Chapter 1 - She Was Supposed to Ruin One Date—Instead the Mafia Boss Let His Entire Family Believe She Was the Woman He Loved“Do you honestly believe a man like Luca would look twice at a woman like you?”
Camille Russo’s contempt landed exactly where she intended it to: on Emma Carter, the plus-size maid she had decided was jealous.
Emma barely blinked.
“The embarrassing part is that you think every woman standing near a man is applying for the position.”
Luca almost laughed.
Camille stared at the feared mafia boss.
“You’re defending the maid?”
“Actually,” Luca said, “she’s the reason you’re here.”
Before Emma could demand an explanation, Teresa Moretti’s voice cut through the silence.
“So, this is the woman you’ve been hiding from me.”
Emma turned toward Luca with a look that should have warned him not to say another word.
Unfortunately, warning Luca Moretti not to do something had never guaranteed sensible results.
“Grandmother—”
Camille stood abruptly.
“There is no woman. She’s his maid.”
Teresa looked from Camille to Emma, then to her grandson.
“Yes,” Emma said quickly. “Exactly. I work for Mr. Moretti.”
“And yet you were arguing with his date.”
“There was a reason for that.”
Luca’s mouth twitched.
Emma caught it.
“Don’t.”
Teresa caught that too.
Her eyes narrowed with interest.
Camille pointed toward Emma.
“She has spent this entire evening sabotaging me. She interrupted our conversation to tell me Luca hates opera.”
“You asked what music he enjoys,” Emma said.
“You told me he once fell asleep during La Traviata.”
“He did.”
Luca sighed.
“Emma.”
“You told me to be convincing.”
Teresa went very still.
Camille frowned.
“Told you?”
Emma closed her eyes for half a second.
Luca had recruited her because refusing another blind date would insult his grandmother. Emma’s assignment had been simple: interrupt at inconvenient moments, expose enough of Luca’s difficult habits, and make Camille decide that marrying into the Moretti family was not worth the trouble.
Emma had agreed because Luca had promised her a favor in return.
She had not agreed to explain any of that to the woman she was supposed to drive away.
Camille looked at Luca.
“You arranged this?”
Luca considered lying.
Emma recognized the expression.
“That would be a terrible idea,” she warned.
Teresa’s eyebrows rose.
Camille looked increasingly offended.
“She speaks to you like that?”
“Frequently.”
“And you allow it?”
Luca glanced at Emma.
“Apparently.”
Teresa smiled.
That worried Emma considerably more than Camille’s anger.
“So,” Teresa said slowly, “you arranged this dinner, brought Camille here, and then instructed Emma to ruin it.”
“No,” Luca said.
Emma stared at him.
Technically, it was a lie.
Then he added, “I asked Emma to help me.”
Teresa’s smile widened.
Emma understood the mistake immediately.
“No. Absolutely not. Whatever conclusion you’re reaching, stop.”
“Emma,” Luca murmured.
“No. You stop too.”
Camille gave a disbelieving laugh.
“This is absurd. You cannot seriously expect anyone to believe Luca Moretti is involved with his maid.”
“We are not involved,” Emma said.
Teresa ignored her.
She was watching Luca.
For years, women from powerful families had arrived polished, prepared, and desperate to impress her grandson. Luca responded to them with impeccable courtesy and the emotional enthusiasm of a locked door.
Yet Emma had just ordered him to stop talking, and Luca was smiling again.
Teresa turned toward Camille.
“You came to dinner with a man who already has a woman.”
“I am not his woman,” Emma said.
Camille’s face flushed.
“Your grandson invited me.”
Teresa looked at Luca.
This was the moment.
Emma waited for him to correct everything.
Luca could end the misunderstanding with one sentence.
Then he noticed something.
His grandmother, who had spent months producing eligible women with the persistence of a military campaign, was looking at Emma as though she had finally solved the problem herself.
If Teresa believed Luca had secretly chosen someone, the matchmaking would stop.
Every unwanted dinner.
Every strategic introduction.
Every conversation about suitable families.
Finished.
Luca looked at Emma.
Emma slowly shook her head.
He knew that look.
Do not even think about it.
Luca made his decision.
