PART 2: THE MAFIA BOSS REJECTED HER—UNTIL SHE STARTED DATING HIS FRIEND

THE MAFIA BOSS REJECTED HER—UNTIL SHE STARTED DATING HIS FRIEND — PART 2

It’s expensive wine, thank you very much.

Apologies. Expensive wine. The point stands. Give me your address. I’ll send food.

I should have said no. I should have thanked him for the distraction and stopped responding. But something about his messages, the strange blend of humor and genuine concern, made me type out my address before I could think better of it.

Got it. Food will be there in 30 minutes. Eat, hydrate, get some sleep. Tomorrow you start becoming too good for the idiot who lost you.

Why are you being so nice to a stranger?

Because I can. Because you seem like you need someone to be nice to you right now. And because something tells me you’d do the same for someone else in this situation.

He was right about that last part.

Thank you. Really. This helped.

Anytime. Literally. You have my number now. Use it if you need to.

I don’t even

know your name.

Dante. Mia, based on how you signed that first text. Nice to meet you, Mia. Even under these circumstances.

Nice to meet you too, Dante. Thanks for being my accidental therapist tonight.

My pleasure. Now go wash your face and wait for your food. And Mia, he’s an idiot. Anyone who cheats on you deserves what’s coming to him.

The food arrived exactly 30 minutes later.

Thai from my favorite place, though I had not mentioned it. The delivery driver handed me enough food for 3 people, along with a note written in strong, masculine handwriting.

Eat. Hydrate. Sleep. Tomorrow you start forgetting he exists.

D.

Bailey watched me read it, her eyes wide.

“Okay, I take back everything I said about him being a serial killer. That’s actually really sweet. Slightly stalkerish, but mainly sweet.”

“He somehow knew my favorite Thai place.”

“He probably just looked

at what was nearby and guessed,” Bailey said, already opening one of the containers. “Good guess, obviously. Are we eating this or saving it for tomorrow?”

“Eating. Definitely eating.”

I opened another container and froze when I saw my favorite dish.

“How did he know this too?”

“Lucky guess number 2,” Bailey said, though she sounded less certain. “Or he’s very good at research, which is either romantic or terrifying.”

My phone buzzed again.

You opened it. Good. Eat the pad Thai first. It’s better fresh. And before you ask, I called the restaurant and told them to send their most popular items. Lucky guess.

I took a photo of the spread and sent it back.

You sent enough food for a week. Thank you. This is incredibly generous.

Consider it an investment in your recovery process. Can’t have you forgetting to eat while you’re busy becoming your best self.

Is this what you do? Rescue people via wrong number?

First time, actually. You’re special. Don’t let it go to your head.

I fell asleep that night with my phone next to my pillow, the conversation with Dante saved, and for the first time since seeing Derek with that woman, I did not cry myself to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to a text from Dante.

Morning. How’s the hangover?

Manageable. The food helped. Thank you again for that.

You’re welcome. What’s the plan today? Wallowing or moving forward?

I thought about it.

Derek had texted me 17 times overnight, each message more desperate than the last. I read them once, felt nothing but irritation, and decided Dante had been right about blocking him.

Moving forward. Starting with blocking my ex on everything.

Excellent choice. What else?

Grocery shopping, laundry, very exciting post-breakup activities.

Boring, but necessary. After that?

I don’t know. Probably more wallowing.

Wrong answer. After that, you’re getting dressed up and meeting me for dinner.

I stared at the message, my heart rate picking up.

What?

Dinner. You, me, somewhere nice. Consider it part of your recovery process. Can’t start moving on without leaving the house.

I don’t even know you. You could be a serial killer.

If I were a serial killer, I had your address last night and did nothing with it. That should count for something. Plus, serial killers don’t usually spring for expensive Thai food.

Usually?

I’m kidding. Mostly. I’ll meet you somewhere public. Your choice of restaurant. You can bring your friend as backup if it makes you feel safer. One dinner. No expectations. Just 2 people who met under strange circumstances sharing a meal.

Why?

Because I’m curious about you. Because you seem interesting. And because something tells me you need a distraction from thinking about the idiot who cheated on you.

He had a point.

Curiosity won over caution.

Fine. One dinner. But I’m picking the place and bringing Bailey.

