She Said She Needed a Boyfriend by Tomorrow, and the Most Feared Mafia Boss in Chicago Asked What Time He Should Arrive
S
“Then we should begin.”
He extended his hand.
“Marco Bellandi.”
She stared at it before shaking it.
“Sophie Bennett. Professional graphic designer. Amateur disaster.”
His hand was warm, his grip firm but gentle.
“Nice to meet you, Sophie.”
Something about the way he said her name made her stomach turn over.
She immediately released his hand.
“Rules.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“How many?”
“As many as necessary.”
She pulled a napkin toward her and borrowed Natalie’s pen.
“Rule one. No kissing.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule two. No unnecessary touching.”
“Define unnecessary.”
Sophie glared.
His mouth twitched.
“That was a joke.”
“Fantastic. The criminal underworld has developed a sense of humor.”
“Occasionally.”
“Rule three. No threatening Daniel.”
“I haven’t met Daniel.”
“I’m anticipating problems.”
“Understandable.”
“Rule four. No extravagant presents. You’re not buying my mother a house, my sister a car, or my grandmother a diamond necklace.”
“You’re limiting my options.”
“Good. Rule five.”
She paused dramatically.
“No murder.”
Silence.
Marco slowly placed his cup down.
“Nobody has ever put that in a dating agreement before.”
“Then you’ve been dating irresponsible women.”
A low laugh escaped him.
It surprised Sophie so completely that she forgot her next rule.
The laugh changed his entire face.
For one brief moment, he looked less like a man whose name frightened people and more like someone who had forgotten what happiness felt like.
She noticed.
She wished she hadn’t.
“Final rule,” she said quickly. “No improvising.”
Marco folded his hands.
“That might be difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t told me why I’m supposedly in love with you.”
Sophie stared.
“Wow.”
He frowned.
“That came out badly.”
“Impressive. We’ve been dating for eight minutes, and you’re already in trouble.”
Marco laughed again.
Natalie watched them as though she’d accidentally wandered into a movie where everyone else had read the script.
Sophie began writing.
“Favorite food?”
“Steak.”
“Predictable. Mine is french fries.”
“That’s not a meal.”
“It is when you believe in yourself.”
“Favorite flowers?”
“White orchids.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose.
“Roses are lazy. Orchids are pretentious. I like wildflowers. They look like somebody picked them because they were thinking about you, not because a florist told them what women want.”
Marco looked at her thoughtfully.
She kept writing.
“Favorite hobby?”
“Woodworking.”
Her pen stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“I build furniture.”
“The mafia boss builds furniture?”
“Badly.”
Sophie stared at him.
Then she grinned.
“Oh, thank God.”
“For what?”
“I was starting to think you had no normal flaws.”
“I assure you, I have several.”
“I’ll need the complete list before tomorrow.”
For nearly two hours, the ridiculous arrangement grew into something unexpectedly comfortable.
They invented a first date at a little Italian restaurant. They decided Sophie had spilled coffee on Marco when they met, that he had asked for her number, and that she’d made him wait three days before calling.
They rehearsed family questions, favorite movies, embarrassing habits, and harmless arguments.
But somewhere between discussing his terrible carpentry and her collection of unfinished watercolor paintings, the conversation changed.
Marco asked, “What do you do when somebody hurts you?”
Sophie answered immediately.
“Make jokes.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It is what I do.”
He watched her.
“You laugh so other people don’t notice you’re hurting.”
Her smile faltered.
She looked down at the napkin.
“You’re annoyingly observant.”
“Occupational hazard.”
For once, he didn’t push for more.
That surprised her.
Daniel had always demanded explanations, then criticized the way she expressed them.
Marco simply allowed the silence to exist.
Finally, he stood.
“Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”
Sophie folded the napkin and put it inside her purse.
“Remember the rules.”
“No kissing. No unnecessary touching. No threats. No expensive gifts.”
“And?”
He paused.
A slow smile crossed his face.
“No murder.”
“Especially that one.”
Marco headed toward the door.
Natalie waited until he was gone before grabbing Sophie’s hands.
“Do you understand what you’ve just done?”
Sophie stared at the napkin covered with details about a man she barely knew.
“Yes.”
“You just agreed to bring the most feared man in Chicago to your mother’s birthday dinner.”
Sophie swallowed.
Then her phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent a message.
Wear the blue dress you mentioned. It sounds beautiful.
A second message arrived.
And Sophie, you don’t have to pretend to be someone else tomorrow. That’s my job.
She read the words twice.
Then she looked at Natalie.
“I think,” she whispered, “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
But the strangest part was that she was smiling.
At 6:58 the following evening, Sophie Bennett stood outside her mother’s house in a midnight-blue dress and considered climbing into the nearest trash can.
“This is a disaster,” she muttered.
Beside her, Marco Bellandi adjusted the cuff of his black suit.
“Yesterday, you called it an efficient solution.”
“I’ve had twenty-four hours to develop better judgment.”
“You’ve had twenty-four hours to panic.”
“That too.”
He looked effortlessly elegant.
No flashy jewelry, no obvious display of wealth beyond his beautifully tailored suit and the sleek black car parked along the curb.
One bodyguard remained behind the wheel.
Another stood near the vehicle, looking inconspicuously enormous.
Sophie eyed them.
“Do they have to stay?”
“They’ll wait outside.”
“This is a birthday party, Marco, not a hostile takeover.”
“I’ve met your uncle Robert.”
She frowned.
“Uncle Robert’s an orthodontist.”
“He’s very aggressive about retirement investments.”
