Ensnared by Mafia, Days and Nights

The calluses on his palm were rough, sending a tingling sensation across the skin as they touched.

The car's dim light cast a soft glow, wrapping the space in gentle intimacy.

Henry, overwhelmed by his emotions, leaned in and lightly kissed Giselle Lambert on the lips. His voice, husky with longing, murmured, "I miss you."

He didn't pull away; his lips brushed against Giselle's skin as he spoke, the touch as light and teasing as a strand of hair.

Caught off guard by Henry's unexpected declaration, Giselle hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

Telling the truth-that she hadn't thought of him and that the last two weeks had been especially peaceful-would surely provoke him. Given his temper, it would only lead to another outburst. After a moment of contemplation, all Giselle managed to say was, "Thank you for tonight."

Henry paused, his dissatisfaction with her response evident.

He studied her face for a moment before suddenly closing the distance with a kiss.

It began with gentle brushes of their lips, and then his tongue delicately parted hers, tenderly drawing her lower lip into his mouth.

His large, warm hand wandered up her back, tracing her spine and stirring a tremor of shivers.

Giselle maintained her composure, using the moment to disguise her revulsion.

Despite her disdain for Henry, she was trapped, forced to endure his presence.

The kiss left her breathless, and Henry, satisfied with her reaction, finally released her and turned the key to start the G65.

Beneath the dim light, Giselle's lips were slightly swollen, shimmering with a tender gloss.

Henry glanced at her, feeling a playful scratch at his heart as if teased by a kitten's paw.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other gently lifting her chin, aligning her face just so.

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against her cheek, the contact making a soft, suggestive sound.

Satisfied, Henry straightened and focused on the road ahead.

Stunned, Giselle felt a flush warm her ears belatedly.

The streets of New York at night buzzed with activity. Henry expertly navigated the traffic, his driving speed increasing yet his precision remained flawless, showcasing the skills of a professional racer. As they neared the mansion, Giselle's heart raced in sync with the speeding car, anxiety mounting.

Two weeks ago, Henry had stormed out; now his sudden return was unpredictable, and Giselle couldn't guess what was on his mind.

What would happen once they returned to the mansion? Would he bring up past grievances and seek to punish her for events that happened before his departure?

The mansion's gate stood invitingly open. The G65 glided smoothly into the underground garage.

Henry rounded the car to the passenger side, opened the door, and reached to lift Giselle out.

She instinctively pulled back, saying, "I can walk on my own."

Ignoring her protest, Henry firmly scooped her into his arms and kicked the car door shut.

Held in a princess carry, Giselle's face was forced against Henry's chest, the subtle scent of black cedar emanating from his shirt mingling with his steady heartbeat. Although the villa had an elevator, he uncharacteristically chose to carry her up the stairs.

In the dead of night, the villa was hauntingly quiet, sensor lights and wall lamps lighting their path one by one.

Planning your weekend reading? Ensure you're on 000005s.org for uninterrupted enjoyment. The next chapter is just a click away, exclusively available on our site. Happy reading! Henry carried Giselle with ease, his steps deliberate and unhurried as they crossed the silent living room and ascended the stairs.

Tonight, his tenderness was unnerving, a stark contrast to the man who had slammed the door two weeks prior.

Their shadows on the wall, intertwined in an intimate dance, mimicked a scene from a movie where passion dictates the next steps-kissing, intimacy, a natural progression. However, the reality was far different. Giselle felt her heart lodged in her throat, the metaphorical Sword of Damocles hanging precariously overhead.

She knew Henry's intention in taking the stairs was to deliberately prolong the inevitable.

Death comes in an instant, but the torturous anticipation of it is the true horror.

Thud, thud, thud-

Each sound of his dress shoes hitting the floor echoed as if he were nonchalantly stepping directly onto the hearts of those around him.

After traversing the lengthy corridor, Henry opened the bedroom door with one hand. Without turning on the light, he moved forward, guided by the dim illumination from the hallway.