The Mafia King's Obsession

Chapter 6

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of research and unanswered questions.

No matter how many files I reviewed, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

Not something obvious.

Something small.

The kind of detail that seemed insignificant until it suddenly wasn't.

I tapped my pen against my desk.

A habit David Foster hated.

Unfortunately for him, thinking made me restless.

And restless people tapped things.

Sophia looked up from her computer.

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Trying to stare a mystery into existence."

I laughed.

"Is that a thing?"

"For you? Apparently."

I tossed a paperclip at her.

She caught it effortlessly.

Show-off.

My attention returned to the notes spread across my desk.

The Moretti Foundation.

Board members.

Charitable donations.

Corporate partnerships.

Everything appeared legitimate.

More than legitimate.

Impressive.

Which should have been reassuring.

Instead, it made me suspicious.

Not because I thought Alessandro Moretti was hiding something.

Not exactly.

But because people rarely became as powerful as he was without making enemies.

Yet every article I read painted the same picture.

Successful.

Generous.

Respected.

Untouchable.

It felt too simple.

And human beings were rarely simple.

"Still thinking about Moretti?"

I looked up.

Sophia had abandoned all pretense of working.

"Maybe."

She grinned.

"You're obsessed."

"I'm researching."

"Same thing."

"It's literally my job."

Her grin widened.

"I stand by my statement."

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.

A text message from Aunt Clara.

Don't forget we're having dinner with Mrs. Peterson tonight.

I stared at the message.

Then groaned.

Sophia immediately noticed.

"What happened?"

"Neighborhood dinner."

"Oh no."

The dramatic horror in her voice made me laugh.

"You understand."

"Of course I understand."

She placed a hand over her heart.

"Nothing is more dangerous than a gathering of middle-aged women with unlimited gossip."

I pointed at her.

"Exactly."

"You're doomed."

Probably.

Mrs. Peterson had known me since childhood.

Which meant she still viewed me as a twelve-year-old who needed life advice.

Lots of life advice.

None of it requested.

---

Three hours later, I was sitting in Mrs. Peterson's dining room wondering if it was possible to disappear politely.

The answer, unfortunately, appeared to be no.

Mrs. Peterson smiled warmly from across the table.

"You work too much."

There it was.

Advice number one.

Right on schedule.

Beside me, Aunt Clara was trying very hard not to laugh.

Traitor.

"I'm fine."

Mrs. Peterson shook her head.

"No young woman should spend all her time working."

I took a sip of water.

Dangerous move.

Because it prevented me from defending myself.

"She's ambitious," Aunt Clara said.

A hint of pride warmed her voice.

The feeling settled somewhere deep inside my chest.

Even after all these years, hearing Aunt Clara defend me still meant something.

Mrs. Peterson sighed dramatically.

"Ambition is wonderful."

I sensed a but approaching.

"But?"

"But she should also enjoy life."

There it was.

I almost laughed.

The conversation continued for another hour.

Work.

Family.

Neighbors.

Community events.

The usual topics.

Yet despite my earlier complaints, I found myself enjoying it.

Maybe because it reminded me of something important.

My world wasn't glamorous.

It wasn't filled with luxury penthouses or billionaire galas.

It was filled with ordinary people.

Good people.

People who cared about each other.

People who showed up when someone needed help.

The kind of people who made a neighborhood feel like home.

And for the first time, I wondered how different Alessandro Moretti's world must be.

The thought arrived unexpectedly.

Then lingered.

A billionaire.

A CEO.

One of the most influential men in the city.

What did a life like that even look like?

The question wasn't romantic.

Or admiring.

Just curious.

Because our worlds couldn't have been more different.

I pushed the thought away.

It didn't matter.

In less than two days, I'd attend the gala, write my story, and return to my normal life.

Simple.

Straightforward.

Predictable.

At least, that was the plan.

---

Later that night, I sat alone in my room.

The apartment was quiet.

Aunt Clara had gone to bed.

The city lights shimmered beyond my window.

And I was staring at my laptop instead of sleeping.

Again.

A notification appeared on the screen.

A new article.

The headline immediately caught my attention.

MORETTI HOLDINGS ANNOUNCES MAJOR INTERNATIONAL EXPANSION

I clicked before I could stop myself.

The article wasn't particularly interesting.

Business numbers.

Investments.

Future projections.

The kind of thing most readers skimmed.

But one paragraph made me pause.

According to the article, Alessandro Moretti had canceled several public appearances during the previous month.

No explanation was provided.

Interesting.

Not suspicious.

Just unusual.

Most high-profile executives loved publicity.

Alessandro seemed strangely selective about it.

I leaned back in my chair.

Maybe that was why he fascinated the public.

Not because he was constantly visible.

Because he wasn't.

People always wanted what felt slightly out of reach.

The thought made me smile.

Then I checked the time.

Midnight.

Wonderful.

I closed the laptop immediately.

If Aunt Clara discovered I was still awake, I'd never hear the end of it.

I crawled into bed and switched off the light.

Darkness filled the room.

For several minutes, I simply listened to the distant sounds of the city.

A siren.

Passing traffic.

Rainwater dripping from rooftops.

Normal sounds.

Comforting sounds.

Slowly, my eyes drifted shut.

The gala was tomorrow.

One final day of preparation.

One final day before everything changed.

I didn't know it yet.

But while I lay in bed imagining interviews and career opportunities, another story was already unfolding elsewhere in the city.

A darker story.

A more dangerous one.

A story hidden behind the polished image of Moretti Holdings.

And very soon, those two stories were going to collide.

When they did, there would be no turning back.

Because fate had already begun moving the pieces into place.

And neither Alessandro Moretti nor I had any idea how much our lives were about to change.

------------------

The morning of the gala arrived with an uncomfortable amount of pressure.

