"That's very comforting," I say, taking a long sip of wine. "Really. It fills me with a sense of security that I can't even describe. So, what's the big plan this time? Are we going to fake our own deaths? Because I've always wanted to see my own funeral. Actually, I’m kidding about that…mostly."
His eyes flicker. Frustration, maybe. Or guilt. I can't tell. It's so subtle, that micro-expression, gone in an instant. He's a master at hiding his true feelings, but lately, I've been getting glimpses.
"We go public."
I blink at him, while my brain struggles to process this brilliant idea. "Hello? We already are, remember? The entire internet thinks we're dating. Half of them think you're my mafia boyfriend, which, you know, technically isn't wrong. Seriously, is that all you’ve got?"
He moves closer, bringing back every sensation from last night, his skin against mine, the way he made me feel alive and wanted.
"Not just soft launch stories and flirty photo ops. This is... deeper. More official and real."
My brain lurches. The words echo in my head. "You mean... you want us to be... actually together. For real. No more pretending. You want to ditch the fake part?”
Maybe last night meant something to him after all.
"No, we do a fake engagement," he says, shattering the illusion. "We put our relationship on speed dial. No one willdare touch the girl the world is obsessed with. This makes you untouchable."
The word 'fake' stings more than it should. My chest tightens, and something fragile inside me cracks. He's still talking about performance, discussing strategy. As if last night was just another part of the show.
Damn, that hurts.
I stare at him. "You're insane. You're actually, truly insane. You think this makes sense? A fake engagement? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how much work this would involve?"
I ramble on about all the damn details going into an engagement when all I really want to ask is if our night together meant anything to him? Will it happen again?
"No, I’m not insane," he replies. "I'm desperate. And this is the only way to guarantee your safety from Scorpione Nero. This is the one play we have left."
I set the wine down on the table with a thud before I drop it. This is a level of crazy I didn't even know existed. A fake engagement to a mafia boss. My life's officially more unhinged than my most unhinged followers.
"You truly think a fake engagement makes me safer?" I ask again, needing to hear it, to fully grasp the ludicrousness of it.
"Yes, because it makes you mine in my world," he says quietly. “No one wants to start a war over someone’s fiancée, especially not mine. Not when the world’s watching.”
"Let me get this straight," I say. "You want me to pretend I'm madly in love with you. Online and in public with sappy captions and 'oh my God I said yes' posts. For real. Like, actual fake real."
"Yes, if that’s what it takes," he says. “Whatever it takes, Nikki. We need to try this. It might be our last shot.”
"They will be photoshoots," I continue, already picturing the outfits, the locations, the angles. My influencer brain's kicking in, despite the sheer absurdity of the situation. Despite the achein my chest. “Engagement photoshoots. With dramatic lighting and maybe a fountain. It’s Italy, after all.”
"Yes, to that too," he confirms.
"What about matching outfits?" I challenge, pushing the boundaries, just to see how far he'll go.
His lips twitch with a ghost of a smile, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Don't push it. There are limits."
This is insane. It's utterly, completely insane. But it's also... compelling. A twisted, dangerous kind of compelling.
"And what do I get out of this? Beyond not being murdered, which, you know, is a definite plus. What's my actual incentive here?"
"Breathing," he replies. "For one. And a life free from constant surveillance, free from the threat of retaliation. A life where you can continue to be you. Perhaps even more so. Maybe much more."
Much more.
The words hang in the air between us, and for a moment, I let myself hope that maybe he means it. Maybe last night wasn't just strategy. Maybe the way he touched me, the way he whispered my name, maybe it was real.
My throat goes tight because I want the more. I want the unspoken promise in his eyes. I know I shouldn't because this is all fake. But the way he looks at me sometimes, it feels one hundred percent real.
"So, do we post a ring shot and call it a day?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
