The Don's Late-Night Texts

For an entire year, I'd been in an online relationship with a guy named Gravano. We were deep in the honeymoon phase—every night, his messages would light up my phone like clockwork, sending my pulse racing and my cheeks burning. [Thinking about you, baby.] [Had another dream about you last night. You were on top of me, begging for more.] [Promise me we'll never be apart. Okay?] I was about to suggest we finally meet in person. Then he sent me a picture—and the man in it was my boss. The most notorious playboy in the entire city. I decided to break it off, convinced he'd been playing me for a fool. But just days after I sent Gravano my breakup text, a man who looked exactly like my boss cornered me against the wall and asked, his voice low and dangerous— "Didn't we promise each other... forever?" Chapter 1 I worked at Blue Moon Financial—the most prestigious firm in Chicago. But behind the glass towers and polished marble lobbies, it was owned by the Castellano family. The most feared Italian mafia in the Midwest. And my boss, Vito Castellano, was a made man. A capo in the family's inner circle. I hated him. Not because he was in the mob—honestly, in this city, clean money was harder to come by. I hated him because he had a reputation that followed him everywhere: the playboy. Vito swapped women faster than he swapped his sports cars. Last month's cover girl was this month's B-list actress. The man I'd been talking to online, Gravano, couldn't have been more different. Gravano was gentle. Devoted. Every word he typed felt soaked in honey. We talked all night. Then a week. A month. A year. For twelve months straight, he messaged me every single night without fail. [Thinking about you, baby.] [Passed by a bookstore today. Saw a poetry collection and thought of you.] [Had another dream about you last night. You were on top of me, begging for more. I kissed that little mole on your collarbone in my dream—and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day.] I was mid-sip of my coffee when I read that one. Nearly choked. I typed back: [You've got quite the imagination.] He replied instantly: [Not imagination. A preview.] My face was hot enough to fry an egg on. Sometimes he sent voice messages late at night, his voice pitched low like he was afraid of waking someone up, husky and rough as he said my name: "Bella, you asleep? I miss you. Don't turn your phone off tonight, okay? I can't sleep. I just want to hear you breathe." "We're going to meet. We're going to be together for real. We'll never be apart, right?" I admitted it. I fell hard. We'd been talking online for over three hundred days—sharing everything from childhood scars to life dreams—but I'd never seen his face. He always dodged video calls, saying he wanted to "keep a little mystery." I thought it was romantic. I'd even started planning when and where we'd finally meet in person. Last Thursday, I pulled the night shift. Didn't get home until two in the morning. I collapsed onto my bed, completely wrecked. My phone lit up—a message from Gravano. [Had to handle some business at the family estate today. I'm wiped.] Attached was a photo. Taken from inside a car. Outside the window was the Castellano family's lakeside estate—the iron gate bearing the family crest, a falcon with its wings spread, gleaming cold under the moonlight. But what made my pupils contract wasn't the gate. It was the man's face reflected in the car window. That face—I saw it at least three times a day at the office. Vito Castellano. My boss. The playboy. I stared at that reflection for a full five minutes. He was wearing a black shirt in the photo, that casual, careless smirk on his lips—the same one I saw every damn day—and it looked nothing like the gentle smile I'd imagined every time Gravano whispered "Goodnight, my princess." Nausea crawled up my throat. An entire year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Every single "I only love you" he'd ever typed—right as he hit send, there was probably another woman sitting on the couch next to him. My fingers were shaking as I typed out the words: [We're done.] Then I blocked him. Every platform. Every number. I threw my phone to the foot of the bed and pulled the covers over my head like some goddamn ostrich burying its face in the sand. I didn't cry. I just felt cold. Chapter 2 The days that followed, I turned myself into a work machine. First one in the office, last one out, crunching spreadsheets until three in the morning. Annie said it was post-breakup syndrome, using work to numb myself. I didn't argue. But what hurt worse was having to face Vito's face every single day. "Bella, these numbers are off. Redo them." "Bella, working this weekend." "Bella, you haven't smiled lately. You used to look pretty when you smiled." He stood next to my cubicle, that infuriating smirk on his lips, handing me coffee while his fingers brushed deliberately against the back of my hand. I pulled back and grabbed my own cup, the black coffee that had gone cold hours ago. "Boss, I'll handle my work. Save the extra effort." Vito raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning to walk away. Still, I felt his gaze linger on my back long after he'd left. Friday night, the quarterly celebration was held at the top floor of the Palma Hotel. All management had to attend. Vito personally delivered the notice, locking eyes with me as he said, "Bella, don't make excuses. You have to come." That night, I wore a simple black dress, pinned my hair up, and painted my lips fire-engine red. The woman in the mirror looked sharp, composed, but her eyes held a layer of exhaustion that no lipstick could hide. The top floor of the Palma Hotel blazed with light, crystal chandeliers scattering gold like shattered coins. I stood in the corner with a glass of sparkling water. Vito worked the room like a peacock in full display, white suit, hair slicked back, surrounded by three or four women in gowns, their laughter rising and falling around him. I stared at him, my grip tightening on my glass until my knuckles went white. Alcohol burned through my veins. Three glasses of champagne in, Vito's face blurred with the reflection in that car window. Thinking about you, baby. Had another dream about you last night. Liar. I didn't remember when the champagne turned into whiskey. Annie tried to stop me. I pushed her off. Then I saw Vito walking toward me. Martini in hand, that sickening smile on his face. "Bella, you look