The Mafia Boss Pretended I Was His Lover for Three Days

Caterina left the ballroom without answering.

Massimo started after her.

Adriana caught his arm.

"Not here."

He looked down at her hand until she removed it.

Sophie had never seen a man communicate a threat so completely without moving a muscle.

Adriana lowered her voice.

"Your house has ears."

Massimo glanced toward the workers, guards, caterers, musicians, and event staff scattered across the ballroom.

Then he looked at Sophie.

"Office. Now."

"I have three hundred pounds of destroyed flowers on the floor."

"Your staff can handle it."

"They work for me."

"So do half the people in this house."

"Exactly. And someone cut my support wire."

That stopped him.

Sophie stepped closer.

"If the person sabotaging this event thinks I'm just your temporary distraction, they'll watch me. If I suddenly disappear into locked rooms every time something happens, they'll know I matter."

Massimo stared at her with reluctant respect.

"What do you suggest?"

"We continue."

"Continue what?"

She gestured toward the room.

"The event. The lie. Everything."

Adriana gave a short, humorless laugh.

"She's better at this than you are."

Massimo ignored her.

Sophie continued.

"You said we had one public appearance."

"That was before someone tried to drop a chandelier made of roses on you."

"It wasn't a chandelier."

He gave her a look.

She sighed.

"Fine. Murder chandelier."

A corner of Adriana's mouth moved.

Sophie pointed toward the workers.

"We rebuild. We act normal. Whoever did this thinks they still have control."

Massimo's voice softened.

"And if they try again?"

"Then this time, we are watching."

He hated the plan.

She could see that.

But he agreed.

By eight o'clock the following evening, Isabella Romano's birthday celebration had become one of the most photographed private events in Chicago.

Black cars arrived continuously.

Business leaders, judges, philanthropists, athletes, actors, and men whose wealth had never appeared on any public filing stepped through the estate doors.

Sophie had transformed the ballroom.

The damaged installation was gone.

In its place, thousands of white roses formed a suspended oval above the central dance floor. The design looked effortless, which meant it had required nearly eighteen straight hours of work.

Sophie stood near the staircase in a borrowed emerald gown.

Isabella had sent it to her room with a note.

If you are going to ruin an arranged marriage, do it in good tailoring.

Sophie had laughed despite herself.

Then Massimo entered.

He wore a black tuxedo.

There were no visible weapons, no guards immediately beside him, nothing that announced what he was.

He did not need any of it.

The room adjusted when he arrived.

Conversations softened.

People watched without appearing to watch.

Massimo crossed directly to Sophie.

His eyes moved over the gown.

For once, he seemed to have no prepared words.

Sophie smiled.

"You look surprised."

"I am."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a problem."

Her pulse stumbled.

Before she could answer, cameras flashed outside the glass entry doors.

Massimo's hand settled at her waist.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Good."

He led her toward the press line.

The Romano family had never intended to make the party public, but rumors about Massimo's rejection of Adriana had spread too quickly. Reporters now waited beyond the security barriers.

That was part of the plan.

They needed the world to believe Sophie was the reason.

Massimo stepped outside with her.

Questions erupted.

"Massimo, is the Vitale engagement canceled?"

"Who is she?"

"Ms. Miller, how long have you been seeing him?"

Sophie smiled exactly as she smiled at wealthy clients who changed an entire design twelve hours before an event.

Calm.

Professional.

Slightly dangerous.

One reporter shouted, "Is this serious or just convenient?"

Massimo stopped.

Sophie felt the shift in him.

He turned toward her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Making it convincing."

Then he kissed her.

The cameras exploded in white light.

Sophie forgot every sound around them.

Massimo's hand came up to her face.

The kiss was supposed to be strategic.

Three seconds would have been enough.

It lasted much longer.

When he finally lifted his head, Sophie's fingers were gripping the front of his tuxedo.

Neither moved.

Then Isabella's voice drifted from the doorway.

"At least pretend to leave room for dessert."

Sophie stepped back immediately.

Massimo did not look embarrassed.

That was infuriating.

Inside, the party continued.

Adriana arrived twenty minutes later with her father, Vittorio Vitale.

Vittorio was a silver-haired man in his sixties with the polished appearance of a banker and eyes that belonged to someone who trusted no one.

He greeted Isabella warmly.

He kissed Caterina's cheek.

Then he looked at Sophie.

"So you're the florist."

Massimo moved beside her.

"She's Sophie."

"I know her name."

Sophie held Vittorio's gaze.

"Then we're making progress."

Adriana nearly smiled.

Vittorio did not.

"I hope you understand the position you've created."

"I created centerpieces."

"You created embarrassment."

"No," Sophie said. "Your expectations did."

Massimo murmured, "Sophie."

She ignored him.

Vittorio's face hardened.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"I see why you like her."

Massimo answered without hesitation.

"So do I."

Sophie looked at him.

He was still watching Vittorio.

But his thumb brushed once over the back of her hand.

Later, while the orchestra played and guests moved toward dinner, Dante approached.

"Boss."

Massimo followed him toward a service corridor.

Sophie waited five seconds and went after them.

Massimo turned.

"No."

"You promised to stop treating me like furniture."

"I promised nothing."

"You strongly implied it."

Dante interrupted.

"We found something in the camera system."

