[BL] The Mafia Boss Wants My Body

Chapter 102: The Difference You Can’t Fake

The atmosphere in the lounge shifted instantly, turning heavy and charged.

Matteo stepped inside, his presence commanding enough that, one by one, every head in the room turned.

The aura was different.

Completely different from when Mark stepped in.

He wasn’t alone. Tony followed, along with a line of imposing guards, their presence carving a path of silence through the room.

"Yeah," Frank murmured to Charles. "The real Matteo is here."

The air around the booth tightened as Matteo approached.

Adrian turned slowly. Even through the blur of alcohol and the dim club lights, he didn’t need clarity to sense the change.

Mark understood immediately. Without a word, he rose and stepped aside, giving Matteo his place.

Matteo didn’t waste a second. He slipped into the space beside Adrian, pulled him close, and claimed his lips in a deep, possessive kiss, a stark contrast to the hollow imitation from moments before.

"Babe," Matteo murmured against his lips, a hint of concern in his voice. "Are you already drunk? Why did you drink so much?"

Adrian shook his head with a small smile. "I’m not drunk... just celebrating."

The atmosphere changed instantly. The way Matteo held Adrian and the power in his presence, left no room for doubt.

Frank and Charles gave a respectful nod.

Matteo acknowledged them with a brief, polite inclination of his head before turning his full attention back to the man in his arms.

Adrian blinked, melting into the warmth he had missed. "Why did you have Mark pretend to be you?" he asked, his voice thick with confusion and tipsy affection.

Matteo’s eyes glinted with a rare light. He glanced at Mark before turning back to Adrian. "I wanted to see if you could truly tell the difference between him and me," he admitted, his thumb tracing Adrian’s jawline.

Adrian pouted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think I couldn’t tell the difference because of my sight, right?"

"No, baby," Matteo said softly. "Even someone with perfect vision might not have noticed. We were both in black, and Mark wanted to play the part. I didn’t think much of it, I was outside on a call, handling some business, and he came in first... but I’m really glad you knew it wasn’t me."

Adrian looked at him, still a little upset. "I’m angry with you," he said honestly. "You shouldn’t play with me like that. It’s not fair."

Matteo leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I’m sorry, baby," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I shouldn’t have done that."

Adrian didn’t reply.

Matteo reached for his drink, his attention shifting for a moment, but Adrian couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Instead, he leaned in, stealing a kiss.

Then another.

And another.

Every few seconds, he was leaning in again, as if he couldn’t bear the distance between them.

Across the table, Tony sat in the shadows, watching them with cold, calculating eyes.

Slowly, he pulled out his phone. He took a picture, just as Matteo and Adrian kissed again.

Then he sent it.

To Iris.

Tony: Let’s finish this once and for all, he typed. Those two think they can be in love? Damn... I hate this, Adrian.

The image reached Iris instantly. She stared at the screen, her features twisting in hatred. She typed back, I hate Matteo so much I want to smash his face in.

Tony’s fingers flew across the screen: You dare not. You won’t do anything reckless. Just tell your ugly fiancé to stay away from what’s mine alone.

Iris’s grip tightened on her phone.

Iris: Tell that useless Matteo to stay away from my fiancé. God, I hate him.

Tony leaned back, satisfied.

Tony:Wednesday night. Let’s meet and plan this properly.

Iris: Now you’re talking. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

Tony smirked, putting his phone away.

At the table, Adrian reached for his drink again, but Matteo caught his hand and gently took the glass away. "That’s enough," he said.

"No, baby, I want more," Adrian protested, his voice thick with a tipsy haze.

Matteo shook his head. "No more."

Across the table, Mark watched his brother dote on his lover with a genuine smile.

At the same time, Charles smiled too.

Their eyes met.

Mark tilted his head slightly.

"You have a beautiful smile," he said casually.

Charles froze, caught off guard. He turned to Mark, nodding awkwardly. "Thank you."

