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.