“I'm glad you've come around to my way of thinking," he says. "You should be smiling. You landed the most exclusive brand deal of your life. And trust me, you're going to kill it. If it doesn't kill you first, that is."
He turns to go, already moving on to the next phase of his insane plan.
After he leaves, Enzo steps into the room with a file clutched in one hand. What is it with these people and their file folders?
"I'm here to brief you on the operational details. Rafe wants us to get started as soon as you're ready." He walks over to the table and spreads out a few glossy printouts. There are itineraries, contact lists, and what looks like a social media content calendar. My content calendar.
"You will be given a new phone," Enzo explains, pointing to a sleek, dark device on the table. "It will have limited access. Only approved applications. All communications will be monitored. You will be given a list of approved contacts. Any attempts to contact unauthorized individuals will be blocked." He pauses, his gaze meeting mine. "And will have immediate consequences. Take my warning and don't try it."
"Consequences," I repeat flatly. "Like what. Will you delete my video drafts?" I force a laugh.
“It means we notify Rafe. And Rafe doesn’t do warnings. This is not a game. You are in a precarious situation. Rafe is offering you a path to safety. You would be wise to follow it without unnecessary drama." He picks up one of the printouts, a timeline. "Your first public appearance with Rafe is scheduled for tomorrow evening. A private dinner at a restaurant in Rome. We’ve leaked a tip to one of Rafe’s media assets. They’ll make sure the right cameras are in place, and the coverage will be flattering and controlled.”
"You paid off the media? Wow…you mobsters will do anything to get a good shot."
"They will be there," Enzo says, ignoring my sarcasm. "You will arrive with Rafe. You will maintain a certain demeanor. Affectionate, but not overly so. Engaged, but with a hint of mystery. The internet expects a certain dynamic from you. You will provide it."
I feel a surge of anger, hot and sharp. "I get it! I'm just a prop. Nothing more than a human accessory for Rafe's little clean-up operation. Is that it? I don't get a say in my own public imagenow? The one I built. The one I worked for." My voice cracks on the last word, and I immediately hate myself for it. I promised myself I wouldn't show them weakness.
Enzo's eyes soften, just for a fleeting moment "You get to live. You get to continue your life, in a modified form. Many people in your position would not be so fortunate." He walks closer, his tone dropping to a whisper. "You have no idea the kind of people Rafe deals with. The danger you brought to his doorstep. He could have chosen a very different path for you. This is the lesser of two evils. You'll regret it if you screw this up, I promise you. Don't try anything."
The words silence me. The casualness of his threat, the chilling implication of what my other options are.
I think about the isolation, the complete lack of control I felt when I was first taken. This fake relationship, as insane as it is, is still better than whatever Rafe has in mind for me if I refuse.
"Let's say I go along and pretend to be madly in love with this psycho. And then what? When the attention dies down, do we ride off into the sunset of fake social media posts?"
He actually sighs, a weary sound. "You will establish the narrative you need them to believe. Slowly, carefully. You will post images, videos. You will be seen together, in public and in carefully staged 'private' moments. The goal is to make it mundane. To make Rafe seem like just another celebrity boyfriend. The longer you maintain the illusion, the more effective it will be." He gestures to the tablet. "Rafe has already prepared some initial concepts. You will review them. Your input will be considered, within reason."
"My input will be considered," I scoff. "How generous. I'm been promoted to creative director of my own horror movie."
"Think of it as a collaboration," Enzo adds, not realizing that's about the worst thing he can say. "You are very goodat what you do. Rafe recognizes that. Your ability to create a compelling narrative, to draw an audience in, it will be useful."
Useful. That's all I am. A tool. A means to an end.
The thought makes me want to smash something, anything. Instead, I just stare at the screen and read Rafe's "concept ideas." They're surprisingly good for a mobster. The ideas include candid shots of us laughing at a cafe, holding hands in a park, looking glamorous at an event. All the things a real couple would do, but filtered.
A complete total lie I'm supposed to sell.
"Fine," I agree. "Let's get this over with. What's the first pose? Do I gaze adoringly into his cold, dead eyes, or do I pretend to trip and fall into his arms for a candid moment?" I try to make it sound sarcastic, but it just comes out sounding defeated.
"Rafe will be back shortly. We have a lot of work to do and little time to get ready."
He leaves me with the tablet, and the sickening reality of my new life. A social media star, playing the role of a girlfriend to a mobster, all to save my own skin. What a plot twist. Even my most dramatic fan fiction couldn't come up with this.
I pick up the new phone and stare at my reflection in the black screen. The influencer they remember is gone. But I can bring her back. On my terms, in disguise.
They want a show? I’ll give them the performance of a lifetime.
And when the curtain finally falls, I’ll be the one writing the ending.
CHAPTER 12
RAFE
Ihate every fucking thing about this.
"Hold still," Nikki orders, her tone light, playful, but with an underlying current of absolute authority.
