawning recognition. “Wait a minute,” she says slowly, her eyes widening as she studies Caterina’s face. “You’re Caterina De Luca?” The name seems to expand in the room, filling every corner with its weight.

Caterina’s smile doesn’t waver, though I feel her grip tighten fractionally on my hand.

“The real estate mogul,” Candice continues. She turns to me, understanding blooming across her features like a time-lapse of a flower opening. “You were running away from Caterina De Luca.”

The silence that follows feels like glass about to shatter. I open my mouth, but no words come out. What could I possibly say that wouldn’t make this situation worse?

Cat pulls me closer, her arm sliding around me in a gesture that might look loving to an outsider but feels like a viper coiling around its prey. “My poor baby had a bit of an outburst yesterday,” she says, her voice dripping with practiced concern. “I think we got some of his dosages wrong.” She strokes my hair with her free hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “He’s been struggling with delusions for some time now.”

She nods to Maddy, who steps forward with a manila folder I hadn’t noticed before. Maddy extracts several official-looking documents, her movements precise and unhurried as she hands them to Caterina.

“I have all the necessary paperwork right here,” Caterina says, offering the documents to Candice with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Medical evaluations, court orders, everything that establishes my legal guardianship.”

Maddy clears her throat, her voice carrying the authoritative tone of law enforcement despite the fraudulent uniform she wears. “If you try to keep him here any longer we would have to charge you with kidnapping, ma’am.”

June steps closer to her mother, eyes narrowing as she examines the documents. “These look legitimate,” she murmurs, her voice laced with reluctance.

Connor steps forward, his face flushed with anger. “Bullshit!” he exclaims, voice rising in defiance. “This is complete bullshit! Adam told me everything about her. She’s dangerous, she’s not his guardian, she’s keeping him prisoner!”

Through gritted teeth and wide eyes, I say, “Shut the fuck up, Connor. She’s right. I’m sick. I was just using you people.”

I pray to god he sees this as my plea to stop kicking the hornets nest. The words feel like broken glass in my mouth, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.

Connor recoils as if I’ve physically struck him, confusion washing over his features. But I maintain my desperate stare, silently begging him to understand without words.

“Adam,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What are you talking about? You would nev…

“I said, SHUT UP!” I snap, my voice cracking with the strain of maintaining this terrible lie. “It’s over, okay? I was just... I was confused. I need my medication. I need to go home with Cat.”

Caterina gives me an evil smirk. It seems she’s pleased with my choice.

“He creates these elaborate fantasies about being held captive, about me being some sort of villain.” She sighs dramatically, looking at the Harper family with eyes that glisten with manufactured tears. “It’s heartbreaking to witness, truly.”

Candice stares at me with piercing intensity, her warm brown eyes searching mine as though trying to read the truth written in invisible ink beneath my skin. Her fingers grip the fraudulent papers so tightly that the edges crumple, and I notice the slight tremor in her hands, the same hands that had traced patterns across my skin just hours ago.

‘Please don’t try to play a hero.’ I pray.

Candice’s gaze flicks between me and Caterina. I see recognition dawn in Candice’s eyes, she understands what’s happening, reads the terror beneath my carefully constructed mask.

Her shoulders slump, defeat written in the downward curve of her lips and the softening of her stance. The fight drains from her visibly, like water swirling down a drain, leaving behind only resignation.

“There’s... there’s nothing I can do,” Candice says. “She really is your legal guardian, Adam.”

Connor takes a step toward me, his face contorted with disbelief and betrayal. “Adam, this is insane. You’re not sick…”

I cut him off, stepping forward with a desperation that makes my movements jerky and uncoordinated. My voice drops to a barely audible whisper as I lean in close to Connor’s ear, my lips barely moving.

“If you want your new family to live, you have to let me go. I’m not joking.”

The words hang between us like a physical thing, heavy and terrible. Connor’s eyes widen, pupils dilating with shock as he searches my face. His gaze roams over my features, taking in the silent plea in my eyes, the rigid tension in my jaw, the fear that I can no longer fully disguise.

He sees it all. Reads it in my expression like a book written in a language only he understands. The color drains from his face.

“Adam, this isn’t right,” he says, his voice catching on the words. There’s a tremor in his hands now, a slight shake that betrays the storm of emotions churning beneath his carefully controlled exterior.

“But it’s what I want,” I lie, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. Each syllable feels like swallowing broken glass, sharp and painful, cutting me from the inside out.

June steps forward, her movements deliberate and calm despite the tension crackling in the air. She places a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt with subtle restraint.

“Even if we want to, honey, there’s nothing we can do right now,” she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of resigned pragmatism. Her eyes never leave my face.

Caterina shifts beside me, her presence a cold shadow at my side. Her crimson eyes scan the room with calculated precision, taking in every detail, every nuance of the interaction. Her lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, perfect white teeth gleaming behind blood-red lips.

“Baby, where’s the duffel bag?” she asks, her voice honey-sweet with an undercurrent of steel that makes my skin crawl.

“It’s in the guest room,” I reply mechanically, my own voice sounding distant and unfamiliar to my ears. “I’ll go grab it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Caterina says immediately, her fingers digging into my arm with bruising force as she steers me toward the stairs.

The ascent feels like climbing a mountain, each step requiring more effort than the last.

The second we walk into the room, the warmth of the morning light filtering through the curtains does nothing to dispel the chill that settles over me. The rumpled sheets of the bed where Candice and I had lain just hours before seem to scream our transgression to the silent walls. The duffel bag sits innocuously by the nightstand.

Caterina’s fingers release my arm as she steps fully into the room. She inhales deeply, her nostrils flaring slightly. Her entire body goes still, like a predator that’s caught the scent of blood. The temperature seems to drop several degrees as her crimson eyes scan the disheveled bed, the discarded clothing partially visible beneath it, the unmistakable intimate atmosphere that lingers in the air.

Her eyes darken, pupils expanding until they nearly swallow the red iris completely. When she turns to face me, her expression is devoid of all emotion, a mask of porcelain perfection that’s somehow more terrifying than any display of rage.

“Why does it smell like your cum in here, Adam?”