Deal. Send me the details. I’ll be there at 7.

I spent the rest of the day oscillating between excitement and terror.

What was I thinking? Agreeing to meet a stranger from a wrong-number text was exactly how people ended up on true-crime podcasts. But something about Dante felt strangely safe. Despite knowing almost nothing about him except his name and his apparent generosity with Thai food, I trusted him.

It was either intuition or post-breakup insanity.

Time would tell which.

That evening, Bailey helped me choose an outfit.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she said. “Meeting a man who could literally be anyone.”

“You’re coming with me. Safety in numbers.”

“True. And if he’s hot, I’m taking credit for encouraging you.”

She held up a red dress.

“This one. You look incredible in it, and it says, ‘I’m over my ex and thriving.’”

“I think it says, ‘I’m trying too hard.’”

“Exactly. Perfect for a first date with a mysterious stranger.”

She threw the dress at me.

“Put it on. We leave in an hour.”

I chose a restaurant I knew well. Luca was upscale but not pretentious, public enough that I could leave if things got strange, and familiar enough to feel like safe territory. I texted Dante.

Reservation at Luca for 7. Table for 3.

Mia

His response came quickly.

See you there. And Mia, wear something red. I have a feeling you look incredible in red.

I looked down at the red dress in my hands.

“That’s either psychic or he’s watching me, and I’m not sure which is more concerning.”

“Maybe he stalked your social media and saw you wear red before,” Bailey said, though now she looked worried too.

I checked my Instagram. It was private, and I had no recent photos in red.

“Nope.”

“Lucky guess number 3, then,” she said. “This guy is either very intuitive or very creepy. Let’s find out which.”

Luca was packed when we arrived at 6:55. The Friday-night crowd was already deep into drinks and appetizers. I smoothed down the red dress for the hundredth time, my hands shaking slightly.

“You look amazing,” Bailey said, squeezing my hand. “And if this guy turns out to be a creep, we bail immediately. I already have my pepper spray.”

“You brought pepper spray to dinner?”

“I brought pepper spray to a dinner with a man we met via wrong number less than 24 hours ago. This is basic safety.”

She scanned the restaurant.

“Do you even know what he looks like?”

“No idea. He didn’t send a photo.”

“Of course he didn’t. Very mysterious. And—oh my God. Is that him?”

I followed her gaze to a corner table where a man sat alone.

My breath caught.

He was watching us. Watching me, specifically, with an intensity that should have been unsettling but somehow was not. He had dark hair styled perfectly, sharp cheekbones, and a jaw that could cut glass. He wore a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing intricate tattoos that wrapped around both arms.

He stood as we approached, and I realized he was tall. Easily 6’2” or 6’3”, with a build that suggested either serious gym time or a physically demanding life.

Everything about him screamed danger and money in equal measure.

“Mia,” he said.

His voice was exactly what I had imagined from his texts. Deep, confident, with a slight Italian accent that turned my name into a caress.

“You wore red.”

“Lucky guess,” I managed, though my voice came out shakier than I intended.

“Educated guess. You strike me as someone who looks good in bold colors.”

His dark eyes moved over me with obvious appreciation.

“I was right.”

Bailey inserted herself between us, her protective mode fully activated.

“And you are? Because my friend here has had a rough couple of days. If you’re planning anything sketchy, you should know I have pepper spray and a black belt.”

Dante’s mouth curved.

“Bailey, I presume. I’m Dante Caruso. And I assure you, my intentions are purely friendly.”

The way he said friendly suggested otherwise, but his eyes held genuine warmth.

“Please sit. I took the liberty of ordering wine. I hope you like Chianti.”

We settled into our seats with Bailey positioned strategically between Dante and me like a human shield. Up close, he was even more devastating. He had dark stubble, full lips, and eyes that seemed to see straight through my careful composure.

“So,” I said, needing to break the tension. “Dante, what do you do when you’re not rescuing drunk, heartbroken women via wrong number?”

“Various things.”

It was vague, but he said it with enough charm to make it sound mysterious rather than evasive.

“Import, export, some real estate, investments. Boring business things.”

Bailey’s tone sharpened.

“Import-export. That’s very vague.”

