My Mafia Fiancé’s Fake Bride

I walked towards Caius’s apartment, holster in hand.

My phone buzzed. A new social media post.

I tapped it open and froze.

It was a selfie of Fiorella, filling the whole screen.

She was smiling sweetly, a massive diamond necklace around her neck, each stone blindingly brilliant.

The caption: "Thank you to the man I love most for the most precious gift in the world."

I stopped walking, staring at that necklace.

I’d never seen anything so extravagant, so dazzling.

Even with my limited knowledge of jewelry, I knew it had to be worth a fortune.

I screenshotted it and sent it to my friend Renata, who deals in high-end luxury.

"Any idea what this is worth?"

Renata replied almost instantly. "Oh my god! Isn't that the main piece from last month's underground auction? Natural pink diamond necklace. The bidding started at ten million! It probably sold for close to thirty!"

Thirty million.

The strength drained from my legs.

Then, Renata sent another picture.

"Oh, and that necklace came with a 'gift with purchase.' This platinum and diamond bracelet. It goes for two hundred grand on its own!"

The bracelet in the photo was identical to the one on my wrist.

So that’s what I was worth. After everything, all my devotion... I was the freebie.

For him, I gave up my scholarship in Europe.

For him, I learned to bake, just because he said that after an attack, the only thing he wanted was a sweet treat from me.

For him, I learned to maintain his guns, rubbing my fingerprints raw.

For him, I even learned to gamble, winning him money in those smoke-filled, grimy underground casinos.

My gallery laundered over two hundred million in dirty money for him over the years.

But in his eyes, I was still just the student he’d once sponsored, the charity case he’d pitied enough to make his girlfriend.

He never thought I was good enough for him.

In Caius’s apartment, I handed him the holster.

He glanced at it. "We didn't finish the wedding photos. We're going back tomorrow."

"I can't. I have something."

He looked up at me, his eyes turning cold. "What's more important than our wedding photos?"

"An exhibition in New York."

"Cancel it." His voice was a clear threat.

I didn't answer.

Suddenly, Caius was on his feet, closing the distance between us.

His hand clamped on my jaw, yanking me towards him.

"Ilaria, what's gotten into you lately?"

Before I could answer, he crushed his lips against mine.

It was a kiss of possession and anger. I tasted blood.

His phone rang. That damned lullaby.

Caius immediately let me go and answered. "Fiorella? What's wrong?"

"Caius, I feel sick. Can you come be with me?"

He glanced at me, the tenderness in his eyes gone. "I'm on my way."

The door slammed shut.

See? Even with all his possessiveness, Fiorella was always his first choice.

I wiped the blood from my lip and started packing.

At 3 AM, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

Caius stood there, reeking of alcohol. "Fiorella's sick. She wants your tiramisu."

I looked at his tired face. "Now?"

"She has a fever. Sweets are the only thing that makes her feel better." He pushed his way in. "You know how fragile she is."

There were a thousand world-class bakeries in Chicago. Why did it have to be me?

But I got up and went to the kitchen anyway.

Caius followed me into the kitchen, backseat driving my every move. "Remember, not too much coffee, she hates the bitter taste. And sprinkle the cocoa powder evenly, she likes it to look pretty..."

"I know what she likes," I cut him off and started working.

An hour later, a perfect tiramisu was ready.

I wrote the recipe down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "If you need it again, any pastry chef can make it with this."

Caius stared at it, then suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Ilaria, you're being weird today." There was a hint of panic in his voice. "I brought home my favorite dress for you. The wedding will be at the family chapel. I've seen how hard you've worked all these years..."

I gently pulled my hand away and gave him a small, empty smile.

"Go to your Fiorella. She's waiting."

I pushed him out the door.

Caius stood in the hallway, a flicker of confusion and unease crossing his face.

Less than ten minutes after the door closed, my phone buzzed.

A video from Fiorella.

In the clip, she and Caius were on the sofa at the cigar club.

She took a spoonful of tiramisu and deliberately smeared it on the corner of his mouth, then stood on her toes to lick it off his lips.

Caius didn't push her away.

The caption: "This cheap thing is so bland on its own. Only tastes good when you share it with the man you love. Don't get the wrong idea, big sister. We're just playing ;)"

I watched them, and the part of my heart that had been aching for weeks finally went silent. It was dead.

I grabbed my suitcase and my burner phone. With one last look at the room I’d lived in for seven years, I switched off the light. And with a final click of the lock, I closed the door on him, on us, and on the girl I used to be.

It was over.