They entered a small security room.

On one monitor was footage from the night Sophie's handbag had been searched.

The hooded intruder appeared for only eleven seconds.

Dante froze the image.

"The person avoided the main cameras," he said. "But not the reflection."

He zoomed in on a silver serving tray resting on a cart.

The reflection was distorted.

Still, Sophie saw a hand.

A hand wearing a ring.

Heavy gold.

Black stone.

Massimo's face changed.

"You recognize it," Sophie said.

He did not answer.

Dante did.

"Romano family signet."

Sophie looked between them.

"How many people have one?"

"Six," Massimo said.

"Who?"

"Me. My mother. My grandmother. Two uncles."

"And the sixth?"

Massimo stared at the screen.

"My father."

Sophie frowned.

"I thought your father was dead."

"He is."

The room became very quiet.

Dante zoomed farther.

The ring was worn on the right hand.

Massimo wore his on the left.

Caterina wore hers as a necklace.

Isabella's was set with a diamond, not black stone.

That left the two uncles.

Carlo and Lorenzo Romano.

Sophie remembered the older men who had stood outside Massimo's bedroom the first night.

One had been Carlo.

The other had been Lorenzo.

"Which one wears it on the right hand?" she asked.

Massimo did not need to think.

"Both."

Dante's phone buzzed.

He checked the message.

"There's more."

He brought up another image.

This one came from the loading dock at Miller Floral Events.

A delivery van had parked there at 3:11 a.m. the night of the break-in.

The vehicle belonged to Bellini Botanical.

The florist connected to Adriana's foundation.

Sophie stared at the screen.

"That points directly at the Vitales."

"Too directly," Massimo said.

Dante nodded.

"Agreed."

Sophie thought back to the imported black cord.

The van.

The Romano ring.

Someone wanted them looking in two directions at once.

"Maybe the point isn't to frame one family," she said.

Both men looked at her.

"Maybe the point is to make the Romanos and Vitales blame each other."

Massimo's eyes sharpened.

"A war."

Dante swore softly.

Sophie continued.

"If the engagement happened, the families become stronger together. If it collapses violently, everyone chooses sides."

Massimo turned toward the monitor.

Then the lights went out.

The entire estate plunged into darkness.

Screams rose from the ballroom.

A gunshot cracked through the corridor.

Massimo grabbed Sophie and pulled her behind the security console.

Another shot.

Emergency lights flickered red.

Dante drew his weapon.

Through the open doorway, footsteps ran toward them.

Massimo put Sophie behind him.

A figure appeared.

Dante raised his gun.

"Stop."

The figure froze.

It was Nina.

Sophie's employee.

Her face was white with terror.

She held something in both hands.

A small black box.

"I found this under the head table," she whispered.

Massimo took it.

Inside was a transmitter.

And taped beneath it was a second card.

This one contained five words.

THE OLD WOMAN GOES NEXT.

Sophie's blood turned cold.

Isabella.

Before the blackout, Isabella insisted that Massimo and Sophie dance.

"No," Massimo said.

Isabella lifted one eyebrow.

"Was that a request?"

Sophie hid a smile.

Massimo looked toward the dance floor as if it were a hostile negotiation.

"You danced at my wedding," Caterina reminded him.

"I was twelve."

"And less stubborn."

Adriana, standing nearby with a champagne glass, said, "Go. If the relationship is fake, at least make the photographs useful."

Sophie turned toward her.

Adriana gave the smallest shrug.

There was still tension between them, but something had changed after the sabotage. Rivalry had become less important than survival.

Massimo held out his hand.

Sophie placed hers in it.

"You look delighted," she murmured.

"I prefer situations where I know who is armed."

"Half this room is probably armed."

"Exactly."

He led her into the center of the dance floor.

The orchestra moved into a slow arrangement.

Massimo's hand settled at her waist.

Sophie became abruptly aware of how close they were.

"This is still part of the plan," she said.

"Of course."

"Good."

"Very strategic."

"Excellent."

Neither sounded convincing.

Around them, guests watched.

Some openly.

Others through reflections in glass or over the rims of crystal glasses.

Sophie knew what they saw: Massimo Romano dancing with the unknown florist who had apparently replaced Adriana Vitale overnight.

What they could not see was how carefully Massimo's thumb moved once against the fabric at Sophie's back.

Or how his shoulders relaxed when she stopped looking toward the exits.

"Do you ever stop scanning rooms?" she asked.

"No."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It keeps people alive."

"Does it make you happy?"

He looked down at her.

"What kind of question is that?"

"A normal one."

"I don't get many of those."

She smiled faintly.

"Then answer."

Massimo looked past her toward the balcony.

"I don't remember the last time anyone asked whether I was happy."

"That's not an answer."

"No."

"You're difficult."

"So I've been told."

"By women?"

"Mostly by armed men."

She laughed.

The sound surprised him.

For a moment, the room disappeared.

There was only music, his hand at her waist, and the strange realization that the man everyone feared could look almost uncertain when a woman laughed against his chest.

Then Sophie noticed someone near the service doors.

Elena.

The housekeeper.

She was watching them.

Not smiling.

Not surprised.

Watching.

Sophie looked more closely.

Elena saw her notice and immediately turned away.

"What is it?" Massimo asked.

"Nothing."

But Sophie remembered it later.