Married To The Cold Mafia Boss

Both Sides Of The Lie

Aria

Breakfast was quiet.

The kind of quiet where two people kept trying to measure each other’s strength and weakness without showing it.

Alessio sat across from me with black coffee and those dark, unreadable eyes fixed on me a second too long each time.

I stabbed at my eggs, barely eating.

We talked about logistics. The surgeon that will test me, the transfer papers, moving my father into a private facility closer to the estate.

Alessio made two short calls, and by the time my coffee cooled, the surgery was scheduled for next Thursday.

Just like that.

One breakfast, and my life's trajectory changed.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead I felt cornered.

---

"There's one more thing," he said.

"That sentence has never led anywhere good."

"I want you to move into the estate."

My fork paused midair.

"I'm sorry?"

"Temporarily."

"The word temporarily is doing a lot of heavy lifting there." I said dryly.

"Dr. Ferrante needs consistency for the testing."

"You mean surveillance."

"I mean efficiency."

I stared at him.

"You really don't hear how villainous you sound, do you?"

"I've heard worse."

"I bet your online reviews are terrifying."

That tiny almost-smile touched the corner of his mouth again, but it was gone instantly.

"I already have an apartment," I said.

"You had an apartment."

My stomach tightened.

"What does that mean?"

"You were behind on rent. I handled it this morning."

I went still, as the eggs I ate threatened to make a reappearance.

"You paid my landlord?"

"Yes."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You didn't ask me to arrange your father's surgery either."

The anger came fast, before I could control it.

"You don't get to buy pieces of my life because you can afford to."

"I don't do it because I can afford to," he said evenly. "I do it because unresolved problems are inefficient."

I laughed once, totally unamused.

"You planned this."

"I prepared."

"It's the same thing."

"Not to me."

---

I looked out the window.

People were crossing streets, holding coffees, living ordinary lives.

Meanwhile every decision I'd made since yesterday had quietly locked behind me.

And the worst part?

A small piece of me felt safer because of it.

That's dangerous.

"Fine," I said.

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"I'll move in."

"Good. I'll have your things collected."

"My things fit into two duffel bags. Let's not make it dramatic."

---

The estate looked even colder in daylight.

Beautiful in the same way museums were beautiful; expensive and untouchable.

Ricardo led me upstairs with the calm professionalism of a man who had probably seen every strange thing this family did and chosen survival over curiosity.

"Mr. Moretti wants you comfortable, Miss Salvi."

"That sounds expensive."

He opened the double doors.

The room was larger than my apartment.

It had cream walls, tall windows and a fireplace that looked decorative rather than functional.

I stood there holding my worn duffel bag like I'd wandered into the wrong movie set.

"If you need anything," Ricardo said gently, "please ask."

"Do you happen to have a handbook titled How to Survive Emotionally Repressed Billionaires?"

To my surprise, he laughed quietly.

"I'll see what I can find."

That almost made me smile.

Once he left, the silence shifted.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

And suddenly, my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I already knew who it was.

My office. Four o'clock. Come alone. Use the east gate. — V

I stared at the message.

Of course Vittorio knew already.

Breakfast, the apartment move, prrobably what brand of jam I'd chosen.

He knows everything.

I had just two hours.

---

Getting out turned out to be embarrassingly easier than I thought.

Ricardo pointed me toward the east garden without a single question.

Either the staff here were trained not to notice things or this family had exhausted everyone's ability to be surprised.

The black car waiting beyond the gate didn't bother pretending to be subtle.

---

Vittorio stood at the window when I entered.

His suit was perfect, tailor-made. There was a little silver at his temples, the only sign of his declining age.

His posture was still firm, that of a man accustomed to controlling outcomes before other people realized games were being played.

I sat without waiting for permission.

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

"You moved in quickly."

"I didn't have much choice. Your son is quitepersuasive."

"You always have a choice, Aria."

"The surgery is confirmed."

"I know."

Of course he did.

I crossed my arms.

"There was a photographer outside the restaurant this morning."

"Yes."

No hesitation, no apology.

"You had us followed."

"I needed documentation."

"For what?"

His expression never shifted.

"When the relationship becomes public, questions will be asked."

Relationship, not marriage.

Interesting choice.

"He doesn't know," I said quietly.

"No."

"And when he finds out?"

"He won't," Vittorio said evenly. "Not until it no longer matters."

I thought about Alessio across the breakfast table.

The way he'd watched me.

The way his hand had stayed over mine longer than necessary.

Guilt settled low and heavy in my chest.

"You're using both of us."

"I'm trying to save my son."

For one second he looked tired, not powerful, not manipulative.

Just tired.

Then it disappeared.

"Is there anything else you aren't telling me?" I asked.

A pause.

"Many things."

---

I got back to the estate just after five.

I used the side entrance, quietly moving up the stairs.

I almost made it upstairs.

Then I heard Alessio's low and controlled voice from the study below.

I should have kept walking.

I stopped anyways, listening to his conversation.

"She's clean," Marco said. "Nothing suspicious except the debt."

"And my father."

"And your father."

Silence.

Then Alessio spoke.

"I think she was placed."

My grip tightened around the railing.

"You think she's working for Vittorio?" Marco asked.

"I think my father created the situation." Alessio's voice stayed calm."And I think she accepted it because she needed something."

He's not wrong.

The thought hit harder than it should have.

"And the touching?" Marco asked. "You think that was planned too?"

A long silence.

When Alessio answered, his voice was quieter.

"No. That part was real."

Something in my chest twisted painfully.

"Then what is she?" Marco asked.

Another pause.

Useful.

Necessary.

Temporary.

I waited for one of those words.

Instead Alessio said quietly, "I haven't figured that out yet. She's a mission."

I stepped back before they could hear me breathing, and quietly walked upstairs.

I closed my bedroom door softly behind me.

Then stood there in the dark, staring at nothing.

We were both lying.

Both pretending.

Both waiting for the other person to break first.

The difference was that Alessio expected betrayal.

I hadn't expected him to matter enough to make it hurt.