Sophie laughed despite herself.
Then she looked through the living-room window.
Her mother stood beside the dining table, smiling at guests.
Her younger sister, Lily, was arranging candles.
And across the room stood Daniel Harris.
Tall, blond, handsome.
Wearing the navy jacket Sophie had bought him for their last anniversary.
Beside him was Victoria Lane, the woman he’d been seeing while telling Sophie he needed space.
Sophie looked away.
Marco noticed immediately.
“Blue jacket?”
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Your eyebrows said plenty.”
He offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
She hesitated.
“Necessary touching?”
“We’re supposed to be dating.”
“Right.”
She slipped her hand around his arm.
He leaned closer.
“Breathe, Sophie.”
She looked up at him.
“That’s easy for you to say. Nobody here is going to ask when you’re finally having children.”
“My uncle Anthony once asked whether I needed medical assistance.”
She stared.
Marco’s expression remained perfectly serious.
A laugh escaped her.
“Okay. You win.”
He opened the front door.
“Sophie!”
Her mother rushed toward them.
Evelyn Bennett was a warm, beautiful woman with silver-streaked hair and the unfortunate habit of treating her youngest daughter’s romantic future like a community improvement project.
“Happy birthday, Mom.”
Evelyn hugged Sophie.
Then she looked past her.
And stopped.
The smile disappeared from her face.
She glanced at Marco.
Then back at Sophie.
Then at Marco again.
“Oh, my goodness.”
Sophie swallowed.
“Mom, this is Marco.”
“Marco Bellandi?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked positively stunned.
“This is your boyfriend?”
“Technically—”
Marco turned toward Sophie.
She squeezed his arm hard.
“I mean, yes.”
Lily appeared from the kitchen.
She took one look at Marco and dropped the napkins she was carrying.
“No way.”
Sophie glared.
“Hello to you too.”
“You weren’t lying?”
“I resent how surprised everyone seems.”
Lily leaned closer.
“I thought you invented him!”
Sophie grimaced.
“Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
Before Lily could answer, a booming voice filled the hallway.
“Marco!”
Anthony Bellandi approached with outstretched arms.
He was in his late sixties, with a round belly, a magnificent mustache, and the cheerful arrogance of a man who considered everyone in Chicago either a relative or a potential relative.
“My boy!”
He hugged Marco enthusiastically.
Then noticed Sophie holding his nephew’s arm.
Anthony blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he threw his head back and laughed.
“Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Anthony,” Marco warned.
“You brought a woman!”
“Please don’t announce it.”
Anthony immediately turned toward the living room.
“Cancel the introductions! My nephew brought a woman!”
Three elegantly dressed women near the fireplace looked disappointed.
Sophie leaned toward Marco.
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I rarely need to.”
She bit back a laugh.
For the next twenty minutes, everything went surprisingly well.
Marco greeted Sophie’s relatives politely.
He complimented Evelyn’s house without sounding patronizing.
He listened patiently while her grandmother discussed the proper way to grow tomatoes.
He even allowed Uncle Robert to explain compound interest.
Sophie watched him with growing disbelief.
The man everyone supposedly feared was sitting on her mother’s couch discussing retirement accounts.
Then dinner began.
And disaster arrived with the salad.
“So, Marco,” Aunt Denise asked, leaning forward, “how did you two meet?”
Sophie straightened.
This was easy.
They had rehearsed this.
“At a coffee shop,” she began.
But Marco spoke at the same time.
“Actually, I saw Sophie before that.”
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Slowly, she turned toward him.
He looked perfectly relaxed.
Sophie whispered through her smile, “Rule six.”
He ignored her.
“A few months ago,” Marco continued, “I was having lunch at a restaurant downtown.”
Sophie frowned.
“There was a young waiter working his first week. He dropped a tray near a customer’s table.”
Something moved in Sophie’s memory.
“He couldn’t have been older than seventeen,” Marco said. “The customer started shouting at him. Insulting him. Threatening to have him fired.”
Sophie put down her fork.
She remembered.
The boy’s shaking hands.
The broken plates.
The angry man in the expensive watch.
“Everyone watched,” Marco continued. “Except Sophie.”
Evelyn looked at her daughter.
“What did you do?”
Sophie shrugged.
“Nothing special.”
Marco shook his head.
“She stood up and told the man that dropping dishes wasn’t a crime, but humiliating a teenager in public was a pretty embarrassing hobby.”
Lily burst out laughing.
“That sounds exactly like Sophie.”
“The man told her to mind her own business,” Marco continued. “She asked him whether frightening teenagers was the most impressive thing he’d accomplished all week.”
Even Evelyn laughed.
Sophie stared at Marco.
“You were there?”
“Three tables away.”
“How did I not see you?”
“You were busy.”
Daniel spoke from across the table.
“So that’s when you became interested in her?”
His tone was casual.
His eyes were not.
Marco met his gaze.
“That’s when I remembered her.”
Silence settled briefly over the table.
Sophie looked down at her plate, suddenly aware that her cheeks were warm.
She hadn’t known anyone important had watched her that day.
She certainly hadn’t expected a man like Marco Bellandi to remember a small act of kindness.
Aunt Denise sighed happily.
“That’s so romantic.”
Sophie leaned toward Marco.
“You’re breaking every rule we made.”
He murmured, “That story was true.”
“That doesn’t make it less terrifying.”
His eyes softened.
“You were wonderful that day.”
She forgot what she was going to say.
That was becoming a problem.
Dinner continued.
Marco was charming without trying too hard, funny without dominating conversations, and so attentive that Sophie occasionally forgot their relationship was imaginary.