“It’s very boring,” he corrected smoothly, “which is why we’re not going to talk about it. Tonight is about Mia, not me.”

He turned back to me.

“Tell me about this Derek who was stupid enough to cheat on you.”

I took a large sip of wine before answering.

“Three years together. I thought we were solid. Turns out I was the only one who thought that. He had been seeing his coworker for 6 months.”

Dante’s expression darkened.

“Six months is not a mistake. It is a choice. Multiple choices, made repeatedly.”

“That’s what I said,” Bailey added. “One time, maybe that’s weakness. Six months is just being an—”

“Exactly,” Dante said.

His hand moved across the table, covering mine briefly before withdrawing. The contact was brief but electric.

“So now the question is how you want to handle this. Mature high road, or satisfying revenge?”

“You gave me the mature option yesterday.”

“That was yesterday. Today I’m more interested in what you actually want versus what you think you should want.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Tell me, Mia. If you could do anything to Derek right now, consequences be damned, what would it be?”

The wine and his attention made me bolder than usual.

“I’d want him to see me happy. Not fake happy for social media, but genuinely happy without him. I’d want him to realize exactly what he lost and know he can never get it back.”

“That’s actually very mature,” Bailey observed. “I was hoping you’d say something involving his car and a baseball bat.”

“That’s plan B,” Dante said.

Something in his tone suggested he was not entirely joking.

“But Mia’s plan is better. More effective long-term. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“We?”

“You need to move on. Be happy. Show Derek what he lost. I need…”

He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“A distraction. Something interesting. Someone interesting. We help each other.”

Bailey’s expression sharpened.

“That sounds suspiciously like a proposition.”

“It’s a proposal, not a proposition,” Dante said, eyes still on me. “I’ll take you out, show you a good time, and help you remember what it feels like to be valued. You provide interesting company and help me avoid the numerous women my mother keeps trying to set me up with. Mutually beneficial arrangement.”

I tried to process that.

“You want to fake-date me to avoid your mother’s matchmaking?”

“Not fake. Real dates. Real time spent together. Just without the pressure of it being serious or long-term. You’re recovering from a relationship. I’m avoiding one. We both win.”

It was insane to agree to something like that with a man I had known for less than 24 hours.

But Dante made me want to be bold and reckless for once in my carefully planned life.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just honesty. I like you, Mia. You’re interesting and real and not trying to impress me or get something from me. That’s rare.”

He took a sip of wine.

“What do you say? Want to spend the next few weeks having fun and forgetting Derek exists?”

I heard myself say yes.

Bailey kicked me under the table.

“Can we talk privately for a second?”

Dante stood.

“Of course. I’ll give you a moment. Order whatever you want. It’s all taken care of.”

Once he was out of earshot, Bailey grabbed my hands.

“Mia, are you insane? You don’t know this guy.”

“I know it’s completely crazy. But Bailey, when was the last time I did something spontaneous? Something just for me?”

I looked toward Dante, who was standing by the bar and somehow making even that look elegant.

“He’s offering me a distraction. A way to move on. Why shouldn’t I take it?”

“Because he could be dangerous. Because he’s clearly hiding something behind that vague import-export answer. Because you just got out of a relationship with a man who cheated on you for 6 months.”

“I’m not looking for love, Bailey. I’m looking for fun. For feeling wanted and valued instead of betrayed and stupid. Can’t I just have that?”

She studied me for a long moment, then sighed.

“Fine. But I’m running a background check on him. And you’re sharing your location with me at all times. If anything feels wrong, you call me immediately.”

“Deal.”

Dante returned with fresh drinks and an easy smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Fair warning, my best friend is going to background check you.”

“Smart friend. She’ll find I’m clean. Mostly.”

There was that dangerous smile again.

“Now let’s order. I’m starving, and I want to hear more about what Mia does when she’s not sending breakup texts to wrong numbers.”

Dinner passed in a blur of good food, better wine, and conversation that flowed more easily than it should have. Dante was charming without being smarmy, interested without being invasive, and funny without trying too hard. He told stories about growing up in an Italian family that had me laughing until I cried. He asked thoughtful questions about my work as a graphic designer and managed, by the end of the night, to make even Bailey warm to him.

