Begging to be Loved again by the Mafia Heiress

I heaved a sigh, struggling to hold onto the last threads of patience as I made my way toward the elevator. My first day back at work, and already the stares were burning into my back. "I still can’t believe what happened…" "Yeah, poor thing… can you imagine what she’s been through?” I cleared my throat, letting them know I’d heard. Their voices went silent, but just before the doors shut, one last whisper slipped through. "If I were her, I wouldn't be so desperate. I'd just walk away." The elevator dinged, finally reaching the 16th floor. I stepped out, grateful to leave their judging stares behind, but their words clung to me. Couldn’t they find something better to do than dissect my life? Did their worlds have so little going on that they needed to make mine their personal favorite show? My stomach twisted, a sour ache creeping up my chest. In Italy, I was somebody—the cherished daughter of a powerful family, someone who commanded respect and walked with dignity. But here? Here, I was reduced to little more than Alfonso’s discarded possession, something worn-out and replaced. The shame gnawed at me, heavily regretting the choice I made back then, blinded by the thrill of being madly in love with Alfonso, foolishly believing he felt the same way. In my office, I tried to focus on work, but the whispers lingered in my mind. Suddenly, the door opened, and it was Ava West, a junior associate who’d always been friendly. She looked hesitant, as if she didn’t know whether to approach me. “Hey, Liliana,” she said, her voice soft. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?” I appreciated her kindness, but it stung all the same. “I’m fine, Ava. Just busy,” I replied, forcing a smile. She bit her lip, glancing around as if to ensure no one was listening. “I heard what happened with Alfonso and…well, I just wanted you to know that we’re here for you. If you need anything, just say the word.” “Thanks, but I really don’t need pity,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “I just need to focus on my work.” “Of course,” she said quickly, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanted to help.” I felt a pang of guilt as she left the room, but I pushed it aside. I picked up my phone, scrolling through emails to drown out the noise in my head. After the hospital incident, I swore not to show weakness. I’d become colder with Alfonso, too. We hadn’t spoken since—just passing each other at home like strangers. It was eight o'clock in the evening. I kept my gaze fixed on my papers on the table. But Alfonso’s shadow crossed the table, impossible to ignore. Fresh from work, he stood there holding a bouquet like some prize. “Here,” he said, setting the bouquet down with a dull thud. “Roses for you.” I looked at the flowers, a faint flicker of warmth stirring—until I noticed they were red roses. I pressed my lips together, swallowing the familiar sting of disappointment. “If you’re here to apologize, the flowers aren’t necessary,” I said, nudging the bouquet away. “A simple sorry would’ve been enough.” He scoffed, his expression hardening. “What’s your problem?” “My problem?” I let out a bitter laugh, unable to hold back any longer. “Alfonso, I’m allergic to roses. Do you even remember that?” He blinked, his brow furrowing. “Allergic?” he said, dismissively. “I didn’t think it was that serious. You could’ve at least appreciated the gesture.” My fingers clenched around my pen. After everything, he still didn’t get it. The humiliation, the disappointment—it was all crashing down on me in waves. After a day of humiliation at work, here we were, arguing over a bouquet of roses. Of all things. Couldn’t he just let me have a quiet, stress-free evening for once? “The gesture would mean more if you actually remembered something about me. Anything at all.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t so ungrateful—” “Ungrateful?” I could barely hold my voice steady as I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t have the energy for this.” Already, I felt the itch spreading across my skin, my eyes starting to burn. Resigned, I stood up, heading toward the bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow. In the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom, I reached for the antihistamines on my nightstand, swallowing a couple of pills and sinking onto the bed. My mind spun with exhaustion and frustration. Suddenly, a chime echoed from the hallway, his phone lighting up with a notification. I hesitated, my gaze drifting toward the sound. Against my better judgment, I picked it up, scrolling to the new message. “Thank you for the beautiful bouquet of red roses. You’re too sweet.” Sofia’s name flashed on the screen. He even named it "my dearest Sofia". My hand trembled as I set the phone down. The roses—they weren’t even meant for me.