When she became nervous, he noticed.
When Daniel casually mentioned a ski trip they’d taken together, Marco didn’t compete.
He simply passed Sophie the bread basket.
When Victoria began describing the expensive kitchen she and Daniel were renovating, Sophie smiled politely.
Marco leaned closer.
“Too much sugar.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Your coffee. You’ve added three packets.”
Sophie looked down.
He was right.
“So?”
“You told me yesterday that you do that when you’re anxious.”
She stared.
“You remember everything?”
“Only things worth remembering.”
Across the table, Daniel’s smile tightened.
By dessert, he started asking questions.
“So, Marco. What’s Sophie’s favorite comfort food?”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“Are we doing a quiz now?”
“Just making conversation.”
“French fries,” Marco answered.
“Easy.”
“With too much salt. Preferably eaten standing in her kitchen after a terrible day.”
Lily laughed.
“That’s frighteningly accurate.”
Marco continued.
“She also pretends she doesn’t want dessert, then steals half of whatever somebody else orders.”
Sophie looked offended.
“I do not.”
“You ate my cheesecake yesterday.”
“That was research!”
Her grandmother chuckled.
Daniel tried again.
“Favorite flowers?”
“Wildflowers,” Marco said immediately. “Not roses.”
Victoria tilted her head.
“Why not roses?”
“Because she thinks roses are lazy.”
Sophie looked at him in disbelief.
“I only told you that once.”
“You spent four minutes explaining it.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to listen.”
Marco regarded her quietly.
“I wanted to.”
Something warm and unfamiliar moved through her chest.
She tried to bury it beneath sarcasm.
“Well, congratulations. You’re disturbingly competent.”
Daniel set down his wineglass.
“He’s certainly observant.”
Marco’s answer came without hesitation.
“She’s worth observing.”
The table went silent.
Sophie nearly dropped her spoon.
Across from her, Daniel looked like a man watching someone else discover a treasure he’d thrown away.
But it was Victoria who finally shattered the fragile peace.
“You know,” she said pleasantly, “Sophie has always been incredibly easy to be around.”
Sophie felt herself tense.
She recognized that particular compliment.
Funny.
Dependable.
Comfortable.
All the words Daniel once used before explaining why she wasn’t sophisticated enough for the life he wanted.
Victoria smiled at Marco.
“Men with your responsibilities usually need someone who can stand beside them in a very demanding world. Someone polished. Someone who understands the expectations.”
Daniel looked down.
Sophie understood immediately.
She was being dismissed.
Again.
Only this time, something inside her refused to shrink.
She placed her spoon down.
“That’s interesting, Victoria.”
Victoria blinked.
“What is?”
“Daniel used to tell me the same thing.”
Daniel straightened.
“I never said that.”
“No. You used more words.”
Lily covered her mouth.
Sophie continued, her voice calm but firm.
“You called it helping me reach my potential.”
“I was trying to support you.”
“By telling me I should laugh less?”
Daniel’s face reddened.
“That isn’t fair.”
“By suggesting I dress differently? Speak more carefully? Stop making jokes in front of your colleagues because they might think I wasn’t serious enough?”
“Sophie—”
“You wanted me to be quieter, Daniel. More elegant. Less embarrassing.”
Her voice trembled.
She hated that.
But she kept speaking.
“For two years, I tried to become the woman you thought you deserved. And every time I changed something, you found something else that needed fixing.”
No one moved.
Sophie looked directly at Victoria.
“So yes, I’m comfortable. I’m funny. Sometimes I’m loud. I eat fries for dinner, laugh at inappropriate moments, and cry during commercials about abandoned dogs.”
Her eyes stung.
“But I’m done apologizing for being myself.”
Marco sat very still beside her.
He didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t threaten Daniel.
He didn’t turn the moment into a demonstration of his power.
He simply let Sophie speak.
And somehow, that meant more than a hundred grand gestures.
Victoria lowered her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I know,” Sophie replied. “That’s part of the problem. People don’t always realize when they’re asking somebody else to become smaller.”
The room remained quiet.
Then her grandmother reached across the table and squeezed Sophie’s hand.
“Your grandfather loved me because I never knew how to keep my mouth shut,” she said.
A few people laughed.
Her grandmother smiled.
“Don’t start now, sweetheart.”
Sophie laughed through the tears gathering in her eyes.
For the first time all evening, she felt like she could breathe.
But Daniel wasn’t finished.
He caught her near the patio doors twenty minutes later.
“Sophie, can we talk?”
She glanced toward Marco.
He noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened.
She raised one warning finger.
“Rule three.”
Marco held up both hands.
“I haven’t moved.”
“Keep it that way.”
Daniel led her onto the back patio.
Chicago’s October air was cold enough to make her wish she’d brought a sweater.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Daniel sighed.
“You seem different.”
Sophie laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The sentence every ex-boyfriend says when he sees his former girlfriend surviving without him.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He looked through the glass doors toward Marco.
“Is this about making me jealous?”
Sophie stared.
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, Sophie. Marco Bellandi? You’ve always hated that kind of world.”
“You don’t know what kind of world I want anymore.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“I’ve been thinking about us.”
She felt a familiar ache.
Months earlier, those words would have destroyed her.
Tonight, they simply exhausted her.
“Why?”
He looked surprised.
“What?”
“Why have you been thinking about us?”
“Because I miss you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
Daniel hesitated.
Sophie watched him carefully.
And suddenly, she understood.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You don’t miss me.”
“Of course I do.”
“No. You miss knowing I was still waiting.”
