Escaping the Mafia’s World

His grip weakened, and I didn’t wait for him to choose. I already knew exactly where he wanted to be. I watched as he rushed to his car.

A few days had passed since I'd last seen Vincent or even his men. He barely came home, and if he did, he stayed locked in his study or went straight to bed.

But everyone kept talking about him and Rebecca. I didn't know how to feel about it, but I noticed I didn't care anymore.

"I bet Precious hasn’t seen the news today?" one of my coworkers whispered, leaning in across my desk. "Mr. Ferrara was spotted holding hands with his ex-girlfriend while they strolled through the city."

"Poor girl," another murmured, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "Maybe they're already split up."

It was work hours, why were they gossiping about my life?

I leveled a cold stare at them as I printed my resignation letter, ignoring their sideways glances. I didn’t need this job anymore.

As I slipped the letter into a folder, curiosity got the better of me. Who really is Rebecca Graciano?

During my afternoon break, I watched the news. The city was thriving under Vincent’s lead as the mafia lord hiding behind his businesses. Everyone tolerated his rules because he brought money.

The photos of Vincent and Rebecca, smiling and enjoying themselves in the city, reminded me of how we used to be.

I looked up more about her and discovered she was the daughter of a mafia boss from across the city, involved in both legal and underground operations. Her connections only strengthened Vincent’s hold, giving him power that could rule half the country.

My phone buzzed, Vincent's name flashing across the screen. I hesitated but finally picked up, pressing it to my ear.

“What flavor of cake do you want?” he asked, his voice almost casual.

I recalled when I’d first asked him to buy me one, and he’d refused, scoffing, "You're too old for dessert, Precious! Stop whining like a kid." His words had stayed with me, a thorn I could never quite pull out.

"Anything will do," I said flatly, ending the call without waiting for his reply.

Just then, I got a message from Demitri, asking if I knew any of Vincent’s plans. Before I could reply, my phone buzzed again, his name lighting up the screen.

“I don’t know his plans, Demitri,” I answered, keeping my voice low.

"He’s making connections everywhere, Precious," Demitri said urgently. "He’s plotting something big. While you’re with him, try to find out."

"I will." I nodded to myself, though he couldn’t see it.

"My proposal’s ready. I’ll send it over so you can review the terms."

"Alright, thanks." I hung up, the weight of his words settling in.

Moments later, Vincent appeared, striding toward me with a frown. He glanced at my phone. "Who were you talking to?"

I forced a smile, slipping the phone back into my pocket. "Just friends checking in," I lied smoothly, meeting his gaze.

He set a cake down in front of me and sat beside me, watching my reaction. I reached for it, but he slid it out of my reach, handing me a single slice instead.

"This is yours. You wouldn’t finish the whole thing alone," he said, his tone cold as ice.

It was strawberry cake. Despite our years together, he still didn’t know I hated strawberries.

"I don’t like strawberries. Why would you choose something I don’t like, Vincent?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If you don’t want it, throw it away." He scoffed, grabbing the cake box.

"I regret remembering I have a whimsical girlfriend. I shouldn’t even be here," he snapped, standing up and walking off, ignoring the hushed whispers of onlookers.

After submitting my resignation, I packed up and headed home. Later, I checked my phone and saw news of Vincent celebrating Rebecca’s birthday at the hotel he’d named after me. He’d promised to take me there once renovations were done.

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "It’s my name, but Rebecca got there first."

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a message from Vincent appeared.

"Come to the hotel. My men are busy, and Rebecca wants to meet you. The party’s over. No one will be there to take your picture."