The Mafia Don's Mistress

Two

I'm nervously tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as I navigate through the maze of Bellacity’s winding streets. Last night was a sleepless blur, my mind is haunted by the memory of Alessandro’s intense gaze and the shiver his voice sent down my spine. Even the scent of his cologne still lingers in my nose. How could a stranger, a dangerous one at that, unsettle me so deeply with so few words? I shake off the memory. I need to focus on my work, not on the enigmatic man who is behind bars now.

Dell said I had done a good job and that I shouldn’t worry about my safety because he could guarantee it, but no matter how hard he tried to convince me, I couldn’t help but worry. He wouldn’t understand even one bit of it because I was the one who was forced to seduce one of the most ruthless people not just in the city, but in the country. I was the one tasked with getting him apprehended. Me, some stranger from a different land who no one would miss if I disappeared. I took a risk that could cost me my life, and that’s why I could barely sleep last night. The only consolation I have, one that isn’t even quite a consolation because I could be wrong, is that he didn’t get to see me beyond the mask covering half of my face. He could use my photos to track me, but I am not a well-known photographer in the city. I have only had a couple of clients in the last few months since I moved here, and the only reason I got to display my work at the masquerade ball is because the FBI made it possible. That was my first time having my work out in public. The guys at the FBI said I was safe, they said I did a good job, and that there was no way any of Alessandro’s people would know me, but I still can’t help but worry.

My phone buzzes, and Dell’s name flashes on the screen. I hit the speaker button, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Hey, Dell.”

“Hey, are you there yet? She is so keen on punctuality.”

I scoff and let out a sigh. “According to my GPS, I should be there in the next ten minutes.”

“Oh, that’s good; I will let her know that.”

So, Dell got me a client for a boudoir photo shoot. This is going to be my very first high-end client, and to say I am excited is an understatement. I am still in shock that someone as famous as Eleonora Marino would want me as her photographer. She is one of the most famous actresses, both local and international, and I get to have a private boudoir session with her. It is like a dream come true.

“Thank you for this,” I say, and he chuckles on the other end of the call.

“You know I got you.”

Before I left home, my mom had called Dell’s dad. Although she didn’t give me many details, she told him to take me in when I came into the country. That's when I met Dell. My mom had already talked to them about everything that happened with my father—his sudden disappearance after he came here—and that's how I got involved with the FBI and got to know Dell. He is the closest friend I have made here. Sure, I have made a couple of other friendships, but ours has been the strongest. He cares for me, and I appreciate it. I glance at the GPS again, frowning as the little blue dot representing my car seems to be heading into unfamiliar territory.

“Uh, Dell, I think I’m lost,” I say, slowing down the car and trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

“What? Did you follow the map? 1520 Willow Street?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yes, but it keeps telling me to take a left turn, and there is no left turn here.” This is one thing I hate about going to a new place; you can’t fully depend on Google Maps for clear directions.

“Maybe you should just keep driving ahead. It’s probably up ahead,” he says, and I nod as I step on the gas.

“Yeah, probably.”

I let out a sigh of relief when I see a left turn ahead, but the GPS keeps screaming at me to turn back.

“Dell, I found the left turn, but this damn robot doesn’t think it’s the right one.” It is starting to frustrate me because, one, I don’t want to get lost in a secluded part of town, and two, I don’t want to be late for my appointment.

“Is there any signpost around you, any landmark that you can see?” he asks, and I look around, but there is nothing of the sort. Just greenery and a couple of buildings in the distance.

“No.”

“Well, try to find one, and I will have Elen send someone to come pick you up.” I see a post that says Millow Street, and I crease my brows in confusion.

“Wait, Dell, did you say Willow or Millow Street?”

“Willow Street, Renée. I think you must have taken a wrong turn a few blocks back. A lot of people confuse the two. Just drive back, and you'll be back on track.” I groan in frustration and grip the steering wheel tighter as I make a U-turn at the next intersection.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll call you when I get there.” I hang up the call and keep driving. I wish Dell had accompanied me, but he said they were following up on a case, so he couldn’t make it. I keep driving, but I can’t seem to find the street. The more I drive, the more I realize I might be going in the wrong direction. This is a part of town that I don’t recognize. The houses are larger and more imposing, and the streets are quieter. I pull over to check the GPS again, frustrated. It has been announcing “Recalculating route” for the third time in the last ten minutes, and I don’t think I can depend on it anymore.