Seeing Sofia's message pop up on Alfonso's phone, I felt… nothing. Betrayal had lost its sting somewhere along the way. It was almost predictable now. I closed my eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath before I stood. You have to keep moving, I reminded myself. I couldn’t let them hold me down, couldn’t let them keep turning my life into something small and miserable. The thought gave me strength. I straightened, looking around our shared space one last time, and then headed for my things to start packing. At dinner, Alfonso casually mentioned his upcoming trip to Paris, his tone expecting the usual eagerness from me. But I just nodded, not bothering to look up. I could feel his eyes narrow, his irritation surfacing more quickly than I’d expected. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” He demanded, disbelief written across his face. I glanced up, holding his gaze for a second longer than usual. “Like what?” His mouth twitched, and he let out a scoff. “Maybe something like, ‘Have a great trip,’ or are you planning on sulking the entire time?” I bit down on my lip to keep my response measured, but the sting of his words burned. “I guess I just assumed you’d be too busy to care about my well-wishes,” I replied coolly. “Don’t be childish,” he snapped, his voice rising. “It’s just a trip, Liliana. Do you have to make everything about you?” The bitterness I’d been holding back finally bubbled up, but I forced it down, the way I always had. He continued ranting, rattling off how my behavior was “immature” and “exhausting.” But I was only half-listening now, my mind drifting to the countless moments just like this one, moments I’d put aside for the sake of peace. I was always the one to smooth things over, always the one to say sorry—even when I wasn’t wrong. It was like a reflex, something I’d trained myself to do without a second thought. The realization made me feel sick. “You know what? I’m done with this,” Alfonso said suddenly, throwing his hands up as if I were the one making him miserable. “I’m leaving.” I didn’t flinch. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “Do what you want.” He paused, clearly taken aback. Usually, this would be the part where I softened, where I’d apologize and try to fix things. But this time, I stayed rooted at the table, meeting his glare with silence. I watched him falter, then straighten up, his pride pushing him to storm off, waiting one last moment for me to follow. But I didn’t move, and as the door finally clicked shut behind him, a strange, quiet resolve settled over me. I wouldn’t be the one apologizing this time. Not anymore. Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. Half asleep, I reached for it, barely paying attention—until I saw the words on the screen. My drowsiness vanished, replaced by sharp awareness. I sat up, my heart skipping a beat. "They’ve been waiting for your comeback, Donna Liliana." Only a few people ever called me that, people from a world I thought I’d left behind. And I knew exactly who this was, or who they were.

The next morning, Alfonso acted as though the previous night hadn’t happened, as if our argument was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. He barely looked up from his coffee as he said, “You should take the day off, Liliana. Bake that cake I like for the party tonight.” I stared at him, swallowing the urge to say something sharp. Instead, I nodded, hiding my thoughts beneath a calm exterior. If he noticed the tension between us, he didn’t show it. Fine. I’d bake his damn cake. My mind was already set on to something else. By late afternoon, after hours in the kitchen, I finished the cake and sent it off to his event. I’d barely started cleaning up when my phone buzzed. “Liliana," Alfonso’s voice was cool. “The cake—it’s perfect, like always. Thank you.” “Sure,” I replied shortly, about to hang up when a cheerful voice broke in from the background. “Oh my god, Liliana! The cake’s amazing!” Sofia’s voice, sweet as sugar. “Are you coming to the party tonight?” I opened my mouth to respond, but Alfonso cut me off. “There’s no need,” he said quickly, a slight edge to his voice. “Just wanted to thank you. That’s all.” A moment later, he sent me the address, as if making sure I knew exactly where not to show up. He didn’t want me there—and I was finally ready to leave on my terms. The clock striked at 7 in the evening. I moved around the room, busy gathering my things as I steeled myself for what I had to do. Each item I packed felt like a part of me, and I could feel my heart racing as I rummaged through my desk drawers, pulling out important papers and mementos from a life I failed to see would end like this. When I finally felt ready, I took a deep breath and approached Alfonso, who was sprawled out on the couch, glued to his phone, completely absorbed in a conversation with Sofia. “Alfonso,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need you to sign this.” He didn’t even look up. “Sure, just put it over here,” he replied, waving a hand dismissively, still focused on his screen. A pang shot through my chest, but I pressed on, my resolve hardening. “It’s important. Can you please just sign it? It's from our employee, she was feeling unwell so I---” "Seriously? You went here just for that?" annoyance was visible in his tone. "Yeah." I replied, trying to sound casually. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, just hand it over,” he said, barely glancing at me. He reached for the paper and signed it without a second thought, eager to get back to his conversation. The darkness of the room was just enough for Alfonso not to bother reading what the paper said. I fought the urge to scream as I watched him sign my resignation letter—my escape plan disguised as a resignation of someone else's. “Thanks,” I said quietly, slipping the papers back into my suitcase with trembling hands. But just as I was about to close the door behind me, a sudden thought struck me—what if he noticed? What if he changed his mind and came after me? I shrugged the thoughts away. He's too busy with Sofia to notice for sure. But before I could take another step, I heard his voice call out. “Liliana! Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”