Daniel said nothing.
“You thought I’d be the same woman you left behind. Sitting alone. Wondering what I did wrong.”
“Sophie, that’s not fair.”
She smiled sadly.
“You didn’t suddenly realize I was enough. You saw someone else treating me like I was.”
He looked away.
And Sophie knew she’d finally reached the truth.
“I loved you, Daniel,” she said softly. “But I’m not going back to a life where loving you means loving myself less.”
She opened the patio door.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
Daniel looked up.
“Victoria deserves someone who wants her because of who she is, not because he thinks she looks better standing beside him.”
Then Sophie walked inside.
Her heart was pounding.
But for the first time in months, it wasn’t breaking.
She had barely returned to the dining room when a breathtaking woman in an emerald-green dress entered.
The woman had glossy dark hair, an elegant figure, and a dazzling smile.
The moment she saw Marco, her face lit up.
“Marco!”
She hurried toward him.
Then threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
Marco hugged her back.
Sophie stopped walking.
Lily appeared beside her.
“Oh, wow.”
Sophie stared.
“Who is that?”
“No idea. But she’s gorgeous.”
“I have eyes.”
Lily glanced at her.
“Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“Absolutely not.”
Across the room, Marco looked up.
Their eyes met.
Sophie smiled brightly.
Much too brightly.
His expression changed.
Then, to her irritation, he began smiling.
He approached with the woman beside him.
“Sophie.”
“Mr. Bellandi.”
Marco stopped.
Lily made a tiny choking noise.
The beautiful woman looked between them.
“Mr. Bellandi?”
Sophie nodded.
“We’re feeling formal.”
Marco’s mouth twitched.
“Sophie, this is Elena.”
“How lovely.”
“My cousin.”
Sophie froze.
Lily turned away, shaking with silent laughter.
Elena extended her hand.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
Sophie stared at Marco.
“Have you?”
He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Apparently.”
Elena excused herself to greet Anthony.
The moment she disappeared, Marco leaned closer.
“Were you jealous?”
Sophie folded her arms.
“Of course not, Mr. Bellandi.”
“That’s twice.”
“Would you prefer Mr. Marco Bellandi?”
His smile disappeared.
Lily whispered, “Run, Sophie.”
Marco laughed.
Sophie tried not to.
Failed.
Then he held out his hand.
She looked at it.
“Necessary touching?”
“Very.”
“Why?”
He glanced toward the dining room.
“Your mother is watching.”
Sophie looked.
Evelyn was absolutely watching.
So was Daniel.
Sophie placed her hand in Marco’s.
But Marco didn’t look toward either of them.
He looked only at her.
And for one dangerous moment, Sophie couldn’t remember which parts of this evening were supposed to be fake.
Then Victoria’s voice rose from the dining table.
“Sophie, there’s something I’ve been wondering.”
Something in her tone made Sophie’s stomach tighten.
Victoria held her wineglass delicately.
“You said you and Marco started dating months ago.”
Sophie forced a smile.
“Yes.”
“But your mother had never heard his name until tonight.”
Silence fell.
Victoria continued.
“And you keep joking that he’s your fake boyfriend.”
Daniel slowly turned toward Sophie.
Lily stopped smiling.
Victoria tilted her head.
“So I have to ask.”
She set down her glass.
“Is Marco Bellandi actually your boyfriend?”
Sophie felt the floor disappear beneath her.
Every face turned toward her.
Her mother looked confused.
Her sister looked terrified.
Daniel looked suddenly hopeful.
And Marco?
Marco remained perfectly still.
He could have saved her with one sentence.
He could have told a lie so convincing that nobody would dare challenge it.
Instead, he gently released her hand.
Not in rejection.
In permission.
He was leaving the choice to her.
Sophie stared at the faces around the table.
Then, slowly, she put down her glass.
“No,” she said.
Her mother’s smile vanished.
“No,” Sophie repeated, her voice shaking. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
The room went deathly quiet.
“I asked him to pretend.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Evelyn Bennett slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Sophie,” she whispered, “why would you do something like that?”
Sophie opened her mouth.
A joke was already forming.
Something about hiring dangerous men being cheaper than therapy.
Something funny enough to make everyone laugh and forget how badly she was hurting.
But she looked at Marco.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t waiting to rescue her.
He was simply looking at her as though the truth, however difficult, was something she had every right to tell.
So Sophie let the joke disappear.
“Because I was afraid to come here alone.”
Her mother frowned.
“Sweetheart, you know we don’t care whether you’re single.”
Sophie gave a quiet, broken laugh.
“Mom, you care all the time.”
Evelyn looked wounded.
“I only want you to be happy.”
“I know. But every birthday, every Christmas, every family dinner, somebody asks whether I’ve met someone. Whether I’m dating. Whether I’m worried about getting older. Whether I think I should try harder.”
Her voice grew stronger.
“When Daniel left, everyone told me I’d find somebody better. Nobody asked whether I needed time to be alone.”
Aunt Denise shifted in her chair.
Sophie continued.
“I have a career I love. I pay my own bills. I have friends who would show up at three in the morning if I needed them. I have an apartment full of plants I keep accidentally killing. I built a life I’m proud of.”
Her eyes filled.
“But you all kept acting like none of it mattered until somebody put a ring on my finger.”
Evelyn pressed a hand to her mouth.
Sophie looked around the table.
“I invented a boyfriend because I thought bringing someone would finally make everybody see me as successful.”
She swallowed.
“And that’s ridiculous. Because I was already enough when I walked through that door.”
