She Got a From Another Man — The Mafia Boss Saw It and Said, “Block Him.”
Aurora Romano had a problem, or more accurately, she had three problems. However, the first one was currently consuming most of her mental bandwidth as she sat at her desk. She had had another vivid dream about Francesco Vitelli last night, and this time, it involved his massive desk and zero workplace boundaries.
She stared at that dark, imposing piece of wood now, trying her best not to blush at the memory of her subconscious. “Signorina Romano,” a deep voice called, causing Aurora’s head to snap up immediately in a flustered panic. Francesco stood in the doorway of his office, wearing a perfectly tailored suit with every dark hair styled precisely.
He looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine spread titled “Intimidatingly Hot Italian Businessman.” “Yes, Mr. Vitelli?” she replied, clutching her portfolio tighter while hoping he couldn’t read the scandalous thoughts currently racing through her mind. “You wanted to discuss the venue options, right?” he asked, his expression as unreadable as ever.
“Yes, the venues,” she managed to say, following him into his office while pointedly avoiding any eye contact with the desk. She had been working for Francesco Vitelli for six long months, planning charity galas and high-stakes networking dinners for his company. Six months of professional emails, formal conversations, and him calling her “Signorina Romano” like a Victorian novel.
Aurora set her portfolio on the table, refusing to think about the desk, and pulled out her tablet to begin the presentation. “I’ve narrowed it down to three options for the spring gala,” she said, switching into her practiced professional mode. It was always much easier to function when she pretended he was just another client, not the man of her dreams.
“The first is the Astoria Ballroom—classic, elegant, and holds four hundred guests comfortably,” she explained while swiping through photos. Francesco moved to stand beside her, close enough that she caught the scent of his expensive, cedar-toned cologne. She forced herself not to lean closer, reminding herself that she was a professional and this was a workplace.
“The second option is the Waterfront Plaza,” she continued, swiping to a photo of modern floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning city views. “It is very Instagrammable, which will provide the event with plenty of free publicity from your guests’ posts,” she added. Francesco repeated the word “Instagrammable” with a tone that made her wonder if he was amused or judging her.
She had learned his sounds over the past six months: the hum meant consideration, the sharp breath meant approval, and silence meant a problem. There were many things she didn’t know about him, like whether he even knew her first name or if he was single. She had seen him once with a Victoria’s Secret model, and Aurora felt she didn’t compare.
“And the third option?” Francesco prompted, bringing her back to the task at hand as she swiped to the last venue. Suddenly, her phone lit up on the table between them, displaying a notification banner for anyone nearby to see. It was from Paulo Moretti: “Bella, about tomorrow night. Can’t wait to see you in that red dress again.”
Aurora’s stomach dropped as she grabbed for her phone, but Francesco’s hand was already there, his fingers closing firmly around her wrist. “Who,” Francesco said, his voice dropping to a quiet but dangerous level that made the temperature in the room feel like it plummeted. “Who is Paulo Moretti?” he demanded, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen of her device.
“He’s a friend,” Aurora managed to stammer, her brain stuttering as Francesco’s thumb brushed against her racing pulse point. “You wear red dresses for friends?” he asked, his grip gentle but immovable as he stared into her eyes. “It’s none of your business, actually,” she replied, attempting to tug her wrist away from his grasp.
“Mr. Vitelli,” she started, but he interrupted her with an intensity that caught her breath. “Francesco,” he corrected her firmly. “My name is Francesco. Use it.” He finally looked away from the phone to meet her gaze, his eyes burning with a fire she hadn’t seen before. “Now, tell me about this Paulo Moretti,” he demanded once again.
“I don’t understand why you are asking,” she said, her temper finally simmering over after months of professional courtesy. “You don’t get to demand explanations about my personal life. You are my client, not my…” she trailed off. “Not your what, Aurora?” he asked, saying her first name for the first time in six months.
“Not my boyfriend,” she finished weakly, her brain short-circuiting at the sound of her name on his lips. “No,” his jaw tightened as he spoke. “I’m not. But Paulo Moretti isn’t going to be either.” He released her wrist only to pick up her phone, holding it unfairly out of her reach as she tried to grab it.
His other hand caught her waist to steady her as she nearly stumbled into him, creating a sudden, breathless proximity between them. “He’s texting you about dresses and saying he can’t wait,” Francesco read aloud, his accent thickening with a palpable anger. “We are going to dinner tomorrow. Give me my phone,” Aurora demanded, trying to sound authoritative.
