17.No Secretary Lasted a Week With the Sicilian Mafia Boss… Until the Clumsy Girl Changed Everything

Milan was not like New York. The marble was older, the air was sweeter, and the danger was much, much quieter.

The Moretti estate on the outskirts of the city was a sprawling, neoclassical villa that looked more like a museum than a corporate headquarters. Bridget found herself ensconced in a suite that was roughly the size of her entire apartment back in Queens. Her cat, Barnaby, had clearly adjusted to the lifestyle change; he was currently napping on a tapestry that probably cost more than Bridget’s education.

But the work was relentless. Dante had not sent her there for a vacation. He had sent her there because the Milan branch of Moretti Logistics was hemorrhaging money at a rate that defied physics.

"These contracts make no sense," Bridget said one evening, working by the light of a crystal lamp. She was surrounded by invoices from local textile factories and luxury component manufacturers.

Dante, who had arrived in Italy two days after her, stood by the window, watching the sunset over the vineyard. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, looking less like a mob boss and more like an architect of empires.

"They were authorized by my uncle," Dante said without turning around. "He oversees the European expansion."

Bridget bit her lip, her auburn curls falling into her eyes. "Your uncle is laundering money through a fake artisan lace distributor. Look here—the shipping costs for 'hand-woven lace' are higher than the cost of shipping luxury sports cars. And the weights don't match the volume."

Dante walked over, his eyes scanning the documents. He leaned over her shoulder, the scent of cedarwood and sharp espresso filling her senses. Bridget felt a strange, electric heat crawl up her neck. He was too close. He was always too close, even when he was across the room.

"You have a gift for seeing the truth in numbers, Bridget," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "It’s a dangerous gift."

"I’m just good at noticing when things don't add up," she whispered.

"In my world, things never add up," Dante murmured, his hand coming to rest on the edge of the desk near her fingers. "People lie. Loyalties shift. But you... you have been here for two weeks, and I haven't found a single lie in your ledger, nor in your heart."

"That’s because I’m too tired to lie, Dante," she said, finally looking up at him.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached out and brushed a stray curl away from her face, his touch lingering for a second too long. The air in the room became thick, charged with an unspoken tension that was far more dangerous than any rival family.

"The gala is on Thursday," he said, shifting the topic, though his hand remained near her face. "The Milan underworld will be there. My uncle will be there. You will be my assistant. If you see anything, you report it to me. Only me."