Halfway through her third glass of wine, Bailey announced, “I like you. You’re good for her. Just don’t make me regret saying that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dante assured her. “Mia is lucky to have a friend this protective.”

When the check came, he paid before I could even reach for my purse.

“Not negotiable,” he said when I protested. “Consider it part of the arrangement. I take you out, I pay. That’s how this works.”

“That’s very old-fashioned.”

“I’m Italian. We’re traditional about certain things.”

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp. Bailey walked slightly ahead, giving us space while staying close enough to intervene if needed.

Dante’s hand settled lightly at the small of my back.

“I meant what I said in there,” he told me. “You’re interesting, Mia. I’d like to see you again tomorrow, if you’re free.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday. Don’t you have import-export things to do?”

There was an edge in my voice, a mix of curiosity and suspicion about his evasive answer.

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

At my car, he turned to face me fully.

“Lunch tomorrow. Somewhere casual. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“You gave me your address yesterday for the food delivery.”

His smile turned wicked.

“I have an excellent memory.”

“That’s slightly creepy.”

“That’s very practical.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture intimate without being presumptuous.

“Say yes, Mia. Let me show you a good time. Let me help you forget Derek exists.”

I should have said no. I should have taken time to think, to let Bailey finish the background check, to be sensible.

Instead, I said, “Yes. Noon tomorrow. But Dante?”

“Yes?”

“If this is some elaborate scheme to murder me and wear my skin, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

His laugh was genuine and warm.

“I promise not to murder you or wear your skin. Those are definitely off the table.”

“Good to know where you draw the line.”

He leaned in, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pressed his lips to my forehead in a gesture that somehow felt more intimate than a real kiss would have been.

“Good night, Mia. Sleep well. Tomorrow we start the process of making you forget Derek ever existed.”

In bed that night, I stared at Dante’s last message.

Thank you for taking a chance on me. I promise to make it worth your while. Sweet dreams.

D.

Then my phone buzzed with an incoming email.

Bailey’s background check.

She had actually done it.

I opened it and scanned the results.

Dante Caruso. 38 years old. Owner of multiple businesses across the city. Real estate portfolio worth millions. No criminal record, though his name appeared in several sealed case files that required higher clearance to access.

The last line made my breath catch.

Subject has known connections to organized crime. Proceed with extreme caution.

I should have been terrified. I should have blocked his number and never looked back.

Instead, I found myself smiling.

A dangerous distraction indeed.

On day 3, I woke to 17 missed calls from Derek and 1 text from Dante.

Good morning. Coffee order? I’ll pick it up on the way to get you.

I ignored Derek’s calls. I had blocked him on social media the night before, but apparently had not blocked his number yet.

I focused on Dante.

Iced vanilla latte. Extra shot.

How do you know I need coffee before being functional?

Lucky guess number 4. See you at noon. Wear something comfortable.

Bailey called while I was trying to decide between jeans and a sundress.

“Please tell me you read the background check.”

“I read it.”

I put her on speaker while holding both outfits in front of the mirror.

“And you’re still going out with him?”

“Mia, it said organized crime.”

“It said connections to organized crime. That’s different.”

I chose the sundress. It was casual but still cute.

“Lots of people in this city have connections to things. Doesn’t mean they’re directly involved.”

“That’s rationalization, and you know it,” Bailey said, her voice more concerned than angry. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Keep your location shared. Check in every hour. And for God’s sake, don’t go anywhere private with him until we know more.”

“I promise.”

“Serial killers can be patient.”

“You really need to stop watching those documentaries.”

“I will when you stop making choices that belong in them.”

Dante arrived exactly at noon, driving a sleek black car that probably cost more than my annual salary. He got out to open my door, old-fashioned in a way that should have felt dated but instead felt thoughtful, and handed me my iced vanilla latte with an extra shot.

He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt that did nothing to hide his muscular build or the tattoos across his arms. In daylight, I could see more details: Italian script, geometric patterns, and what looked like a family crest on his forearm.

“You’re staring,” he observed with amusement.

“Your tattoos. They’re extensive.”

“Family tradition. Each one tells a story.”

He started the car. I noticed more ink on his hands, script encircling his fingers.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about them someday.”

“Someday implies this is going to last beyond a few dates.”

“I’m optimistic.”

