Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

ADRIEN’S POV

The world doesn’t end with a bang. It ends with a blinding, absolute white that swallows the night whole, followed by a roar so violent it doesn’t just rattle my teeth—it bruises my lungs too.

Is the world fucking ending?

The shockwave hits a microsecond later. I expect the asphalt to rise up and swallow me. Instead, I hit something solid and broad. Orion.

He doesn’t just pull me down, he practically destroys my gravity. One of his massive arms clamps around my waist like a steel vice, crushing the breath out of me, while his other hand locks around the back of my head, burying my face deep into the expensive fabric of his jacket.

Would it kill this bastard to have body odor or something? Does he have to smell this nice?

He throws his entire 6’4 frame over mine, pinning me against the side of his car, using his own back as a human shield against the sky.

Then comes the rain. Not water, but a fucking crazy downpour of razor-sharp glass, jagged shrapnel, and burning metal.

We are so dead.

Something massive—a car door, maybe a bumper—slams into the side of Orion’s car right above our heads. The impact vibrates straight through Orion’s body and into mine.

I feel the sharp, sudden tremor that racks his spine, hear the guttural, muffled grunt that escapes his throat, but his grip doesn’t slacken.

If anything, he tightens it, squeezing me so hard I can feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart against my ribs. Or maybe it’s mine.

Then, the second wave hits.

A twin detonation, louder and closer than the first, rocks the estate. The heat is instantaneous, a physical wall of blistering air that singes the stray hairs at the back of my neck.

It feels like I’m being boiled alive.

Another shower of debris rains down, but Orion didn’t move an inch. He remained folded over me, a shield of flesh and bone, absorbing the pressure of the explosions going off around us.

When the explosions finally die down into a low, crackling roar, the silence that follows is terrifying.

I’m alive. I’m fucking alive.

My ears aren’t just ringing, they’re screaming a high-pitched note that drowns out everything else. I try to blink, but my vision is a blurry, smudged mess of orange fire and thick, choking grey smoke.

The air tastes like sulfur, burnt rubber, and roasted paint. In short, I’m in hell.

’Get up,’ my brain screams. ’Move. Look around.’

I manage to turn my head a fraction of an inch, wedged tightly beneath Orion’s chin. Through the haze of black smoke, the courtyard looks like a war zone.

Am I smelling burnt flesh?

Three luxury cars—one of them undeniably the sleek gold sports car Leon and Louise arrived in just moments ago—are nothing more than burning remains.

The metal is twisted and the surrounding vehicles are shredded, their windows blown outward in a halo of crystal dust.

A few feet away, through the thick, heavy smoke, I spot Niko and Alexis. Niko has mirrored Orion’s instincts with frightening precision.

He is sprawled over Alexis on the gravel, his sharp, amber eyes wide and scanning the perimeter like a feral animal protecting its kill.

Alexis was tucked entirely beneath him, looking just as suffocated as I am. His face is pale, hands clutching at Niko’s coat.

They are alive. Safe.

My gaze flickers frantically towards the stone steps of the estate.

Leon and Louise are huddled near the shattered glass of the entrance. The photographers, the elite guests, and even the security guard are scattered, scrambling around like ants.

But it’s the expressions on the golden couple’s faces that make my blood run cold.

Louise’s perfectly practiced smile is gone. Her expensive hair is matted with ash, her designer gown torn at the shoulder. Her face was twisted into an ugly mask of sheer terror, her chest heaving as she stared at the burning wreckage of her own celebration.

There’s something almost poetic about it.

Beside her, Leon looks completely hollowed out. The exhaustion I noticed earlier has morphed into a deep, paralyzing horror. His jaw hangs slack, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames with a vacant, shattered look.

They aren’t just shocked, they are scared.

Who the hell would do this?

The question spins frantically through my mind. To pull off a coordinated bombing at an elite estate, past layers of high-end private security, requires resources.

It requires a chilling lack of empathy. It requires an organization that treats human lives like cheap currency.

My stomach drops into a bottomless, icy pit as a single name echoes in my mind.

Masamune.

Those dirty, cruel fuckers. The shadow that has been looming over my shoulder for god knows how long. They are ruthless, surgical, and absolutely relentless.