Mark frowned slightly. "Why are you thanking me? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?"

Charles felt a sudden, strange heat rising in his chest. "I’ve heard it before," he admitted, "but never quite the way you said it. So... thank you."

"Oh, really?" Mark teased. "Doesn’t your girlfriend or boyfriend ever say it the way I just did?"

Charles glanced toward Frank, then back at Mark. "I don’t have either."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Why? A pretty boy like you shouldn’t be single."

"It’s not easy to find someone serious," Charles replied simply.

"If you found someone serious, would you be serious in return?" Mark asked.

Charles held his gaze for a long, heavy silence. "Let the serious one reveal himself first."

Mark smirked. "Himself?"

"Yes, himself," Charles said. "I prefer men."

Mark chuckled, raising his glass. "Okay. I wish you good luck."

"Thank you," Charles said. As Mark turned away, Charles caught Frank’s eye, both of them sharing a confused, silent question about what had just transpired.

Meanwhile, Matteo watched the interaction between Mark and Charles with a faint smile. When their conversation ended, he pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message to his brother:

Do you like him? I’ve never seen you smile like that at anyone before.

Mark read the notification, his thumb hovering over the screen before he typed back:

Mind your own business. I only admire him. I have a girlfriend, and I don’t cheat.

Matteo glanced over, smirking as he typed, Alright... but I can already see the chemistry between you two.

Mark read it, locked his phone without replying, and looked away.

Adrian leaned his head against Matteo’s shoulder, his eyes drooping. "We should go home," he whispered, his voice heavy with sleep. "I want to sleep."

Matteo looked down at him. "Alright, baby."

Just as Matteo was about to stand, the atmosphere shifted. Two men in sharp charcoal suits moved through the dim light, heading straight for their booth with deliberate, purposeful strides.

They didn’t look like part of the club.

Tony noticed immediately.

He stood in one swift motion, stepping forward to block their path, his body forming a barrier between them and Matteo. His eyes locked onto the men, alert and cold.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to slice through the music.

Another guard moved in beside him, his hand already hovering near his holster.

The lead stranger didn’t flinch. He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick envelope, extending it forward with a gloved hand.

"A message for your boss," the man said, his voice flat.

Tony snatched the card, his brow furrowing as he weighed it in his palm. "From whom?"

The stranger spoke calmly. "He’ll understand once he reads it, and he’ll know exactly who’s calling."

With that, the men turned in unison and disappeared back into the shadows of the club.

After they left, Tony didn’t break the seal. He leaned down, his lips brushing Matteo’s ear as he delivered a quick, urgent report.

Matteo’s expression remained unchanged, though a flicker of something dark passed through his eyes. He reached out, long fingers closing around the envelope as he took it from Tony.

"Leave it to me," Matteo said quietly, sliding the card into his inner pocket.

He rose to his feet, gently pulling Adrian up with him. With effortless efficiency, he gathered Adrian’s belongings, keeping him close as he guided him through the crowd toward the exit.

At the curb, the cool night air hit them. Frank and Charles headed toward their car, but Mark lingered for a moment. He turned to Charles, his gaze holding just a fraction too long before a soft smile crossed his face.

"Good night, Charles," Mark said, his voice low and warm. He gave a brief nod to Frank. "Good night, Frank."

Matteo caught the exchange, a flicker of quiet understanding passing between the brothers, though he remained silent. They parted ways, each heading toward a different idling car.

Once inside the quiet comfort of the car, Matteo pulled Adrian close, guiding his head to rest against his shoulder so the gentle motion would lull him deeper into sleep. With his free hand, he finally slipped the envelope from his jacket.

He slipped a finger under the seal and drew out the crisp, engraved paper. His gaze moved over the sharp, elegant script... then hardened.

This wasn’t a warning.

It wasn’t a threat from a rival.

It was an invitation.

From Mr. Grayson.

Adrian’s father.