“How was your night?” he asked as he pulled into traffic. “Any regrets about agreeing to this?”

I thought about Bailey’s warning, the background check, and the sealed case files.

“Should I have regrets?”

“Depends. Are you the type to let fear of possibilities prevent you from experiencing something potentially amazing?”

He glanced at me.

“Because I get the feeling you’ve been playing it safe for a while. Being careful. Following rules. Avoiding risk. How has that worked out for you?”

“I ended up with a cheating boyfriend. So not great.”

“Exactly. Maybe it’s time to try something different. Be reckless. Take risks. See what happens when you stop playing it safe.”

His hand found mine on the console between us.

“I’m not saying I’m not dangerous, Mia. I am. But not to you. Never to you.”

“That’s exactly what someone dangerous would say.”

“True. But I’m also being honest.”

He squeezed my hand gently before letting go.

“Bailey ran a background check on me, didn’t she?”

I did not bother denying it.

“How did you know?”

“Because she’s a good friend who cares about your safety. I would have been disappointed if she hadn’t.”

“What did it say?”

“That you’re very wealthy and have connections to organized crime.”

I watched his face carefully.

“Care to elaborate?”

“My family has been in this city for 4 generations. We know people. We have relationships with various organizations, some legitimate and some less so. I don’t personally engage in criminal activity, but I can’t control who my relatives associate with.”

It was carefully worded. Probably rehearsed.

“Does that scare you?” he asked.

“It should,” I admitted. “But honestly, after 3 years with Derek, a little danger sounds refreshing.”

His laugh was surprised and genuine.

“That is either very brave or very reckless.”

“You told me to be reckless. I’m trying it out.”

“I like it. I like you reckless.”

He pulled into the parking lot of a marina.

“Come on. I have something to show you.”

The marina was beautiful, with boats of every size bobbing gently in their slips. Dante led me down the dock to a sleek white yacht that screamed money and luxury.

“This is yours?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“One of my investments. I thought we could take it out for the afternoon. Nothing too far. Just along the coast. Private. Peaceful. Perfect for getting to know each other without interruption.”

He helped me aboard.

“Unless you’d prefer somewhere more public.”

I should have said yes. I should have insisted we stay where there were witnesses.

Instead, I said, “This is perfect.”

The yacht was as luxurious inside as it looked from the dock: leather seating, a full kitchen, and a bedroom I tried not to think too hard about. Dante handed me a life jacket with an amused smile.

“Safety first. Can’t have you falling overboard on our second date.”

“Is that what this is? A date?”

“What else would it be?”

He secured his own life jacket, then started the engine.

“You, me, beautiful weather, a boat. Definitely a date.”

As we pulled away from the dock, I texted Bailey my location and a photo of the yacht.

Her reply was immediate.

Are you insane? You’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a man connected to organized crime. This is literally the plot of every thriller ever.

Relax. I’m fine. He’s being a perfect gentleman. I’ll check in every hour.

You better. I already have 911 pre-dialed.

I put my phone away and moved to where Dante stood at the wheel. The wind whipped his dark hair, and sunglasses hid his eyes. He looked like something out of a magazine. Dangerous and beautiful and completely in his element.

“You know how to drive a boat?” I asked, immediately feeling stupid for the question.

“I know how to do a lot of things.”

He slowed the yacht once we were far enough from shore, then engaged the autopilot.

“Come here. Let me show you.”

He guided me to stand in front of him, his arms bracketing me as he explained the controls. I was hyperaware of his body against my back, the heat of him, the way his breath moved my hair when he spoke.

“This controls speed. This is steering. This is the autopilot, which we’re using now so I can focus on you instead of not crashing.”

His hands settled on my hips, warm through the thin fabric of my sundress.

“Tell me something, Mia. Why did you really say yes to this?”

“To your fake-dating arrangement, or to coming on your boat?”

“Both.”

I thought about Derek’s betrayal. About 3 years of playing it safe and following rules. About being boring and predictable and easy to cheat on.

“Because I’m tired of being careful,” I said. “Tired of doing everything right and still getting hurt. Because you’re interesting and dangerous and everything I’ve been told to avoid. Because something about you makes me want to be reckless.”

“Good answer.”