gorgeous tonight." I stared at him. That face. Identical to Gravano's. Same jawline. Same sharp features. But the smile was wrong. "You liar." The words came out louder than I'd intended. Vito's smile froze. "What?" "A year." I stood up, my glass tilting in my grip. "A whole damn year. You messaged me every night, said you missed me, said I was your one and only, and what was the result?" The room went quiet. Annie grabbed my arm. I shook her off. "The result is you were swapping women every goddamn day!" I hurled my glass at him. The liquor splashed out, right across the chest of his white suit. Brown liquid dripped down the expensive fabric. Chapter 3 The room went dead silent. Vito looked down at the stain spreading across his chest, then back up at me. His face was a mess of emotions I couldn't read, confusion, shock. "Bella, what are you talking about? Gravano—" "Don't you fucking call me Bella!" I screamed. "You liar! You played me for a year! I saved every single goodnight you ever sent me, and you were out there with your lips on someone else!" I shoved past him and ran. My heels skidded on the marble floor. The whiskey hit me all at once, my stomach churning, my vision blurring into a wash of color. I made it a few steps down the hall, gripping the wall, then my knees gave out and I started to fall. Someone caught me from behind. An arm hooked around my waist, steady and strong, pulling me back against a warm chest. I caught a faint scent of cedar. "Let go of me..." I struggled. "Liar..." "Bella, you've got the wrong person." A low voice came from above me. I forced my head up, tears blurring my vision, and saw a face. Identical to Vito's. But the eyes were gray-green, cold as winter seawater, yet burning with something scorching hot. I froze for two seconds. Then I struggled harder. I wrenched myself free, stumbling toward the elevator. Every step felt like walking through quicksand. The doors slid open and I fell inside, jabbing the close button with shaking fingers. Through the narrowing gap, I saw the gray-green eyed man lunging toward me. "Bella, listen to me—I'm not—" The doors closed. The numbers ticked down, one by one. I slumped against the cold metal wall, tears streaming down my face. The elevator hit the ground floor. The doors opened and cold air rushed in. I staggered out, half-blind. Someone called my name in the lobby. I couldn't hear straight. Then hands caught me, women's hands, slim and warm. "Bella? Are you okay?" Annie. I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but my tongue wouldn't work. Everything went black, and I crumpled. Monday morning, I walked into work. The second I stepped through the doors of Blue Moon, the receptionist dropped her gaze. Men in the hallway exchanged loaded glances. Voices drifted out of the break room, low but not low enough. "That's the one. Dumped a whole drink on Vito." "Is she insane? Does she want to get fired?" "Vito's soft on her, I guess. She's not bad looking..." I walked into the office and every pair of eyes locked on me. Some curious, some pitying. Most of them just waiting for the show. A new email popped up. From Vito: "Come to my office." Chapter 4 Vito's office was spotless today. The liquor-stained white suit was gone. He sat in his leather chair, dark circles under his eyes, stubble rough on his jaw. "Sit." He pointed at the chair across from him. "Bella, I can let Friday night slide. But—" He leaned back. "The Colombo family deal. Dominic specifically requested that you go to his office alone to present." "Alone?" I frowned. "Alone." A smirk tugged at his lips. "He said he admires you. Wants to have a deeper conversation. Bella, you know what that means." Of course I knew. Dominic Colombo, that greasy smiling snake. A man in his forties who wore three rings on his fingers and had wandering eyes. "Boss, I'm a strategist, not a PR girl." "Bella." Vito stood up too, his voice turning cold. "You didn't think about consequences when you dumped that drink on me. I'm giving you an out here. Don't be ungrateful." "Are you serious?" Vito avoided my gaze, flipping through papers with forced nonchalance. "Dead serious. Tomorrow afternoon. You go alone. No negotiation." The office door swung open. No knock. A man stood there. Tall. Dark gray suit, collar buttoned to the top, hair slicked back, jaw tight. He looked almost identical to Vito, but his eyes were gray-green, and right now they were fixed on Vito with a heavy, unblinking stare. Vito faltered. "Brother? What are you doing here?" The man didn't look at him. His gaze swept over me once, then returned to Vito. "I'm taking over the Colombo account. All future communication goes through me. No solo meetings from your side." Vito's expression shifted. "Brother, this is my project—" "Your project?" Those gray-green eyes turned to ice. "Sending her alone to Dominic? Vito, she dumped a drink on you when she was drunk, and you're handing her over to that man?" Vito said nothing. The man stepped between us, his back to me, shoulders rigid. "Her direct supervisor is now me. Starting today, Bella reports to me." "Come with me." He tilted his head toward the door. I followed him out. My head was spinning. I didn't know Vito had a twin brother. And worse than that, I might have gotten my online boyfriend completely wrong. Every colleague in the hallway dropped their eyes, heads practically buried in their screens. He pushed open the door at the end of the hall, the one that was always closed. It clicked shut behind us. Just the two of us. He stood at the window, back to me, hands braced on the sill, shoulders rising and falling slowly. A long silence. Then he turned around. "Bella." His voice was hoarse. He walked toward me, stopped inches away, and lowered his head until his forehead nearly touched mine. That cedar scent, the same one from that night when he caught me. "You... you know me?" "I've known you for a year." His voice cracked. "The books you love. The food you hate. The way you toss and turn and rewrite spreadsheets when you can't sleep. You named a stray cat Lucky. You told me you cried all night when your grandmother got sick. Bella, every single 'I miss you' I ever said was real. Every time I said I wanted you, I meant it." He raised his hand, his fingertips brushing the corner of my eye. "I'm Gravano. My name is Luca. Luca Castellano." His thumb stopped at the corner of my eye, trembling. "Bella," he whispered against my forehead, "didn't you say we'd never break up?"