Her grandmother wiped her eyes.
Lily slowly raised one hand.
“For the record, I may have helped the imaginary boyfriend become a family legend.”
Despite everything, Sophie laughed.
“You definitely did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Evelyn stood.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She crossed the room and pulled Sophie into her arms.
“I never wanted you to feel like you had to earn your place in this family.”
Sophie hugged her back.
“Then please stop making my love life the first question you ask.”
Her mother nodded against her shoulder.
“I will.”
Across the room, Daniel cleared his throat.
“So the whole relationship was fake.”
There was something almost relieved in his voice.
Sophie pulled away from her mother.
“The arrangement was.”
Marco spoke for the first time.
Everyone turned.
His eyes remained on Sophie.
“My interest isn’t.”
Her breath caught.
Daniel frowned.
“You barely know her.”
Marco regarded him calmly.
“I know that she stands up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. I know she laughs when she’s nervous. I know she thinks wildflowers mean more than expensive roses.”
He paused.
“And I know she spent two years with a man who made her believe she was difficult to love.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
Marco’s voice remained quiet.
“I find that difficult to understand.”
Nobody moved.
Sophie looked at him, stunned.
He hadn’t threatened anyone.
He hadn’t raised his voice.
But every word landed with more force than shouting ever could.
Then Marco stepped back.
He didn’t claim her.
He didn’t ask for an answer.
He left the next decision entirely to her.
Sophie turned toward Daniel.
“You know what the worst part was?”
Daniel swallowed.
“What?”
“When you left, I believed you.”
His expression changed.
“I believed I wasn’t enough. I believed Victoria was better because she was quieter and more polished and fit into your world.”
“Sophie—”
“But she wasn’t better. She was different. And I spent months hating myself because I thought different meant I was defective.”
She shook her head.
“I’m done with that.”
Daniel lowered his eyes.
For the first time, he had no answer.
And Sophie realized she no longer needed one.
The rest of the evening passed differently.
There were no dramatic confrontations.
No public humiliations.
Victoria apologized privately for her remarks.
Daniel left early, his expression unreadable.
Anthony sang two songs after dessert and cried during both.
And Evelyn spent almost an hour sitting beside Sophie, asking about her new design project instead of her romantic future.
It was such a small change.
Yet it felt enormous.
By midnight, the last guests were collecting their coats.
Sophie found Marco standing near the front door.
He was fastening his watch.
She checked the time.
“Midnight.”
He looked up.
“So it is.”
“Our agreement is officially over.”
“Yes.”
She folded her arms.
“So you’re no longer my boyfriend.”
“No.”
She waited.
He waited.
Sophie frowned.
“Why does that sound so disappointing?”
Marco’s eyes softened.
“I was wondering the same thing.”
For once, she couldn’t find a joke.
She simply looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not saving me.”
Marco studied her.
“You didn’t need saving, Sophie.”
“I thought I did.”
He stepped closer.
“Sometimes people don’t need somebody to fight their battles. They need someone who trusts them enough to let them fight.”
Her throat tightened.
“You gave me room.”
“It was your story to tell.”
She stared at him.
He was a man surrounded by whispered rumors, expensive cars, and people who obeyed when he spoke.
A man who could have taken control of the entire evening.
Yet when it mattered, he hadn’t.
Sophie had never felt more respected.
Marco opened the door.
Cold air swept into the hallway.
“Good night, Sophie.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“Our agreement ended at midnight.”
“Now you’re following rules?”
“Apparently.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Marco stepped outside.
Then paused.
“Besides…”
“What?”
“If I stay any longer, I may start improvising.”
He smiled faintly.
Then walked away.
Sophie stood watching until his car disappeared down the street.
Lily appeared beside her.
“Are you going after him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Sophie looked down at the folded napkin still tucked inside her purse.
The napkin with all their invented facts.
All their imaginary dates.
All the harmless lies they’d created to survive one evening.
“Because,” she whispered, “if I go after him now, it has to be real.”
Lily studied her.
“And would that be so terrible?”
Sophie didn’t answer.
Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether she was afraid of loving Marco Bellandi.
Or of discovering how much she already did.
Three days passed.
Marco didn’t call.
On the first day, Sophie went to work and designed a restaurant logo so aggressively that her client asked whether the red lettering could be a little less threatening.
On the second day, she cleaned her apartment.
On the third, she alphabetized her spice cabinet.
Natalie called that evening.
“Has he contacted you?”
“No.”
“Have you contacted him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a mature, emotionally evolved woman.”
“You alphabetized your spices.”
“That proves nothing.”
Natalie sighed.
“Sophie, what are you afraid of?”
Sophie looked at the little glass jars arranged across her counter.
“His life.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“He’s dangerous, Natalie.”
“Also reasonable.”
“And complicated.”
“Extremely.”
“And probably surrounded by more secrets than I can count.”
Natalie was quiet for a moment.
“Then maybe the question isn’t whether he likes you. Maybe it’s whether his life is one you can safely choose.”
Sophie sat down.
Because that was the question she’d been avoiding.
She liked Marco.
More than liked him, if she was being painfully truthful.
But attraction wasn’t enough.
She’d spent two years changing herself for Daniel.
She wasn’t about to spend the rest of her life pretending she was comfortable with things that frightened her.
That evening, her phone rang.
Marco Bellandi.
Sophie stared at the screen.
Then answered.
“Do you need another fake girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Family emergency?”
“No.”
“Somebody needs intimidating?”
A pause.
“Not tonight.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Then why are you calling?”
“Dinner.”
“We already did dinner.”