His lips brushed my neck. Not quite a kiss, but close enough to make me shiver.

“Want to know why I said yes?”

“Because you need someone to help you avoid your mother’s matchmaking.”

“That’s the excuse.”

“The truth?”

He turned me to face him, and I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“Because when you sent that text, when I read the pain and anger and determination in your words, something in me recognized something in you. Someone who had been hurt but refused to stay down. Someone strong enough to walk away from something that wasn’t serving them. That’s rare, Mia. And beautiful.”

“That’s very smooth for someone who claims he doesn’t date.”

“I don’t. Not seriously. Not in years. But something about you made me want to try.”

His hand came up to cup my face.

“I’m going to kiss you now. If you don’t want that, tell me to stop.”

I did not tell him to stop.

His kiss was nothing like I expected. It was not aggressive or demanding, but patient and thorough. He kissed me as if he had all the time in the world, as if learning the taste and feel of me was the only thing that mattered. His hand slid into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and I melted into him.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“That was…”

I could not find the words.

“Yeah,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “It was.”

We spent the afternoon on the yacht, talking and laughing and occasionally kissing in ways that made me forget Derek had ever existed. Dante was charming and funny and surprisingly easy to talk to. He asked questions that showed real interest, shared stories that made me laugh, and touched me with a casualness that suggested comfort rather than presumption.

I asked about the tattoos while tracing the script on his forearm.

“You said they tell stories.”

“This one,” he said, indicating the family crest, “is my family name and legacy. A reminder of where I come from. These on my fingers are the names of people I’ve lost. My father. My grandfather. A cousin who died too young. This one—”

He touched his chest through his shirt.

“—is my mother’s favorite prayer. She made me promise to have it tattooed over my heart.”

“You’re close with your mother.”

“Very. She drives me crazy with the matchmaking, but she means well. She wants me happy. Settled. She wants grandchildren.”

He smiled ruefully.

“I keep telling her I’m not ready, but she thinks I’ve been mourning too long.”

“Mourning?”

“My fiancée died 4 years ago. Car accident.”

His expression shuttered briefly.

“I haven’t been serious about anyone since. Haven’t wanted to be.”

“Until?”

He looked at me.

“Until a wrong-number text from a heartbroken stranger. Until you.”

He pulled me close.

“You make me want to try again, Mia. You make me want to feel something beyond just existing.”

“That’s terrifying and exciting in equal measure.”

“I know the feeling.”

I pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“This is probably crazy, right? We barely know each other.”

“Completely crazy. But sometimes the crazy choices are the ones worth making.”

His phone buzzed, and when he glanced at it, his expression changed.

“I need to take this. Business. Give me 5 minutes.”

He moved to the other side of the yacht and spoke in rapid Italian. I could not follow it, but I caught certain words. Problem. Handled. Tomorrow.

When he returned, his expression was carefully neutral.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just a work issue that needs attention tomorrow.”

He settled beside me.

“But today is about you. About us. Work can wait.”

As the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and pink, Dante guided the yacht back to shore.

“Thank you for today,” I said as he helped me off the boat. “This was unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

“Very good unexpected.”

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

“When do I see you again?”

“Tomorrow night. Dinner. Somewhere nice. I want to show you off.”

His hand found mine.

“And Mia, delete Derek’s number. Block him completely. He doesn’t get to have any piece of you anymore.”

The command should have bothered me.

Instead, it felt like protection.

“Understood.”

On the drive home, my phone buzzed with a text from Derek.

We need to talk. I made a mistake. Please just hear me out.

I showed Dante at a red light.

His jaw tightened.

“What do you want me to do about him?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing illegal,” I said quickly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

His eyes met mine.

“Do you want him gone? Scared? Hurt? Say the word, Mia. He hurt you. That requires consequences.”

The casual offer of violence should have terrified me.

Instead, I felt protected.

“Just make him leave me alone. Whatever it takes to make him understand I’m done.”

“Consider it handled.”

That night, Derek’s number mysteriously stopped working. When Bailey checked for me, she discovered that his social media accounts had been hacked and compromised. His car had a boot on it for numerous unpaid tickets that had not existed the day before. His work computer had been infected with a virus that shut down all his important files.

I texted Dante.

Did you do this?

Do what?

