The Mafia Boss Called Me His Girlfriend in Front of His Family—Then Asked Who Sent Me to His Bedroom

“Because the bathroom she should have sent you to is on the opposite side of the house.”

Massimo Romano said it quietly. That frightened me more than if he had shouted.

I was still holding my handbag. My midnight-blue dress was damp, his bedroom smelled faintly of steam, and the man standing between me and the door was wearing a black towel. There was a pistol on the bedside table now, safely away from his hand. Yet it seemed impossible to forget that I'd seen it.

“Then ask Elena why she sent me here,” I said. “Don't look at me as though I planned it.”

His eyes moved to the doorway. “That's exactly what I intend to do.”

“Good. You can do it after I leave.”

“You can leave whenever you want, Sophie.” He stepped aside immediately. “But someone brought you into a private room, and my family arrived seconds later. I'd like to know whether you're in danger because of it.”

It was the first thing he'd said that sounded less like an order and more like a warning.

I had been working in his mansion for three days, preparing flowers for the gathering his family would hold the following morning. I needed the final payment. My shop had a leaking cooler, two overdue supplier bills, and employees who trusted me to pay them on Friday. I couldn't afford to be accused of wandering through my client's bedrooms.

“Your grandmother thinks we're together,” I said.

“I know.”

“Your mother looked as though she wanted to have me thrown out a window.”

“She won't.”

“You can't know that.”

He took a robe from a wardrobe and turned away long enough to put it on. Then he picked up his phone, not the gun.

“Come to the sitting room. We can speak with the door open.”

I considered refusing. Then I remembered Elena's calm face when she had pointed me toward the stairs. I remembered how certain she'd sounded about which door to use.

“Five minutes,” I told him.

The sitting room adjoined his bedroom. A servant brought a clean towel and water after Massimo requested them, but he did not ask anyone to lock a door or watch me. I dried my hands and sat at the far end of a sofa.

He called the head of household staff. Elena had left the premises ten minutes earlier, apparently because of a family emergency. That would have been unremarkable if her shift hadn't been scheduled to continue until morning.

Then Massimo called the security supervisor.

“What made my family come upstairs?” he asked.

A pause. He listened, his face changing almost imperceptibly.

“Read it to me.”

He put the call on speaker after asking my permission. A man's voice said that Massimo's mother had received an anonymous message: There is a woman in Massimo's bedroom. Come now before tomorrow's announcement becomes a joke.

I stared at the phone.

“Someone knew I'd be here,” I whispered.

“Or intended you to be here,” Massimo answered.

My cheeks burned. “Your family saw a wet dress and made up the rest.”

“My mistake made that worse.”

“You mean telling them I'm your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” He looked directly at me. “I was trying to stop them discussing Adriana. I had no right to use you.”

It wasn't an elaborate apology. It was plain enough that I believed he understood the problem.

A gentle knock sounded at the open door. His grandmother entered without waiting for a response. Her silver hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her long evening jacket shone faintly under the lamps.

“Are you frightened, dear?” she asked me.

“I'm furious,” I replied.

She nodded as though that were a reasonable answer. “Good. Fear is useful for noticing danger, but anger is useful for refusing nonsense.”

“Nonna,” Massimo said, “please don't make this harder.”

“I wasn't speaking to you.” She turned to me. “My name is Lucia. I'm sorry we entered without knocking properly. Someone told Bianca there was a scandal upstairs.”

“Bianca?”

“His mother. The lady with the pearls. And the two gentlemen were his uncle Enzo and our longtime family adviser, Paolo. They had no business marching into a young woman's private embarrassment.”

“I wasn't doing anything private,” I said. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

Lucia's expression sharpened. “Then I hope we find out who made it appear otherwise.”

When she left, Massimo received another call. He walked to the adjoining desk and spoke in a low voice. I couldn't make out the words, but I saw him write something on a pad: STUDY, SERVICE CORRIDOR, 12:12.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A door sensor in my study registered an opening while my family was on the stairs.”

“Could somebody have been cleaning?”

“Possibly.” He didn't sound convinced. “The study is supposed to be closed to staff tonight.”

I thought of the three days I'd spent carrying flowers through this house. I'd passed the study earlier with a tray of cream roses, but I hadn't entered. The staff knew which rooms were restricted. Even I had known that much.

“Are you suggesting Elena sent me upstairs so someone could enter your office?”

“I'm saying I don't know.”

“At least that's honest.”

I stood, gathering my purse. He didn't try to stop me.

“You won't lose the floral contract,” he said. “And nobody will accuse you without evidence. Have your company send its final invoice to my office, not to Elena.”

“I'll send it the normal way. I don't want special treatment because you told your grandmother I was your girlfriend.”

For the first time that night, the corner of his mouth moved. “Understood.”

At the downstairs landing, I found my work shoes exactly where I'd left them. My assistant had already gone home. The foyer was nearly silent, a strange contrast to the kitchen and dining rooms I'd spent the afternoon filling with flowers.

Massimo walked at a respectful distance behind me. Near the service entrance, a security guard approached holding a tablet. I heard him say that the study had been accessed using a temporary vendor credential.

“Which vendor?” Massimo asked.

The guard glanced at me before answering.

“Miller Floral Studio. Issued to Sophie Miller.”

My breath caught.

“My badge has been in my purse all evening.” I pulled it out and held it between two fingers. “And I only have one.”

The guard checked the screen again.

“According to the access system, there are two.”

Massimo looked at my badge, then toward the dark hallway leading to the study.

That was when I understood why the wrong bedroom frightened me less than the right name on the wrong door.