“No, you’re going to cancel,” Francesco stated, ignoring her request as he began scrolling through her private messages with increasing fury. “I’m going to what? I’m not canceling my plans because my client is having a possessive meltdown,” she gaped. “I’m not having a meltdown,” he replied, even as he read her morning greetings from Paulo.
“He texts you every morning? ‘Good morning, Bella. Thinking about you’?” Francesco’s voice was laced with a dark, controlled venom. “When was the last time you saw him?” “Yesterday, for lunch,” Aurora answered, taking an involuntary step back. Francesco looked up from the phone, and he no longer looked like the professional man she knew.
The man who barely smiled had been replaced by someone who looked seconds away from breaking something in a fit of rage. “You had lunch with him yesterday? And you’re having dinner with him tomorrow?” he asked, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “You are not having dinner with Paulo Moretti tomorrow, or ever again,” he declared.
“You can’t tell me who to date,” Aurora argued, yanking her hands free from his hold. “This is insane. You are being insane.” “What’s happening,” Francesco said, his voice low and intense, “is that you are going to block that number and never speak to him again.” “Give me one good reason why I should listen to you,” she demanded.
“Because you’re mine,” he said, the words hanging heavy in the air between them as Aurora’s mind went completely blank. Francesco seemed surprised by his own words, but he didn’t take them back; instead, he backed her against the desk. “You never even used my first name before today,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“I’ve always known your name,” he confessed, his hand coming up to cup her face gently. “I called you Signorina Romano to keep distance. I treated you professionally because the alternative was very unprofessional.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone, and he looked at her like she was the only person in the entire world.
“You deserve better than my world, Aurora,” he added, his expression darkening with a shadow she didn’t quite understand. “What world? You’re a businessman,” she said, but his laugh was sharp and devoid of any real humor. “I run an import-export company, but there are things you are better off not knowing,” he replied.
“Things that make Paulo Moretti very bad news for you,” he continued, his face so close that their breaths mingled. Aurora wasn’t pulling away; she couldn’t. After six months of feeling invisible, the intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. “You never gave any indication you were interested,” she pointed out, her voice barely a whisper.
“I gave many indications. You just didn’t notice,” he countered. “I memorized your coffee order. I rescheduled meetings when you had a migraine.” “I bought paintings from the artist you liked. I know you change your perfume with the seasons and bite your lip when concentrating.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch electric.
“I notice everything about you, Aurora,” he said. “Then why didn’t you act?” she asked. “Because I wanted to keep you safe and separate from my life,” he explained. “And then Paulo fucking Moretti decided to complicate everything.” His hand slid from her face to her neck, his thumb resting against her frantic pulse.
“He’s not what you think he is,” Francesco warned. “Then tell me what he is!” she demanded. “Someone who shouldn’t be anywhere near you. That’s the only answer you’re getting right now.” He looked down at her mouth, his eyes full of a raw, hungry desire that made her knees weak.
“You’re going to pick up that phone, text Paulo that you can’t see him, and block his number,” he commanded. “And if I don’t?” “Then I will,” he replied, though he didn’t move to grab the phone again. He just kept looking at her, as if he were memorizing every detail of her face for later.
“This is crazy. I barely know you outside of work, and now you’re trying to control who I see,” Aurora flared. “I’m not trying to control you; I’m trying to protect you from consequences you don’t understand,” his jaw tightened. “I should have asked you to dinner months ago instead of keeping this professional distance.”
“I noticed you the first day you walked in wearing that yellow dress and carrying too many binders,” he admitted. “You remember the yellow dress?” she asked, stunned. “You got excited about the espresso maker. I wanted to ask if you’d ever been to Italy so I could offer to take you,” he said with a ghost of a smile.
“So yes, Aurora, you are mine. I am claiming that now, clearly and publicly, so there is no confusion,” he declared. “And that means Paulo Moretti needs to disappear from your life forever.” “You can’t just claim someone,” she argued. “I just did.” “That’s not how this works,” she insisted, though her resolve was weakening.
“Then tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, leaning closer until his breath was warm against her ear. “Tell me you don’t feel this. Tell me you haven’t thought about me the way I’ve thought about you.” Aurora couldn’t answer because she had thought about him constantly, in dreams that left her flushed and guilty.