You know what.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. But hypothetically, if someone were to discourage your ex from contacting you, wouldn’t that be a good thing?

Hypothetically, yes.

Then, hypothetically, you’re welcome. Sweet dreams, Mia.

I fell asleep smiling, feeling safer than I had in years.

By day 7, 1 week had passed.

That was how long it took Dante Caruso to completely upend my life.

Seven days of dinners at restaurants where reservations required months of waiting, yet he somehow always had a table. Seven days of morning texts that made me smile before I had even had coffee. Seven days of feeling desired and valued in ways Derek had never managed in 3 years.

Seven days of falling for a man who was definitely dangerous and possibly organized crime.

“You’re glowing,” Bailey observed during our weekly brunch. “It’s disgusting. I’m happy for you, and also deeply concerned.”

“I know it’s fast.”

“Fast?” she said. “Mia, a week ago you were crying over Derek. Now you’re dating a man who may or may not be a mobster and looking at him like he hung the moon.”

She took a sip of mimosa.

“I’m not judging. Well, I’m judging a little. Mostly, I’m worried.”

“I’m being careful.”

“Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re diving headfirst into something that could be very dangerous.”

Her expression softened.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Or worse.”

“Dante would never hurt me.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve known him 1 week. People can hide who they really are for way longer than that.”

She had a point.

But something about Dante felt right in a way nothing with Derek ever had. Like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place.

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But Bailey, when I’m with him, I feel alive. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me want to take risks I’ve spent my whole life avoiding. Isn’t that worth something?”

“It’s worth something,” she said. “Just promise me you’ll be smart. No moving in together after 2 weeks. No getting engaged after a month. No doing anything that makes me have to identify your body.”

“That’s very dark.”

“That’s very realistic, given his background.”

But she was smiling.

“Fine. I support this reckless phase you’re going through. Just keep me updated and share your location at all times.”

My phone buzzed.

Dante.

Missing you. What are you doing tonight?

Brunch with Bailey. No plans after.

Change of plans. Pack a bag. We’re going away for the weekend.

I showed Bailey the message.

“He wants me to go away with him for the weekend.”

“Away where?”

“He didn’t say.”

“And you’re going to go to an undisclosed location with a man you’ve known for 7 days?”

At my expression, she sighed.

“Of course you are. At least tell me where once you know so I can send the police to the right place when you inevitably get murdered.”

I texted him back.

Where are we going?

It’s a surprise. Somewhere beautiful and private. Just you and me. Say yes, Mia.

Yes. What should I pack?

Something comfortable and something fancy. I’ll pick you up at 5.

“He’s being deliberately mysterious,” Bailey said. “That’s either very romantic or very serial killer.”

“You need to stop with the serial killer thing.”

“And you need to start being more cautious.”

But she was already helping me plan outfits.

“If you’re going to do this, at least look amazing doing it.”

Dante arrived at exactly 5, driving a sleek silver sports car that probably cost more than my student loans. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black Henley that showed off his build and tattoos.

“Ready for an adventure?” he asked, taking my bag and loading it into the trunk.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“And ruin the surprise? Never.”

He opened my door with the old-fashioned courtesy that should not have been attractive but absolutely was.

“Trust me, Mia. You’re going to love it.”

The drive took 2 hours north along the coast. We talked about everything and nothing: my design work, his businesses, music preferences, and embarrassing childhood stories. With every mile, I relaxed further, the comfortable intimacy between us deepening.

As the sun began to set, I asked, “Can I ask you something, and will you give me an honest answer?”

“Depends on the question.”

His tone was serious.

“Are you in the mafia?”

He did not answer immediately. His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“What would you do if I said yes?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I need to know what I’m getting into, Dante. What being with you actually means.”

“Fair enough.”

He pulled off the highway onto a smaller road.

“The truth is this. My family has deep connections to organizations that operate outside the law. I don’t personally engage in criminal activity, but I benefit from the protection and resources those connections provide. Does that make me complicit? Probably. Does it make me a member? No. But it makes me adjacent enough that the distinction doesn’t matter to most people.”

“So you’re mob-adjacent.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

He glanced at me.

“Does that change things between us?”

To be continued… Click “PART 3” to read the final part : 👉 PART 3 👈