He turned toward Teresa.
“It’s complicated.”
Emma stared at him.
Camille demanded, “What does that mean?”
Teresa looked delighted.
Emma looked murderous.
Luca Moretti, a man powerful enough that few people dared openly challenge him, realized he had just created a problem involving the one woman in his household who absolutely would.
Emma waited until Camille had left before turning on him.
“I agreed to ruin one dinner.”
“You succeeded.”
“That was not an invitation for a compliment.”
“It was intended as one.”
Emma folded her arms.
“I did not agree to become your imaginary girlfriend.”
Across the room, Teresa was still speaking with one of Luca’s relatives, happily correcting what she considered months of family ignorance.
Within minutes, Emma had apparently gone from household employee to Luca Moretti’s great romantic secret.
Luca lowered his voice.
“We can use this.”
Emma stared at him.
“That sentence has never improved anyone’s evening.”
“My grandmother will stop arranging dates.”
“And my dignity is apparently an acceptable casualty.”
“I’m proposing a temporary arrangement.”
“No.”
“I haven’t explained it.”
“You used the word arrangement. I’ve heard enough.”
Luca was accustomed to negotiations in which the other person eventually discovered that refusing him was impractical.
Emma seemed to regard refusal as a recreational activity.
“One month.”
“No.”
“Two weeks.”
“That is shorter. Still no.”
“I’ll double what I promised you.”
Emma’s expression changed.
Not with temptation.
With calculation.
Luca recognized it too late.
“You really need this.”
“I prefer it.”
“No. You need it.”
Emma glanced toward Teresa, who was now telling someone that Luca had obviously kept the relationship secret because the family was intrusive.
Luca said nothing.
Emma smiled.
It was not reassuring.
“All right. Now we negotiate.”
“You just refused.”
“I refused when you thought you were doing me a favor.”
Before Luca could object, Teresa called across the room.
“Emma, what does Luca buy you when he apologizes?”
Emma looked at Luca.
He looked back.
“Silence, apparently,” Emma answered.
Teresa laughed.
Luca rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“Your conditions?”
“First, outside my actual job, you do not order me around.”
“I don’t—”
Emma simply looked at him.
“Fine.”
“Second, no touching me without warning because somebody happens to be watching.”
“That is reasonable.”
“Third, you do not interfere with my private life and call it part of the performance.”
“Why would I?”
“I’m establishing the rule before you invent the reason.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“Continue.”
“No expensive gifts designed to make me feel obligated. No lying to me if this ridiculous performance puts me in danger.”
His expression became more serious.
“That one is non-negotiable,” Emma said.
“Agreed.”
“And when this ends, you give me a professional recommendation.”
Luca paused.
“For what?”
“A hospitality management position.”
The answer caught him completely off guard.
“You’re applying for management?”
“I’m considering it.”
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
Something about the response landed harder than Emma intended.
Luca knew the histories of men who sat across from him in negotiations. He knew their weaknesses, debts, loyalties, and ambitions.
Emma had worked inside his home for years.
He trusted her around his family, his private routines, and information most outsiders would never hear.
Yet he had not known she wanted another career.
“Is the recommendation a problem?” Emma asked.
“No.”
“It has to be honest.”
“I don’t write dishonest recommendations.”
“You employ people who write things for you.”
“I’ll write this one.”
Emma studied him, deciding whether to believe it.
Then she nodded.
“Fine.”
“My condition.”
She sighed.
“Of course you have one.”
“You cannot deliberately embarrass me.”
Emma considered it.
“What if you embarrass yourself?”
“That still counts.”
“No. I refuse responsibility for circumstances created by your own bad decisions.”
“This entire situation exists because you sabotaged my date.”
“At your request.”
Luca paused.
Emma smiled.
He was beginning to understand why negotiating with her was considerably more irritating than employing her.
Teresa approached them.
“Excellent. You’re still arguing.”
Emma frowned.
“Why is that excellent?”
“Because couples pretending to be happy never argue this naturally.”
Luca coughed into his hand.
Emma slowly turned toward him.
“This is your fault.”
Teresa looked delighted.
“How long?”
Emma froze.