“I thought you only dated models,” she whispered, recalling the photo she had seen of him at a gala. “That was a business arrangement from two years ago,” he dismissed. “I don’t want a model, Aurora. I want the woman who gets excited about flower arrangements and bites her pen when she’s thinking. I want you.”
The room was silent until her phone buzzed again with another message from Paulo: “Aurora, you there, Bella?” Francesco’s expression went dark. Before she could react, he picked up the phone, typed a message, and showed it to her. “To Paulo: This is Francesco Vitelli. Aurora won’t be available tomorrow. Lose this number.”
“You did not just send that!” she cried, grabbing for the phone. “Block him, or I will,” Francesco said, his finger hovering over the button. They stared at each other, the tension thick and undeniable. Aurora felt a strange mix of fury and relief—six months of hidden feelings were finally breaking open in this moment.
“Fine,” she said, taking the phone from his hand. She pulled up the contact and hit the block button while he watched her carefully. “There. Happy?” she asked. “Getting there,” he replied, pulling her closer by the waist. “For the record, I want to see you in that red dress at dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“You’re taking me to dinner?” she asked. “I’m taking you anywhere you want to go, and making it clear you are off-limits,” he confirmed. “Because I’m yours?” she tested the words. “Because you’re mine,” he replied. “Is that a problem?” Aurora should have said yes, but instead, she set one condition for him.
“Tell me what you meant about Paulo and your world. I need to know what I’m getting into,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. Francesco covered her hand with his and explained the basics. “Paulo’s family competes with mine. We have territories and agreements, and him pursuing you crosses a very serious line.”
“What kind of family?” she asked. “The kind that operates in gray areas, where respect is the only currency,” his jaw tightened. “The kind you shouldn’t be involved with, which is why I tried to stay away.” Aurora’s pulse jumped. “Are you saying your business interests extend beyond olive oil?” “Yes, far enough that Paulo knew exactly who you were.”
“He didn’t meet you by accident, Aurora. He knew you worked for me, and he pursued you as a calculated move,” Francesco explained. The pieces finally clicked together in her mind. “He was using me to get to you,” she realized. “Most likely. And once I saw his messages, I stopped caring about suspicions.”
“He put his hands on what is mine, and that changes everything,” Francesco’s voice dropped to a dangerous register. Aurora felt a bubble of anger toward Paulo. “So he was playing me this whole time?” “Probably, yes.” Francesco’s lips twitched. “That asshole is going to have a very interesting conversation with me very soon.”
“Are you going to hurt him?” she asked. “Do you want me to?” he countered. “No… maybe… I don’t know,” she pressed her hands to her face. “I know it’s a lot,” Francesco said, pulling her hands away. “If you want to walk away right now, you can. You’ll be safe, and I’ll never contact you again.”
“And if I stay?” she asked. “If you stay, everything changes. You will be mine—protected, watched, and cared for, though occasionally frustrated by my security,” he said. “I won’t be an easy man to be with, but I will be yours completely.” Aurora’s head was spinning; she went from invisible to being offered the world.
“I need to think,” she said. “Okay. But can we finish talking about the venues first? I still have a job to do.” Francesco studied her and nodded. They went back to business, but his hand stayed on her waist as they reviewed photos. He stood close enough that their shoulders touched, a constant reminder of his presence.
“The Waterfront Plaza. Book it,” Francesco decided. “That’s my recommendation too. I’ll send the contract tomorrow,” she replied. He turned her to face him fully. “Think fast, Aurora. I’m not a patient man.” He kissed her forehead and stepped back, leaving her breathless and more turned on than she had ever been.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven. I’ll pick you up,” he said. “You don’t know where I live,” she argued with shaking hands. “Yes, I do. I know you live in a third-floor walk-up in Astoria and drink too much coffee.” “That’s creepy,” she remarked. “That’s thorough,” he shrugged, opening the office door for her.
Aurora fled to her car and immediately called her best friend, Natalia. “I need you to talk me down from a ledge,” she said. “Did Mr. Sexy Boss finally notice you?” “Worse. He’s noticed me for six months, made me block a guy, and told me I’m his. I think I’m dating the mafia.”
