Chapter 3 Chapter 2

The morning light streamed through the gaps in the barely-closed curtain. The room was far too bright. The alarm hadn’t gone off. My alarm clock read twelve noon. I widened my eyes, yawned, stared at the display again, blinking rapidly. Something was wrong.

I grabbed my phone. Eight-thirty. The power had gone out.

I sprang up, heart racing. I ran to the mirror, combed my hair as best I could, twisted it into a messy bun. I brushed my teeth vigorously, holding the phone in my other hand, which trembled. I reviewed the presentation between spits and rinses.

I looked at the time again. Shit. I wiped my mouth, pulled on the first pair of pants I found in the hamper, grabbed my bag, shoved my arm into a coat and slammed the door behind me.

I hurried down the street almost stumbling, clutching the bag to my chest. My heels clicked loudly on the sidewalk, drawing glances I ignored.

I arrived at the coffee shop. Ten people in line. I felt sweat on my brow, took a deep breath, bit my lip.

"Let's go... come on... hurry up..." I whispered, fidgeting with my fingers, tapping the bag.

When it was my turn, I forced a smile. My heart pounded so fast it hurt. The palm of my hand slid on the counter.

"Good morning... a double espresso. Cream and sugar."

I checked the clock again. I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, drummed my fingers until the barista returned. I picked up the cup, paid, nodded a terse thanks and left almost running.

I couldn't be late. This presentation was my chance not to be fired. I also shouldn't have stayed up all night revising, but I couldn't show up unprepared.

I turned the corner too sharply, distracted. I collided with someone hard. The cup slipped, coffee splashed and spilled on the floor, splattering.

I looked up, still breathless. A tall man in an impeccable suit—now with a huge dark stain on his chest. The fabric looked expensive. Very expensive. His hair was neat, his face hard, a few scars on his face. Behind him, two hulks who looked like they'd break my neck for sport.

I swallowed hard.

Fucked.

His gaze slid down slowly to his own stained shirt. His jaw clenched, it even made a click.

"Did you spill coffee on me?" His voice came low, deep, so calm it was even more frightening.

My stomach flipped. I squeezed the phone in my hand.

"Sir... mister... I'm sorry, really, it was an accident. I was running, you appeared out of nowhere... my God..."

He just stared at me.

"I'm really sorry, but I don't have time for this," I said, looking at my phone.

And I turned my back, almost stumbling, without waiting for a response. I left as quickly as I could, my face burning, my heart pounding.

I could only hope to never cross paths with that man again. Judging by him, he wasn't going to forget easily.

...................................................

I watched the woman running, almost tripping over her own feet. Then I turned my eyes back to the huge coffee stain on my jacket. The smell of cheap coffee irritated me. I clenched my fists, feeling the soaked fabric stick to my fingers. Disgust. I slowly withdrew my hand, fingers sticking with that warm filth.

Enzo stepped forward, studying the stain with furrowed brows.

"Don Moretti, we can handle this. Do you want me to go after her?"

I raised my hand slowly, signaling him to stop.

"No."

"No?" he slightly widened his eyes.

I turned my face to him, jaw tight, breathing deeply to keep my composure.

"I said no."

Enzo nodded quickly, lowering his head a little, and fell silent.

Salvatori approached, adjusting his suit at the shoulders, his gaze still on the stained jacket.

"So your next plan is to have a wife?" he said.

I took a small handkerchief from my jacket pocket and gently wiped my forehead, feeling the sweat dry under the touch of the fabric. Then I dropped the handkerchief in the nearest trash can, as if it were worthless.

I took a deep breath, my eyes lost on the horizon for a moment, before returning to him.

"Exactly."

"And where, exactly, do you intend to find a woman for that?" he arched an eyebrow, the contained mockery in his voice.

I turned slightly, adjusted my sleeve, shoulders tense.

"I'm still thinking about that."

"Don Moretti, with all due respect... I don't think a fake wife is a good idea," Enzo said, concerned, eyes fixed on me.

I turned my face slightly, observing his expression. He wasn't just talking—he was genuinely anxious.

"And why wouldn't it be a good idea? What exactly could go wrong?"

"Sir... where will you find a woman you can trust?" Enzo ran his hand through the back of his neck, exhaling. "You're going to put a stranger in the middle of your business. She will find out. Second, it's too risky... and if someone hurts her? That will be a huge headache... And if that woman dies, sir? It will stain your name. It will look like negligence. It will look like weakness."

I crossed my arms, hardened my expression. His words made sense. I knew. A stranger entering my world... would know everything. And yes, she could get hurt.

But fuck it. I wasn't going to back down because of that. I needed more respect. I needed the right image. I wasn't changing my mind.

"I know the risks very well," I said, firmly. "And I'm willing to face them.

And one more thing, Enzo: weakness would be not having the proper respect. They look at me sideways, even though I run an empire like this. That's not enough. For me, that's weakness. Not death."

Enzo frowned as if to insist. I took a step forward, my voice low, dry:

"Listen. I will not change my mind. Do you hear me?"

I pointed my finger at him without raising my voice.

"I will find a woman to be my wife. Then I'll deal with the rest. And that's final."

I straightened my posture, squared my shoulders and walked to the car, no longer patient for the conversation. Salvatori and Enzo followed silently.

The black Rolls-Royce was parked at the curb, gleaming even in the dull morning light.

"Let's go sort this out. I want to go home," I said without looking back.

Salvatori opened the door. I got in without saying anything. Enzo and he took the seats soon after.

The car pulled away slowly, maneuvering precisely. I rested my elbow on the window, gaze fixed on the street where that clumsy woman had vanished.

Without taking my eyes off the sidewalk, I started tapping my thumb against my knee, in a slow, steady rhythm.

I said nothing.

But it was already decided: that woman would cross my path again. It was obvious.

I just didn't yet know how, or where. But it would happen. Sooner or later.