Ghouls in human flesh.

But as I look at the three burning cars, a sickening realization claws its way up my throat, choking me worse than the smoke.

If this is Masamune... why here? Why now?

If they just want me dead, a sniper rifle or bribing one of Orion’s servants to slip me poison would be enough. They don’t need to blow up an elite engagement party. They don’t need to target Leon and Louise’s car.

Unless...I’m not the only person Masamune is after.

The thought strikes me like a physical blow. This isn’t just an assassination attempt, it’s a declaration.

A bloody, fiery warning carved into the hearts of the elite. Are they targeting the entire family? Am I just a single piece on a much larger, much deadlier chessboard?

How fucked am I on a scale of one to a hundred?

The sheer weight of reality paralyzes me for a second. If Masamune is expanding their reach, if they are striking open targets in broad daylight, then nowhere is safe. No one is safe.

A sudden, suffocating pressure on my chest snaps me out of the spiral.

Orion.

He is still heavy. Too heavy.

The ringing in my ears is beginning to recede, replaced by the crackle of burning fuel and the distant, muffled sounds of screaming guests, but the man on top of me hasn’t made a single sound.

He hasn’t shifted his weight or loosened his grip. His broad shoulders are completely still against my chest.

”Orion?” I croak out, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my own ears.

I get no answer.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierces through my adrenaline. I try to shrug my shoulders to push him back to get a look at his face, but I can’t move.

His 6’4 frame is a dead weight pinning me flat against the mangled side of the car. The sheer mass of him is terrifying when it isn’t moving under its own power.

This fucking fatass.

”Orion, stop it. Get off me,” I mutter, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. ”This isn’t funny. Move!”

He doesn’t budge. My mind immediately paints a horrifying picture of his back—shredded by glass, pierced by flying metal, bleeding out while he keeps me safe underneath him. He took the brunt of the blast. The entire shockwave, the debris, and the fire—he had absorbed all of it so I wouldn’t have to.

Did this fucker just die for me? Hell no.

”Niko!” I scream, turning my head toward the hazy figure in the smoke. ”Niko, help! He’s not moving! Someone help me!”

My voice feels small, swallowed up by the roar of the fires. I can’t tell if I’m actually shouting or just whispering through the ringing in my ears.

Niko doesn’t look over. He is still focused on Alexis, checking him for injuries, completely oblivious to the panic unraveling just a few yards away.

”Please,” I gasp, tears of frustration and terror stinging the corners of my eyes, mixing with the ash on my face. I thrash under Orion, trying to wedge my hands between his chest and mine to shift his massive weight. This fucking fatass!

”Orion, wake up! You psychotic bastard, open your eyes! You can’t die like this! You don’t get to die when I haven’t even stabbed you once!”

I am spiraling completely. The thought of Orion—the invincible, terrifying, lunatic monster who refuses to leave my life—lying dead on top of me because he chose to be a shield is a concept my brain absolutely refuses to process.

What the fuck is this?

It feels like the ground beneath me had dissolved entirely.

My breath comes in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. I whimper, a pathetic, desperate sound, my fingers clawing uselessly at the fabric of his ruined jacket.

Wake up! Wake up, you bastard!

Then suddenly, a bizarre sensation cuts straight through my panic.

Something warm and wet with a distinct texture trails slowly from the base of my ear down to the sensitive skin of my neck. It stops just above my collarbone, leaving a hot, damp path in its wake that sends a shiver straight down my spine.

I freeze, my breath catching instantly in my throat.

Is that...a tongue?

Before I can even process the sheer absurdity of it, Orion shifts. He doesn’t get up, but the dead weight vanishes, replaced by the terrifyingly controlled tension of his muscles.

He tilts his head slightly, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His breath is warm and smells faintly of cool mint and expensive liquor.

He tastes the salt of my sweat and ash on my skin, a slow, deliberate lick that makes my eyes widen in sheer shock.

Is he licking me?

Then, he whispers, his voice low and dripping with a dark, twisted amusement that carries no trace of injury whatsoever.

”Don’t stop,” Orion murmurs, his grip tightening, pulling me flush against his chest as the fires rage around us. ”Keep panicking for me, duckling.”