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

I didn't sleep much after I returned to my apartment above the flower shop.

At four in the morning, I was sitting on the floor beside a box of ribbon, staring at my vendor badge and wondering how many people had handled my paperwork during the past three days. By six, my assistant Nora was opening the shop downstairs. She found me still wearing the same midnight-blue dress, though I'd finally managed to dry it.

“You look awful,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Was the party really that bad?”

I told her about the spilled water, Elena, and the duplicate badge. I left out the towel until she asked why the client's family thought I was his girlfriend. Then I told her that too.

Nora sat down behind the counter.

“I'm sorry,” she said. Then, after a long silence: “Do we still get paid?”

That was exactly the question I'd been afraid to ask.

Our refrigeration unit had been running warm for a week. A replacement compressor would cost more than the profit from our previous two weddings combined. We had paid for the mansion's roses, orchids, and hydrangeas in advance. If the Romans decided we'd violated their security rules, a three-day job might ruin my business.

I pulled out our delivery binder. Each page held a printed order, a handwritten count, and the name of the person who accepted the flowers. Nora had insisted on those records since a hotel once claimed we'd delivered twenty fewer centerpieces than we actually had.

There were twelve entries for the Romano property.

The thirteenth wasn't ours.

A replacement arrangement for the private study had been entered into the electronic vendor portal after our final delivery. The form carried my company's name and account number, but not our usual item codes. The flowers listed were white lilies. We had ordered no lilies for the mansion because Lucia had specifically requested that we avoid their strong scent.

“Who entered this?” Nora asked.

“The portal says it came from the residence.”

We looked at the payment reference. It named Vitali Events, not the Romano household.

“Doesn't the wedding announcement involve the Vitalis?” Nora asked.

“It's not a wedding announcement,” I said automatically. Then I stopped. Massimo had told me what his family expected him to announce. I knew almost nothing else.

At nine, I called the mansion's contracts office. They confirmed the legitimate invoice would be paid, and offered to send a digital copy of the badge records to my attorney if I wished to challenge the duplicate. I didn't have an attorney. I couldn't even pay for a new compressor.

An hour later, Massimo called himself.

“I found a photograph from the corridor camera,” he said. “A man carrying a narrow document case entered the study while my family was upstairs.”

“Was he wearing my face?”

“No. He used the badge issued in your name. The system doesn't have a photograph attached to the second credential.”

“Then someone made the badge without me.”

“That's what the evidence suggests.”

I told him about the lilies and the payment reference. He asked me to send copies, but I hesitated.

“Why should I trust you?” I asked. “Last night you let your family think I was your girlfriend. Today somebody can make it look as though I broke into your study.”

“You shouldn't trust my word alone,” he replied. “Keep your originals. Send copies to an independent lawyer if you can.”

That answer unsettled me more than another command would have. Powerful men in my experience rarely invited other people to check their work.

Before ending the call, he told me that the family gathering would proceed that morning, though no engagement announcement was planned. Adriana Vitali and her father, Angelo, were still expected to attend.

By noon, an email arrived from the Romano events office. It said several floral arrangements needed adjustments and requested that I return personally. The message also stated that I could bring Nora and use the public service entrance. I asked Nora to come, partly because I needed help and partly because I no longer wanted to walk that mansion alone.

The house looked different in daylight. Pale sunshine washed across the windows. The grand staircase no longer seemed mysterious, merely expensive. We checked the dining room arrangements one by one, noting every vase and ribbon. I was replacing a bruised hydrangea when a woman in a cream-colored suit approached.

She had beautiful blonde hair, confident posture, and a smile that seemed practiced.

“Sophie Miller?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Adriana Vitali.”

The name made my fingers tighten around the stem.

“I've heard you've had an interesting evening,” she said.

“Not one I'd recommend.”

“Massimo's family can be dramatic. I hope you won't take it personally.”

“It happened to me personally.”

Her smile narrowed. “You must know he says things to escape family expectations. He'll forget this little story soon.”

I placed the flower in its vase. “That's between him and me.”

“Is there a him and you?”

“No.” I met her eyes. “And I don't owe you a more detailed answer.”

For a moment she looked surprised. Then she glanced toward the service corridor and walked away.

Nora had witnessed the exchange from the next table.

“She knew exactly who you were,” Nora whispered.

“So did Massimo.”

“But he checks everyone who comes into his house. How would she know you'd had an interesting evening?”

I hadn't thought of that.

We finished the adjustments and went to the staff coordinator to get our work signed off. The supervisor was new; Elena hadn't returned. He showed us the access log on his tablet, confirming that my legitimate badge had opened the service entrance at 5:42 P.M. the previous day. The other badge, created shortly before midnight, had opened the study at 12:12 A.M.

“Who approved the second credential?” I asked.

The supervisor scrolled.

“Elena's staff authorization.”

There was the first direct link between the housekeeper and the person who had entered the study.

I photographed the screen with his permission. I was about to put my phone away when I saw an additional note beside the second badge: escorted guest, Vitali Events.

I asked the supervisor to explain it.

“An outside contractor,” he said. “Temporary access approved for event logistics.”

“Then why give him my name?”

He didn't answer. He had no reason to know.

As we walked back through the dining room, I saw Massimo standing beside his grandmother, speaking with his mother Bianca. Adriana and her father Angelo stood a few steps away. Everyone looked composed enough for a magazine photograph.

Then Adriana glanced at me, at the phone in my hand, and at the staff coordinator behind us.

The smile left her face.

A minute later, Nora's phone rang. It was one of our largest regular clients, calling to ask whether reports that my company had entered a client's private office were true.

I felt the blood drain from my face.