“That was an operation.”
Sophie laughed.
“You’re calling my mother’s birthday an operation?”
“It had objectives, rules, and hostile parties.”
“Fair.”
Silence followed.
Then she asked quietly, “Why now?”
Marco’s answer came without hesitation.
“Because tomorrow isn’t an emergency.”
Sophie stopped smiling.
“No family waiting. No ex-boyfriend. No imaginary relationship.”
He paused.
“Nothing to prove.”
She looked down at her hands.
“So this would be a real date.”
“If you want it.”
She swallowed.
“Marco, there’s something we need to talk about first.”
“I know.”
“Your life.”
A long silence.
Then he said, “I’m listening.”
She took a breath.
“I won’t pretend I don’t know who you are.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“I’ve heard things.”
“Some are true.”
That answer surprised her.
“Most men would deny everything.”
“Most men would tell you whatever they thought you wanted to hear.”
She closed her eyes.
“And you won’t?”
“No.”
“Then tell me something real.”
Marco was silent for several seconds.
“When I was twenty-three, my father died owing money to people who didn’t accept apologies. I inherited his debts, his enemies, and responsibilities I wasn’t ready for.”
Sophie listened.
“I made choices I wouldn’t make today. Some were necessary. Some weren’t. I won’t dress them up as anything noble.”
“Are you still involved in things that could put me in danger?”
“Yes.”
Her heart sank.
Marco continued.
“And that’s why I’m telling you the truth instead of asking you to trust a story I’ve invented.”
Sophie pressed a hand against her forehead.
“Then how could this possibly work?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the first time she’d heard uncertainty in his voice.
“But I’m changing things. Slowly. The businesses I built legitimately are strong enough that I don’t need every arrangement I inherited.”
“And the rest?”
“Some can be closed. Others have to be untangled carefully. There are people whose jobs and families depend on decisions I make.”
She stared at the wall.
“Marco, I don’t want to become another responsibility you manage.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“I mean it. No secrets that affect my safety. No controlling where I go or who I see. No deciding what’s best for me without asking.”
“Agreed.”
“And I won’t be used as leverage against your enemies.”
His voice grew quieter.
“That’s the part I can’t promise absolutely. Which is why you deserve to know the risks before you say yes.”
Sophie closed her eyes.
This wasn’t a fairy tale.
He wasn’t pretending to be harmless.
He was giving her the one thing Daniel had rarely offered.
An honest choice.
“Then we take this slowly,” she said.
“As slowly as you want.”
“And if I decide this isn’t right for me?”
“I’ll respect it.”
She looked at the folded napkin lying beside her phone.
For a moment, she remembered the ridiculous conversation that had started everything.
A boyfriend by tomorrow.
A criminal record.
A decent pair of shoes.
She smiled faintly.
“Friday,” she said.
Marco went quiet.
“Friday?”
“Dinner. A real date.”
She heard him exhale.
“Seven?”
“Six-thirty. I like eating before I get dramatic.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“And Marco?”
“Yes?”
“No bodyguards at the table.”
His low laugh warmed her through the phone.
“Agreed.”
Friday arrived beneath a pale autumn sky.
Marco picked Sophie up wearing dark jeans, a black sweater, and a slightly nervous expression she never would have believed possible.
She opened her apartment door.
He held out a small bouquet of wildflowers.
Sophie stared.
“No orchids?”
“You said they were pretentious.”
“No roses?”
“You said they were lazy.”
She took the flowers carefully.
“And no diamonds?”
“I was instructed not to buy your family expensive gifts.”
“Smart man.”
He smiled.
“I try.”
They didn’t go to an exclusive restaurant.
Instead, Marco took her to a little neighborhood diner near Lincoln Park.
They ordered burgers and french fries.
Sophie stole half of his fries.
He complained.
She stole another.
And for two hours, they talked.
Not about pretending.
Not about Daniel.
Not about their families.
About childhood.
About failures.
About the people they’d lost.
Marco told her about his mother, who had died when he was seventeen.
“She loved old houses,” he said. “She always said broken things deserved somebody patient enough to repair them.”
Sophie smiled.
“Is that why you build furniture?”
“Probably.”
“Even though you’re terrible at it?”
“Especially because I’m terrible at it.”
She laughed.
He watched her for a long moment.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Marco.”
“I like that sound.”
“What sound?”
“You laughing when you’re actually happy.”
Sophie looked away.
For once, she didn’t make a joke.
Later, they walked through the park beneath trees turning red and gold.
Marco kept his hands in his coat pockets.
He didn’t touch her without invitation.
He didn’t crowd her.
But he stayed close enough that she could feel his warmth.
At the end of the path, Sophie stopped.
“Show me something real.”
He looked down at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Something from your life that doesn’t involve money, reputation, or terrifying people.”
Marco considered her request.
Then nodded.
“I know a place.”
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a modest brick house in a quiet neighborhood.
Behind it stood a small workshop.
Marco unlocked the door.
Inside, wooden shelves lined the walls.
Tools hung above a long workbench.
There were half-finished tables, crooked chairs, piles of sawdust, and a small wooden stool sitting proudly in the middle of the floor.
Sophie stared.
“You weren’t joking.”
“About what?”
“You actually make furniture.”
“I told you.”
She walked toward the stool.
“Did you build this?”
“Yes.”
“The whole thing?”
“Yes.”
She sat down.
The stool wobbled.
Left.
Right.
Left again.
Sophie froze.
Marco closed his eyes.
She slowly looked up.
“The most feared man in Chicago cannot build a level stool.”
“I warned you.”
