Chapter 1
MY FAKE BOYFRIEND WAS JUST AN ACT—BUT THE MAFIA BOSS’S JEALOUSY WAS REAL
PART 1 — THE FAKE FAVOR THAT WALKED INTO HIS GALA
The spreadsheet blurred before my eyes as I blinked hard, trying to force away the fatigue that had become my constant companion.
Twenty-three months and 14 days. That was how long I had been Raven Cavalcante’s executive assistant, tracking his meetings, managing his calendar, and pretending not to notice the way every other person in the building walked on eggshells around him.
I did not have that luxury. Someone had to tell him when his 3:00 p.m. conflicted with his 3:00 p.m. Apparently, I was the only one willing to risk the arctic silence that followed.
My fingers moved quickly across the keyboard as I reconciled the next day’s schedule. The annual Cavalcante Holdings charity gala loomed like an elegant guillotine. Three hundred of the city’s most powerful people would gather in the Grand Meridian ballroom to write checks and pretend they were not terrified of the man hosting it.
I had already confirmed the caterer twice, vetted the guest list 3 times, and personally inspected every security protocol because Raven accepted
nothing less than absolute precision.
The intercom on my desk crackled to life.
“Miss Ashford.”
His voice carried that particular edge that meant he had found an error somewhere in the universe and expected me to fix it.
“Yes, Mr. Cavalcante.”
I kept my tone professionally neutral, the same voice I used to confirm a dentist appointment.
“The Meridian contract. Clause 7. Why does it specify Belgian chocolate when I explicitly requested Swiss?”
I pulled up the relevant document and scanned it quickly.
“Because the Belgian suppliers you prefer are exclusive to the Meridian’s preferred vendor list. Swiss would require importing through a third party, which violates the venue’s insurance policy. I attached a memo explaining this 3 weeks ago. Tab 2, highlighted in yellow.”
Silence followed, the kind that made junior executives sweat. I had learned to find it almost meditative.
“Fine.”
The single word carried grudging approval.
“The
quarterly reports are ready for review.”
“On your desk since 7:00 a.m., color-coded by division, with my analysis of the discrepancies in the shipping subsidiary.”
Another pause.
“You noticed the discrepancies?”
“I notice everything, Mr. Cavalcante. That’s what you pay me for.” I allowed myself the smallest smile he could not see. “Shall I schedule a meeting with shipping to address it?”
“Already done. They’re here in 20 minutes.”
A beat passed.
“How did you—”
“I anticipated your request when I spotted the issue yesterday evening.” I glanced at the clock. “2:47 p.m. They should be arriving in the lobby right about now.”
The intercom went silent, but I caught the faintest sound that might have been a chuckle. Or indigestion. With Raven, it was impossible to tell.
My desk phone rang on an outside line, and I answered with practiced efficiency.
“Raven Cavalcante’s office. Seraphina Ashford speaking.”
“Sarah, thank
God.”
Silian’s voice tumbled through the line, warm and slightly panicked.
“I know this is absolutely bonkers, but I’m desperate.”
I leaned back in my ergonomic chair, recognizing the tone. Silian owned the antique shop 2 blocks from my apartment. We had become friends through my habit of browsing his collection of vintage first editions every Saturday morning.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Well, something. My family is coming to town for my grandmother’s 85th birthday, and they’ve spent the last 6 months hounding me about settling down.” He exhaled dramatically. “They think I’m lonely because I’m not married at 32. I need a girlfriend.”
“That’s what dating apps are for, Silian.”
“No. I need a fake girlfriend just for the weekend. Someone who can smile through awkward dinners and deflect invasive questions about grandchildren. Someone brilliant and sarcastic enough to shut down my aunt’s interrogations.” His voice turned wheedling. “Please tell me you’re free this Saturday.”
I should have said no.
My Saturday was sacred. Farmers market in the morning, bookshop browsing in the afternoon, meal prep for the week in the evening. Routine kept me sane in a job that demanded constant flexibility.
But Silian had saved me from a nightmare tenant situation the previous year, lending me his guest room for 3 weeks when my former landlord tried to illegally evict me. He had never once mentioned the rent I could not pay back. Instead, he had quietly donated the equivalent to the literacy charity where I volunteered.
“What time?” I heard myself ask.
“Really, Sarah? You’re a saint. The gala thing is Saturday evening. Some fancy charity benefit my grandmother bought tickets to 2 months ago. She insists it’s the social event of the season.”
My stomach dropped.
“What gala?”
“The Cavalcante Holdings thing at the Grand Meridian. I know, ridiculous, right? But Grandmother insists.”
Of course it was. Of course he had tickets to my boss’s annual fundraiser. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
“I’ll be there anyway,” I said slowly. “I’m coordinating the event.”
“Even better. You already know the layout. So that’s a yes?”
I thought of Raven’s expression when he had fired the last assistant who brought a date to a company function without clearing it first. But technically, I was not bringing a date. I was attending as a guest with someone else entirely. Two separate capacities. Perfectly defensible.
“Fine. But you owe me an entire shelf from your rare fiction collection.”
“Done. You’re the best, Sarah. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
After we hung up, I stared at the spreadsheet on my screen without seeing it.
This was fine. Raven barely noticed me beyond my function as his organizational system. I would stand beside Silian, smile appropriately at his grandmother, and monitor the gala logistics simultaneously. Multitasking at its finest.
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