I knew that sounded dramatic.

Technically, it was just another assignment.

A charity gala.

An article.

A deadline.

Nothing extraordinary.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

Unfortunately, my nerves refused to cooperate.

By the time I arrived in the kitchen, Aunt Clara was already drinking coffee and watching me pace.

"You've walked past the refrigerator six times."

I stopped.

"No, I haven't."

"You have."

"I was thinking."

"You were pacing."

I sighed and poured myself coffee.

The rich smell instantly improved my mood.

Slightly.

Aunt Clara watched me over the rim of her mug.

"Nervous?"

"A little."

"A little?"

I frowned.

"Fine. A lot."

"There she is."

I rolled my eyes.

Somehow, she always knew exactly what I was feeling before I said a word.

"You're going to do great."

"What if I don't?"

"Then you'll learn from it."

Not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for.

Apparently she noticed.

Because she laughed softly and reached across the table.

"Sweetheart, one event won't define your future."

I knew she was right.

Logically.

Emotionally, however, logic wasn't particularly helpful.

Because this assignment mattered.

A lot.

The opportunity felt important.

Bigger than anything I'd handled before.

And deep down, I was terrified of wasting it.

Aunt Clara squeezed my hand.

"You belong in that room."

The simple certainty in her voice made something loosen inside my chest.

Because sometimes confidence borrowed from someone else was enough.

At least temporarily.

---

The newsroom was buzzing when I arrived.

Even more than usual.

Reporters hurried between desks.

Phones rang nonstop.

Editors barked instructions.

The political investigation continued growing, pulling more and more people into its orbit.

Meanwhile, I had exactly one focus.

Tonight.

The gala.

My desk was covered with notes.

Guest lists.

Background information.

Questions I wanted to ask.

Potential angles for the article.

I reviewed everything one final time.

Then reviewed it again.

And once more after that.

Sophia appeared carrying two coffees.

One landed on my desk.

The other remained in her hand.

"Intervention."

I looked up.

"What?"

"You've been staring at those notes for twenty minutes."

"Research."

"Obsessing."

I accepted the coffee.

"Research."

She sat on the edge of my desk.

"You're prepared."

"I know."

"Then stop panicking."

"I am not panicking."

Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"You color-coded your notes."

I immediately looked away.

"That's unrelated."

She laughed.

"Sure."

Before I could defend myself, a shadow fell across the desk.

Both of us looked up.

David Foster.

Sophia wisely retreated.

Coward.

David's attention settled on me.

"Ready?"

The question carried more weight than it should have.

I swallowed.

"Yes."

He studied me for a moment.

Long enough to make me wonder if he believed that answer.

Finally, he nodded.

"Good."

Then he handed me a slim black folder.

I blinked.

"What's this?"

"Additional information."

Of course it was.

Because apparently the universe believed I didn't already have enough reading material.

I opened it.

Inside were updated guest profiles and event notes.

Several names had been highlighted.

Politicians.

Investors.

Business leaders.

People worth paying attention to.

My pulse quickened.

The event suddenly felt even more significant.

David folded his arms.

"Listen carefully."

Instantly, I straightened.

"I don't need a summary of the evening."

His voice remained calm.

"I need observations."

I nodded.

"Okay."

"Watch people."

Another nod.

"Listen more than you speak."

That one earned a small smile.

"I can do that."

His expression suggested doubt.

Fair.

I talked more than I realized.

"Most people focus on what influential individuals say publicly."

His eyes sharpened slightly.

"I care about what happens when they think nobody is paying attention."

A thrill ran through me.

Because that was exactly the kind of journalism I admired.

The details beneath the surface.

The moments others missed.

The truth hidden inside ordinary interactions.

David pointed at the folder.

"Find me something real."

Then he walked away.

Just like that.

Sophia immediately returned.

"What did he say?"

I closed the folder.

"He wants something real."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh."

Exactly.

Oh.

The pressure somehow managed to increase.

---

The hours crawled by.

Every glance at the clock felt slower than the last.

By lunchtime, I could barely focus.

By three o'clock, my concentration was hopeless.

By five, I was ready to leave.

Which was unfortunate because I couldn't leave yet.

The gala wouldn't begin until evening.

Meaning I had several more hours to survive.

Sophia eventually gave up pretending to work.

"You're impossible today."

"Helpful."

"I'm serious."

She pointed at me.

"You've checked the time seventeen times."

"You counted?"

"Of course."

I laughed.

The familiar exchange helped.

A little.

Eventually, the workday ended.

People began leaving.

The newsroom slowly emptied.

And suddenly it was time.

Real time.

Not preparation.

Not planning.

Not imagining.

The actual event.

My stomach flipped.

Sophia noticed immediately.

"You're going to be fine."

"I know."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I'm trying."

She smiled.

Then, unexpectedly, she pulled me into a hug.

The gesture caught me completely off guard.

"You deserve this opportunity."

Emotion flickered briefly through me.

Because despite all her teasing, Sophia believed in me.

Really believed in me.

Sometimes more than I believed in myself.

"Thank you."

She stepped back.

"Now go make us all jealous."

I laughed.

Then grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator.

My pulse quickened with every step.

Tonight mattered.

Maybe more than I wanted to admit.

And somewhere across the city, preparations for the gala were already underway.

Guests would arrive.

Photographers would gather.

Powerful people would smile for cameras.

Deals would be discussed.

Secrets would be exchanged.

And for the first time in my life, I would be standing in the middle of that world.

A world that belonged to people like Alessandro Moretti.

A world that looked glamorous from the outside.

A world I was about to discover for myself.

What I didn't realize was that before the night ended, I would come face-to-face with the man whose name had dominated my thoughts for days.

And that single meeting would change everything.

To be continued............