All Chapters of 365 day to fall in love with Mr. Mafia Boss: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

365 Days to Fall in Love with Mr. Mafia Boss The rain in Milan smelled like gasoline and wet stone. I pulled my coat tighter, but the February chill had already settled into my bones. Not that I could afford to care about comfort. Not when I was standing outside Velluto Nero, the club everyone in the city whispered about but no one admitted to entering. They said the owner didn’t have a name. Just a title: Il Capo. The Boss. I wasn’t here for rumors. I was here because my brother owed him €300,000. And as of three days ago, Luca had vanished. The bouncer didn’t ask for ID. He just looked at the photo on his phone, then at me, and stepped aside. My stomach dropped. They’d been expecting me. Inside, the club was nothing like I imagined. No pounding music. No bodies grinding in the dark. It was silent, opulent, and cold. Black marble floors, gold-veined columns, and a single chandelier that threw fractured light across the room like broken glass. And at the center of it all, b

365 Days to Fall in Love with Mr. Mafia Boss Daria woke me at 6:30 AM by opening my curtains. “You’re expected downstairs in twenty minutes,” she said, setting a garment bag on the bed. “Signor De Santis wants you presentable.” Presentable. Like I was a painting he was loaning out. The garment bag held a black dress. Not the red silk from last night. This one had long sleeves, a high neck, and a slit that stopped at mid-thigh. Conservative, for Alessandro. It fit like it had been measured to my skin. “Where are we going?” I asked. Daria didn’t answer. She just handed me a pair of heels and left. Day two. Rule five incoming, probably. Alessandro waited in the foyer, phone to his ear, speaking Italian too fast for me to catch. He hung up when he saw me. His eyes did a slow, clinical sweep from my shoes to my face. No approval. No disdain. Just assessment. “You read?” he asked, instead of hello. “Chapter one,” I said. “Power is never given. It’s taken.” His mouth qu

365 Days to Fall in Love with Mr. Mafia Boss Rule four: Don’t touch my things. Alessandro had said it on day one. That includes my books, my office, and my men. He hadn’t mentioned the boathouse. But Daria had. “Boundaries,” she’d said, pointing at the map of the estate. “You do not cross the north gate. You do not enter the boathouse. Signor De Santis is clear on this.” So of course, on day five, I went to the boathouse. It was 4 AM. The cameras on the main villa swept in predictable arcs—I’d been watching for three nights. There was a 22-second blind spot between the east garden and the path to the lake. I’d counted. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. I knew Alessandro watched. But he couldn’t watch everywhere at once. The boathouse was old stone, built into the cliff. No windows. One steel door with a keypad. No handle. I pressed my ear to it. Silence. Then—*click*. The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open

365 Days to Fall in Love with Mr. Mafia Boss Day twelve started with a gift. A box on my nightstand. Black, no card. Inside: a compact Beretta 21A. Small, silver, loaded. Under it, a note in Alessandro’s handwriting: Rule fourteen: Learn to use it. Daria will teach you at 9 AM. – A I stared at it. The signet ring on my finger felt heavier. Daria didn’t comment when I came downstairs. She just led me to the basement. The villa had a range. Of course it did. “You hold it like this,” she said, adjusting my grip. No judgment. No fear. Like she was teaching me to arrange flowers. “Safety off. Breathe. Squeeze.” The gun kicked. The target’s chest exploded in paper. “Again,” Daria said. By noon, my hands stopped shaking. By 2 PM, I could hit center mass three times in a row. “Why?” I asked, ejecting the magazine. “Why does he want m

365 Days to Fall in Love with Mr. Mafia Boss Daria laid the dress on my bed at 5 PM. Black. Floor-length. Slit to the hip. Back open to the waist. “Signor De Santis says it’s bulletproof,” she said. “Aramid weave. It won’t stop a headshot.” “Comforting.” “He also says you’re not to leave his side. Not for champagne, not for the bathroom, not if the building is on fire.” She set a diamond choker next to it. Not diamonds. Black diamonds. “And you wear this. It covers the bruises.” I touched my throat. Faint marks from Alessandro’s hands when he’d checked me for injuries. When he’d kissed me. “Did he choose it?” “No,” Daria said. “I did. He doesn’t care about dresses. He cares about exit routes.” Alessandro waited by the car. No suit. Tuxedo. Tailored to kill. The cut on his cheekbone had been covered, but his knuckles were fresh-split. He’d been fighting.