“How long what?” Luca asked.
“Have you been together?”
There was no prepared answer.
Emma saw Luca calculating.
That was dangerous.
“Three months,” she said.
Luca looked at her.
Teresa clasped her hands.
“And your first date?”
Emma’s irritation transformed into inspiration.
“A karaoke bar.”
Luca’s head snapped toward her.
Teresa blinked.
“Luca sang,” Emma continued. “Twice.”
“I did not.”
Emma smiled sweetly.
“Darling, you promised we’d stop arguing about this.”
Teresa laughed so hard she had to steady herself.
Luca waited until she walked away.
“A karaoke bar?”
“You said I couldn’t embarrass you deliberately.”
“That was deliberate.”
“No. That was survival.”
“You are enjoying this.”
“Not yet.”
Emma started toward the door, then looked back.
“But I’m beginning to see the possibilities.”
She had no idea those possibilities were about to become dangerous.
The next morning, Emma came downstairs at six and discovered a garment bag hanging outside her room.
She stared at it.
There was a note.
Dinner. Seven. Grandmother insists. —L
Emma marched directly into Luca’s study carrying the unopened bag.
He was on the phone.
She dropped it on his desk.
“No.”
Luca looked at it.
Then at her.
He ended the call.
“You haven’t opened it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“It’s a dress.”
“I own dresses.”
“Grandmother chose it.”
“That makes it more dangerous, not less.”
“She wants dinner.”
“Then I’ll attend in my clothes.”
Luca leaned back.
“She will notice.”
“She already believes we met at karaoke.”
“Because you told her that.”
“And you survived.”
He watched her.
Emma had expected him to argue.
Instead he said, “Fine.”
She hesitated.
“Fine?”
“Wear whatever you want.”
“That was disturbingly easy.”
“I can be reasonable.”
“Since when?”
“Approximately thirty seconds ago.”
Emma almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Luca said, “There is something else.”
There it was.
“What?”
“Camille's father called.”
Emma's humor vanished.
“Why?”
“Camille told him what happened.”
“And?”
“Dario Russo doesn't like public humiliation.”
Emma stared.
“She insulted me first.”
“I know.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
“Does he care?”
“No.”
Luca stood.
Emma instinctively stepped backward.
He noticed.
Stopped.
That mattered.
“I promised I wouldn't lie if this put you in danger.”
“Yes.”
“This may.”
Emma folded her arms.
“Define may.”
“Dario Russo has spent six years trying to formalize an alliance with my family. Camille was part of that.”
“A marriage alliance.”
“Yes.”
“And now he thinks the maid ruined it.”
Luca disliked saying the word that way.
Emma noticed.
“So what happens?”
“Nothing yet.”
“That sounds suspiciously like mafia language for something definitely happens.”
He almost smiled.
“You'll have security.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Rule one.”
“This concerns safety.”
“Then ask.”
Luca went quiet.
He was learning.
“Will you allow someone to accompany you when you leave the property?”
Emma considered.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't sound so shocked.”
“I've negotiated port contracts more easily.”
“Ports probably don't tell you when you're being an ass.”
“Not twice.”
She headed toward door.
“Emma.”
She stopped.
“I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not realizing what the arrangement could cost you.”
She looked at him.
For once there was no joke.
“No expensive gift fixes that.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She left.
That evening Emma wore a navy dress she already owned.
Nothing designer.
Nothing selected by Teresa.
She entered dining room and found twenty-three members of Moretti family waiting.
She stopped.
Luca approached.
“You said dinner.”
“I was misinformed.”
“You own the house.”
“Grandmother owns the guest list.”
Teresa called:
“Emma!”
Every face turned.
Emma suddenly understood something she had never needed to think about while carrying trays or coordinating household staff.
As a maid, she had been visible enough to serve and invisible enough to ignore.
Tonight she was being evaluated.
Her body.
Her clothes.
Her voice.
Her usefulness.
Her worth.
She hated it.
Luca stopped beside her.
“May I?”
He offered arm.
Not touching.
Asking.
Emma looked at him.
Then slipped hand around his arm.
“Yes.”
His expression changed slightly.
They entered together.
Whispers followed.
