My Driver’s Girlfriend Called Me a Freeloader,But I Was the Donna

He was never the kind of man who put you at ease, but he did what the Family asked of him. He came when he was called, he had the Boss's armored car waiting at the curb on time, and the leather was always spotless.

But starting last month, things changed.

The day it began, Nico came to collect me and there was suddenly a woman caked in heavy makeup sitting in the passenger seat.

I stared, confused. Nico hurried out to open my door and explained in a low voice:

"Donna Valente, this is my girlfriend, Gemma Ricci. Her work is on the way to the club, so I figured I'd give her a ride."

I nodded and said nothing.

Carrying someone along the route wasn't a matter worth a sit-down.

But gradually, something started to feel off.

What was supposed to be "on the way" hardened into a fixed, daily ritual that never varied.

Every morning, Nico collected Gemma first, then came for me.

At the start, Gemma just liked snapping photos in the passenger seat and posting videos, showing off to people that she rode in the Boss's armored car.

I could understand that. She was young. A little vanity was normal.

What I couldn't understand was the look she gave me every single time. It was pure disgust, as though I owed her a blood debt.

A few times, after I got into the car, she sprayed perfume in my direction and complained loudly:

"Dio, this is so annoying. How does a car this expensive always reek of something cheap?"

I thought she'd actually smelled something off, so I told Nico to take the car in for a thorough deep clean and disinfection.

But she only got worse. Sometimes, after I stepped out, she'd spray disinfectant on the seat where I'd been sitting.

Other times, she'd lay a disposable cover over my spot before I even got in.

When I put the matter to Nico, he always offered the same sheepish excuse in private:

"Donna Valente, Gemma's just worried the car isn't clean enough and might stain your clothes. She's particular about hygiene, that's all."

I didn't think much of it.

After all, I had too much on my plate every day. With the Family's holdings and men moving through my hands, I simply didn't have the energy to squabble with some young girl over petty nonsense.

Until this morning.

When I saw the note stuck to my usual seat, it all clicked.

Gemma thought I was a hanger-on. A nobody living off the Family.

I'd been planning to teach both Nico and Gemma a lesson in exactly what they'd forgotten.

But now Nico was on his knees in front of me, his thumb dragging hard across his knuckles, begging relentlessly:

"Donna Valente, I swear on my blood, it'll never happen again."

"I'll set Gemma straight today. I'll never give her rides again."

"Please, my father's lungs are failing. For Salvatore's sake, forgive me this once."

The thought of old Salvatore, six years loyal at the wheel, made me sigh. My fingers rested a moment on the jade at my throat. "Forget it."

"I'm dropping it."

After the man who owed the Family a favor stepped away, Nico let out a long, heavy breath of relief, thanking me over and over, his manner suddenly impeccable.

I said nothing more. I got in the car and told him to take me to the club.

For a while after that, Nico actually behaved.

Every time he came for me, the passenger seat was empty. No sign of Gemma.

The car had been cleaned, too. Every trace of that note scrubbed away.

His driving was still smooth. No trouble there.

The only problem was that he kept showing up late.

And every time, he had an excuse:

"Sorry, Donna Valente. There was an accident on the road. Traffic was backed up for a while."

"I'm really sorry, Donna Valente. My alarm didn't go off. I overslept."

"Donna Valente, a pipe burst in my apartment. I was dealing with the neighbors downstairs about the water damage, so I ran a little behind."

The excuses always sounded flimsy, but since his manner stayed decent enough, I let it slide.