Natalia arrived at Aurora’s apartment later with wine, and Aurora spilled every detail of the day’s events. “First of all, you had sex dreams about him and didn’t tell me?” Natalia asked. “Second, this Paulo guy was only around for three weeks. You liked him because he paid attention, but Francesco was memorizing you.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Aurora admitted. “But I’ve wanted him since day one. Finding out he felt the same way makes it better and worse.” “What does your gut say?” Natalia asked. Aurora thought about the way Francesco had looked at her. “My gut says I’m going to that dinner in the red dress.”
“That’s my girl,” Natalia grinned. “But be careful if he’s really involved in organized crime.” “I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t stop thinking about him,” Aurora replied. They spent the rest of the night discussing logistics and outfits. Before bed, her phone buzzed with a message: “Sleep well, Aurora. Tomorrow changes everything.”
The next day crawled by as Aurora tried to focus on work. At five o’clock, she began getting ready, choosing the red dress that was both professional and provocative. She did her hair in loose waves and applied dramatic makeup, finishing with the vanilla perfume Francesco had noticed. At 6:55, he messaged: “I’m outside.”
Francesco was leaning against a black luxury car, looking incredible in a bespoke suit. His eyes tracked her from her heels to her hair as she approached. “Aura, you look…” he trailed off, his voice rough. “I clean up okay?” she offered. “Every man who sees you tonight is going to wish he was me.”
They drove to an Italian restaurant on the waterfront called Moposto. The space in the car felt charged with a heavy tension. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, noticing her racing pulse. “Nothing,” she lied. “Liar. You’re thinking about something that’s making you blush,” he said, his voice low and amused.
“I was thinking about your hands,” she admitted, her filter failing her. “My hands on the steering wheel?” he asked. “Thinking about them on other things,” she muttered. The car swerved slightly as he reacted. “If you keep talking like that, we aren’t making it to dinner,” he warned, pulling into a parking spot.
The restaurant was elegant, and the staff greeted Francesco by name, leading them to a private corner table. “I haven’t brought anyone here in over two years,” he told her. “This is me finally getting to look at the woman I’ve wanted for six months.” Aurora’s face heated as he recounted small details he’d remembered.
“I wanted to keep you separate because you’re good, Aurora. You light up talking about centerpieces,” he said. “You’re the kind of person who should have a normal life, but I’m not a normal man.” He explained his role as a problem solver who operates outside the law, a man people are rightfully afraid of.
“Paulo’s family and mine stay out of each other’s way, but him pursuing you was a provocation,” he continued. “I handled it. We had a conversation, and he understands you are off-limits now.” “Did you threaten him?” she asked. “I clarified boundaries. Whether he took it as a threat is his interpretation.”
They talked for hours, sharing stories about their lives and families. Aurora learned he moved from Italy at eighteen and spoke four languages. By dessert, she almost forgot he wasn’t a normal man, until his phone buzzed and his expression hardened into something dangerous. He stepped away to make a brief, cold call.
When he returned, he was calm. “Paulo won’t be bothering you anymore. He apologized, and we reached an understanding.” He took her hand across the table, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “Is being mine really so terrible?” he asked. “I don’t know yet. Ask me again in a few days,” she replied.
He walked her to her door as promised, acting like a gentleman despite his possessive declarations. “Unless you want me to come upstairs?” he asked, his eyes dark with desire. Aurora decided in that moment; she wanted the man who saw her when she thought she was invisible. “Come upstairs,” she said.
The moment the door closed, he pulled her against him and kissed her with a desperate, consuming hunger. He carried her to the bedroom, complaining about how much he hated seeing her in that dress for another man. “I wore it for you all along,” she confessed as the dress slid to the floor.
Later, as they lay together in the dark, Francesco reminded her of the life she was choosing. “You’ll have to trust me without questions sometimes,” he said. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” she replied, kissing him. He promised to take her to every meal the next day to make up for lost time.
Aurora’s phone buzzed with dozens of frantic messages from Natalia. “Are you alive? Did you go home with him?” Aurora replied that she was very much alive and would call tomorrow. Francesco read over her shoulder, his possessiveness showing again. “Don’t you dare tell her everything,” he teased, pulling her back down.
Tomorrow she would worry about the complications of dating a man like Francesco Vitelli. She would worry about the secrets, the security, and the danger of his world. But tonight, she was simply going to enjoy being seen by the man who had been watching her all along, never intending to look away.