“You own a level, don’t you?”
“Several.”
“And yet…”
“Please get off the stool.”
“No. I want to see how this ends.”
“It may collapse.”
“Then I’ll die knowing the truth.”
Marco laughed so hard he had to lean against the workbench.
And Sophie looked at him.
Really looked.
The expensive suit was gone.
The intimidating posture was gone.
Even the cold expression he’d worn in the café had disappeared.
Here was a man with sawdust on his sleeve, a crooked stool, and a laugh he’d probably spent years forgetting how to use.
She stood.
“Marco?”
He stopped laughing.
“Yes?”
“I have another rule.”
His expression became solemn.
“Of course you do.”
“No pretending you’re somebody you’re not.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“That’s a difficult rule.”
“I know.”
“Especially for me.”
“I know that too.”
He stepped closer.
“Then I have one.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow.
“Go ahead.”
“If you’re frightened, you tell me. If you’re angry, you tell me. And if you decide you want to leave, you don’t have to invent an excuse.”
Her throat tightened.
“That’s three rules.”
“I’m bad at counting.”
“And carpentry.”
“Apparently.”
She smiled.
Then he looked at her lips.
“Rule one,” he murmured.
Sophie remembered.
“No kissing.”
“Expired?”
She pretended to consider.
“Possibly.”
He moved closer.
Then stopped.
“May I?”
Her heart turned over.
“You realize asking permission is terrible for your frightening reputation.”
“I’ll recover.”
Sophie smiled.
“Yes.”
Marco kissed her gently.
No audience.
No performance.
No jealous ex-boyfriend watching from across a room.
Just a quiet workshop, the faint scent of fresh-cut wood, and two people who had finally stopped pretending.
When he pulled away, Sophie stared at him.
“That was acceptable.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“Acceptable?”
“I’m managing your expectations.”
“You’re doing a terrible job.”
“Thank you.”
He laughed.
Then she kissed him again.
But love didn’t make the difficult parts disappear.
Over the following weeks, Sophie discovered that Marco’s life came with complicated realities.
Sometimes he canceled dinner because of problems at his warehouses.
Sometimes unfamiliar cars waited outside his buildings.
Sometimes he grew quiet after phone calls and wouldn’t discuss details that might put other people at risk.
And Sophie refused to pretend those things didn’t matter.
One evening, after he canceled their plans for the third time, she confronted him in his kitchen.
“I can’t keep making room for you if you’re never actually here.”
Marco stood motionless beside the counter.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She folded her arms.
“I don’t want an expensive apology. I don’t want flowers. I want consistency.”
He looked exhausted.
“I’ve spent fifteen years building a life where everyone expects me to handle every crisis personally.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m realizing I don’t know how to stop.”
Sophie took a breath.
“Then learn. Not for me. For yourself.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“I won’t become another person waiting at home for you to decide when there’s room in your life for her.”
For a moment, she feared he’d become angry.
Instead, Marco slowly nodded.
“You’re right.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What else should I say?”
“I don’t know. Daniel usually gave a forty-minute presentation explaining why my expectations were unreasonable.”
Marco came closer.
“I can’t promise I’ll become a different man overnight.”
“I don’t want a different man.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A man who understands that loving someone means making choices, not just making promises.”
Marco was quiet.
Then he said, “I can start there.”
And he did.
Not perfectly.
Not immediately.
But he made changes.
He delegated more responsibility within his legitimate businesses. He began ending arrangements that had kept him tied to dangerous people, working with legal advisers to handle the consequences rather than simply walking away.
He stopped making promises he couldn’t keep.
And when a late-night emergency threatened their plans, he called Sophie before she had to wonder where he was.
Sometimes she still got angry.
Sometimes he still withdrew.
Sometimes they argued.
But neither asked the other to become smaller.
Three months later, Sophie stood in a small art gallery on Chicago’s North Side, staring at six framed illustrations hanging beneath soft lights.
Her work.
Her first independent exhibition.
For years, Daniel had called her illustrations a charming hobby.
Marco had spent weeks reminding her to submit them.
But he hadn’t purchased the gallery.
He hadn’t arranged special publicity.
He hadn’t bought every painting.
He had simply asked, “Do you want me there?”
Sophie had answered, “More than anything.”
Now he stood near the entrance, wearing a dark coat and holding a crooked wooden frame he’d made himself.
Sophie looked at it.
“Please tell me that’s not for one of my paintings.”
“It is.”
“Marco, the corners aren’t even straight.”
“I was hoping you’d find that charming.”
She looked at the awkward frame.
Then at the man holding it.
And laughed.
“Oh, I do.”
Her mother approached from behind them.
“Sophie, honey, your grandmother wants to know how much you’re charging for the blue painting.”
“Tell her she can have it.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
Sophie turned.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s your work. She can accept it as a gift if you choose, but she shouldn’t assume you don’t deserve to be paid.”
Evelyn smiled.
“He’s right, sweetheart.”
Sophie stared at her mother.
“Who are you people?”
Evelyn kissed her cheek.
“People who are learning.”
Later that evening, after the guests had left, Sophie stood beside Marco on the gallery steps.
Snow had begun falling.
The city lights blurred in the distance.
Marco slipped his hand into hers.
“You sold four pieces tonight.”
“Five. Grandma bought the blue one.”
“I thought you were giving it to her.”
“She insisted on paying.”
He smiled.
“Smart woman.”
Sophie rested her head briefly against his shoulder.
“Do you ever think about that day at the café?”
“Frequently.”
She laughed.
“When I said I’d take practically anyone?”