My phone beeps with a low battery warning, and I take a deep breath to stay calm as I plug it into the charger. The GPS recalibrates, showing I’m still off course. At this point, I feel if I try to follow it, I might get even more lost, so I decide to trust my instincts. I just have to drive until I see the street name or a friendly face to ask. I drive slowly, scanning the street numbers, when I notice a grand ivy-covered mansion at the end of a dead-end street. I know Dell said Eleonora’s house fit this exact description, but then my GPS wouldn’t be telling me I am lost, right? I know I could turn around and drive back to where I lost my way, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask if maybe this is the right place. I pull into the driveway and take another look at the address on my phone. Before I can double-check, the front gate opens and two security guards step out, their expressions stern. One of them, a tall, striking man with dark hair and a scar across his cheek, approaches my car. His presence is commanding, and for a moment, I find myself just staring. He motions for me to roll down the window; I roll it down halfway and force a smile.

“Can I help you?” His voice is raspy and deep.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m lost,” I start, but his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“This is private property,” he says, and I nod. As if it isn’t already obvious.

“I... I’m trying to get to a photoshoot appointment for Mrs...”

“Do I know you?” he cuts me off, leaning closer with his brows raised curiously. I am confused by that question because I know that I have never met this man in my life.

“Uh… I don’t think so. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I’ll just leave.” I say, and he shakes his head.

“No, we don’t just get random people lost in these parts of the city. So I’ll ask once more: who are you?” His voice rises, and my heart races. Why do the rich always suspect everyone of being a threat? I honestly got lost.

“I’m sorry... I was looking for Willow Street. My GPS is off, and this building looked like the one I was looking for. If you don’t mind, I will just leave. I didn’t mean to bother anyone.” I don’t know why he is looking at me like I’m some terrorist. I am just a lost girl in a part of the city that I have never been to before.

“Step out of the car, ma’am.” My eyes widen, my brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“If you don’t step out, I am dragging you out,” he says in a commanding tone. As much as it feels like harassment, I don’t think I have much of an option here. The other security guy is approaching, and even if I started my car, they would probably stop me. I haven’t done anything wrong, so I sigh, giving up, and unlock the car door. He steps back as I get out of the car.

“Luca, what’s going on?” the other security guy, tall and lean, demands, taking a step closer and resting his hand on his holster.

“She claims she is lost,” Luca says, not taking his eyes off me. The other guy looks at me, his eyes squinting in curiosity.

“That is strange…”

“What do you mean strange? I was driving, my GPS kept misbehaving, and then I saw this building. Look, if you guys would just let me go, I wouldn’t be a bother.” I never even intended to be one.

I hear another car approaching. I turn to see a sleek black car pulling up. The door opens, and the first thing I see is a pair of sleek, black Oxford shoes polished to a mirror-like shine, the kind of expensive Italian leather that speaks of luxury and power. Then the black pants, the sleek black shirt with an open top button, the beard, and the face. That face. Alessandro Romano. I think I almost pee my pants. My heart is racing a million miles per hour, and I am trying so hard to stay and act cool.

“What’s the commotion here?” he asks, his eyes scanning the scene. When his gaze lands on me, his eyes widen slightly with what I presume is a flicker of recognition, then he turns and looks at Luca.

“This woman here claims she is lost,” Luca says. Alessandro turns to look at me again, this time without that hint of recognition. He scans me from head to toe as if trying to figure something out, then scoffs. For a moment, I wonder if it has anything to do with my attire. I am wearing a casual pair of flare jeans and a black crop top paired with sneakers, nothing worthy of the look he just gave me.

“Who are you?” he asks, approaching, and I can’t even explain the internal joy I feel upon realizing that he doesn’t know me.

“Uh...uh…” I stumble over my words. I can’t tell him my name. “I… I’m really sorry,” I stammer. “I was looking for Willow Street, and I got lost.” He chuckles.

“That isn’t exactly the answer to the question I asked.”

“Right.” I think I’m screwed.

Before I can say anything else, the passenger door of the other car opens, and out walks a woman. To say she is beautiful would be an understatement. I have never seen a woman so gorgeous in my life. She is dressed in a pleated yellow summer dress and a pair of open heels. Her hair—none of my human hair wigs would amount to her natural hair—is luscious with tight curls, and her makeup complements her slim face so well, one would think she was born that way. She looks like a supermodel.

“Honey, what is happening here?” she asks in a gentle tone.

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