Emma heard one woman say:
“She’s bigger than I expected.”
Another answered:
“At least she's pretty.”
As though those things were contradictory.
Emma's shoulders tightened.
Luca heard.
He turned.
Emma squeezed his arm.
“No.”
“They—”
“I heard.”
“You don't have to accept that.”
“I don't. But I decide when to answer.”
Luca looked at her.
Then nodded.
Dinner began.
Teresa seated Emma beside Luca.
Across from them sat Luca’s uncle Salvatore and Salvatore's son, Marco.
Marco Moretti was handsome in a polished, rehearsed way.
He smiled at Emma.
“So you're the mystery woman.”
“Apparently.”
“What did you do before this?”
Emma looked at him.
“I still do it.”
“Of course.”
He smiled.
“I meant before Luca.”
Something in tone irritated her.
“I existed.”
Teresa covered laugh with wineglass.
Marco's smile thinned.
Later conversation turned to hotel development.
Moretti family owned waterfront property intended for boutique hotel.
A consultant complained about staffing costs.
Emma listened.
Then consultant said:
“Housekeeping is easiest department to cut. Guests don't know difference.”
Emma looked up.
“They do.”
Room quieted.
Consultant blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“They know when sheets are turned too slowly, when bathrooms aren't checked properly, when maintenance isn't reported because housekeeping staff are rushed, when luggage requests take thirty minutes because you scheduled six people for work requiring ten.”
He stared.
Emma continued.
“Guests may not know why experience feels cheap. Management should.”
Luca watched her.
Consultant asked:
“You've managed a hotel?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“I've worked service jobs for twelve years. Hotels, restaurants, private homes.”
She leaned forward.
“People who design labor budgets without doing labor usually underestimate what labor requires.”
Silence.
Then Teresa said:
“I like her.”
Emma closed eyes.
“Please stop saying that like you bought me.”
Teresa laughed.
But Luca did not.
He was still looking at Emma.
Not as maid.
Not as fake girlfriend.
As something he had failed to see.
After dinner he found her on terrace.
“You were right.”
Emma glanced over.
“I'll need more information. That could refer to hundreds of occasions.”
“Management.”
Her smile faded.
“You'd be good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“That isn't compliment.”
“I know.”
He leaned on railing.
“I should've known.”
“Yes.”
“You've run half my household for three years.”
“Two years, eight months.”
“You remember?”
“I remember every job I've had.”
“Why didn't you apply earlier?”
Emma looked at dark water.
“Because interviews change when I walk into room.”
Luca frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
He didn't.
Not completely.
Emma looked at him.
“People see a plus-size woman and make decisions before she speaks.”
“Not everyone.”
“No. Enough.”
She told him about interview where manager asked whether she could “keep up physically.”
Another where recruiter recommended front desk role “less visible in executive meetings.”
Another where man praised personality and suggested she might be better suited to “back of house.”
“I stopped applying.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Names.”
Emma laughed.
“No.”
“I just want—”
“No, you want to punish people because that's language you understand.”
He said nothing.
“I don't need revenge.”
“What do you need?”
“A fair chance.”
Luca looked at her.
“I can give you one.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“You literally asked for recommendation.”
“A recommendation. Not a job you create because you're feeling guilty.”
“I'm not—”
“You are.”
He exhaled.
She was right.
Again.
Before he could answer, a glass door opened.
Marco stepped outside.
“Luca. Call.”
He handed phone.
Luca listened.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
Pause.
“When?”
He looked at Emma.
“I'm coming.”
Call ended.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Your apartment.”
Emma went still.
“My apartment?”
“Someone broke in.”
She stared.
“Was anything stolen?”
Luca's eyes darkened.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“They left something.”
“What?”
Luca hesitated.
Rule.
No lying.
He answered.
“A photograph of you.”
Emma's stomach dropped.
“What kind?”
“Tonight.”
She looked at dress.
Someone had photographed her arriving at Moretti house less than two hours earlier.
Luca continued.
“There's a red X across your face.”
Emma stared at him.
May you like
Fake relationship had just become real danger.
And somewhere inside the Moretti family, someone had known exactly where she lived.
Related Stories