Marco looked offended.
“Practically anyone?”
“You had very nice shoes.”
“I’m relieved.”
“And you knew how to use a fork.”
“An important qualification.”
She turned toward him.
“Marco?”
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something.”
He studied her.
She felt the familiar urge to make a joke.
To hide behind something funny.
To turn a frightening truth into a harmless sentence.
But she didn’t.
“When I asked you to be my boyfriend, I thought I needed someone to prove I was worth choosing.”
Marco’s expression softened.
“And now?”
She took his hand.
“Now I know I was already worth choosing.”
He nodded.
“You were.”
She smiled through sudden tears.
“And that’s why I can choose you without losing myself.”
Marco gently brushed a snowflake from her hair.
“I don’t want you to lose yourself, Sophie.”
“I know.”
She looked into his eyes.
“And I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life believing the worst things you’ve done are the only things you’ll ever be.”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
Then he lowered his forehead to hers.
“I’m trying.”
“I can see that.”
He kissed her.
Softly.
Carefully.
Like a man who had finally learned that love wasn’t something he could command, purchase, or protect through sheer force of will.
It was something he had to choose.
Every day.
Six months after the birthday dinner, Sophie returned to the same café where everything had begun.
Natalie sat across from her, sipping an iced latte.
“I still can’t believe you met Marco Bellandi by announcing you needed a boyfriend.”
Sophie groaned.
“Please stop telling that story.”
“You literally said you’d take anybody with a pulse.”
“I had standards.”
“You asked whether he could use a fork.”
“A perfectly reasonable question.”
Natalie laughed.
Then glanced over Sophie’s shoulder.
Her smile widened.
“Oh, speaking of standards.”
A familiar deep voice came from behind Sophie.
“Am I still practically anyone?”
Sophie closed her eyes.
“Not again.”
Marco pulled out the chair beside her.
He was wearing a simple black sweater.
There was a small bandage on his thumb.
Sophie noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Workshop accident.”
“What did you do?”
“Built a shelf.”
“Is it level?”
He paused.
Natalie burst out laughing.
Sophie shook her head affectionately.
Marco sat beside her.
“So,” he said, “I have a question.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Why does that sound dangerous?”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Another operation?”
“No.”
“Hostile parties?”
“Hopefully not.”
“Any rules?”
Marco considered.
“One.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow.
“What rule?”
“No imaginary boyfriends.”
She laughed.
“Deal.”
Natalie stood, collecting her purse.
“I’ll leave you two alone before somebody proposes and I’m forced to witness it.”
Sophie pointed at her.
“Don’t encourage him.”
Natalie walked away laughing.
Marco looked at Sophie.
“Would that be so terrible?”
She went still.
He smiled.
“Not tonight, Sophie.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“Good. Because I’m not marrying a man who can’t build a level stool.”
“I’ll work on it.”
“You’d better.”
Then something unexpected happened.
Marco reached into his pocket and placed a folded paper napkin on the table.
Sophie stared.
It was old.
Creased.
Covered in handwriting.
Her handwriting.
Their ridiculous list from the day they met.
She unfolded it carefully.
Favorite food.
Favorite flowers.
How we met.
No kissing.
No unnecessary touching.
No threats.
No expensive presents.
No murder.
No improvising.
Sophie began laughing.
Then she noticed something written at the bottom.
A sentence in Marco’s precise handwriting.
Make sure she never has to pretend she’s loved.
Her laughter faded.
She looked up slowly.
“When did you write this?”
“The day we met.”
“Why?”
Marco watched her for a moment.
“Because I saw a woman who was willing to invent a relationship rather than disappoint people she loved.”
Her eyes filled.
“And?”
“And I thought somebody should remind her that she didn’t have to perform to deserve kindness.”
Sophie pressed the napkin carefully between her hands.
“You had no idea whether we’d ever see each other again.”
“No.”
“You barely knew me.”
“That’s true.”
“So why?”
He smiled faintly.
“Because sometimes you meet someone and recognize something worth protecting.”
She shook her head.
“Marco…”
“Not owning,” he added quietly. “Not controlling. Protecting.”
Sophie reached across the table and took his hand.
“You know what I think?”
“Tell me.”
“I think that when I met you, I was looking for someone to make my life look complete.”
“And now?”
She looked at the man who had learned to listen, to apologize, to change, and sometimes to fail without giving up.
The man whose world was still complicated.
The man who still made crooked furniture.
The man who had never once asked her to laugh less.
“Now,” she said, “I don’t need someone to complete my life.”
Marco squeezed her hand.
“I know.”
“I just want someone I love to share it with.”
He smiled.
“And?”
Sophie leaned closer.
“And I choose you.”
Outside, Chicago rushed past in a blur of traffic, autumn wind, and ordinary people living ordinary lives.
Inside the little café, nobody knew that the woman laughing beside the window had once been desperate enough to ask a stranger to pretend he loved her.
Nobody knew that the stranger had turned out to be one of the most feared men in the city.
And nobody knew that their story hadn’t been saved by his money, his reputation, or his power.
It had been saved by something quieter.
The courage to tell the truth.
The willingness to change.
And the understanding that love should never require a person to disappear.
Sophie had once believed she needed a boyfriend by tomorrow.
Now tomorrow was no longer a deadline.
It wasn’t an emergency.
It wasn’t something she had to survive.
It was simply another day she could enter as herself.
And if Marco was beside her, it would be because they had both chosen to be there.
Not because either of them was incomplete alone.
But because, together, they were learning how to build something honest.
Even if the furniture was still crooked.
THE END
