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

I thought that was the end of it.

Then one weekend, on a whim, I decided to spend a couple of days at the estate outside the city for a little quiet.

I called Nico. "Where are you right now? I need to go somewhere. Come pick me up."

He hemmed and hawed for a long time before finally answering, his voice careful and measured:

"Donna Valente, I woke up this morning and found the car had a flat tire. I'm at the garage right now getting it fixed. The man says it won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Where are you headed? I can send another driver, if you'd like?"

I frowned, not wanting the hassle.

"Forget it. I'll arrange something myself."

After hanging up, I had one of the low associates run me out to the estate.

But when I reached the front gate, I froze.

The Boss's armored car was parked right outside the estate. Completely intact.

I stared at it for several seconds. Once I confirmed it was definitely my car, I quickened my pace toward the front door.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open, and the sight inside knocked the air out of me.

The front room was destroyed.

The low table and the floor were littered with empty bottles, fruit peels, seed shells, and cigarette butts. The sofa and the carpet, both worth more than most men in this life ever touched, were covered in dirty footprints. In several spots, cigarette burns had eaten black holes straight through the fabric.

My fists clenched at my sides.

I had taken this estate for one reason, a place away from the Family's business, a place that was mine. Every detail of it, every piece of furniture, had been chosen with care. I kept it like a sanctuary. And now these people had turned it into a dump.

My gaze swept the room and landed on the couch directly facing the door.

Gemma was sitting there, surrounded by a crowd.

"Gemma, you're so lucky to have found a man with that kind of pull."

"Right? Not just connected, but so good to you. You said you wanted roasted chestnuts and he ran out to buy them like a puppy."

"When you're the woman on his arm, don't forget about us little people, okay?"

Gemma's lips curled into a smug grin. She was about to answer when she glanced up and spotted me standing in the doorway.

Her smile vanished. She stood, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode toward me, chin raised.

Crack.

Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face.

"You shameless tramp. You followed my man here?"

The blow came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning. In a house where a single word could end a life, no one in that room understood what they were touching.

Everyone stared, wide-eyed.

"Gemma, what's going on?"

Gemma jabbed a finger at me, her face twisted with disgust.

"This is the hanger-on I was just telling you about."

"Mooching rides off my man wasn't enough. Now she's shown up to mooch off his house too."

I looked at her in disbelief.

"Who told you this is Nico's house?"

Gemma let out a sharp, mocking laugh, and it ran a half-second too long, the edges of it brittle.

"He did. Told me himself."

"You pathetic little gold-digger. You found out my man runs the Family's holdings, so now you're pulling every trick in the book to get close to him."

"Bumming rides every day, making up reasons to be alone with him, that wasn't enough? Now you've come crawling out to his estate to throw yourself at him?"

"Let me make one thing crystal clear. Nico told me he only drives you around because you're some low nobody who owes the Family. He's being generous. Don't mistake his charity for an invitation."

So that was the story Nico had fed her.

No wonder Gemma had always treated me like dirt.

In her mind, Nico was the one who owned the armored car and the estate. Nico was the rising capo, the man with the holdings.

And I was just some hanger-on who lived and breathed at his mercy.