Part 1 — The Fake Girlfriend
“Stop telling people I’m your girlfriend!”
Clare Bennett’s voice rang through the bakery.
The entire room went silent.
Everyone knew who Roman Duca was.
Most people lowered their voices around the feared mafia boss. Some avoided looking at him altogether. But Clare simply pointed toward the bakery door.
“Take it back,” she said. “Or get out.”
Roman stared at her calmly.
“No.”
Clare blinked.
“No?”
“I need you to continue the lie.”
She folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”
Roman reached into his jacket and placed a business card on the counter.
“I have a proposal.”
Clare looked at the card, then at him.
“No, you don’t. You have another problem you want me to solve.”
“You haven’t heard the proposal.”
“I’ve heard enough proposals from men who begin by lying about dating me.”
One of Roman’s security men coughed into his fist.
Roman glanced at him.
The man immediately became expressionless.
Clare almost smiled.
Almost.
Roman returned his attention to her.
“My aunt has spent years trying to arrange introductions for me. If she believes I’m already in a relationship, she will stop.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It was.”
Roman paused.
“Until ten minutes ago.”
Clare slowly understood.
Then she wished she hadn’t.
“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
“I would compensate you for your time.”
Clare went completely still.
“My time has a price,” she said. “My dignity doesn’t.”
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
“You absolutely were.”
Roman named an amount.
Clare reached for a small bag of flour.
For the first time, one of his security men looked genuinely alarmed.
“Don’t,” Roman warned.
Clare threw it.
The bag hit his chest and burst.
White flour covered the front of his expensive black jacket.
Silence filled the bakery.
Clare planted both hands on the counter.
“Negotiation over.”
Roman looked down at himself.
Then back at her.
“You’re very bad at negotiating.”
“No,” Clare said. “I’m excellent at it. You just don’t recognize what ‘no’ sounds like.”
Roman brushed flour from his jacket.
Then he walked out.
Clare assumed that was the end of Roman Duca.
It wasn’t.
At exactly 8:15 the next morning, he returned.
“No,” Clare said before he reached the counter.
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“I’m saving us time.”
The following morning, he came back again.
“No.”
On the third morning, Clare saw him enter and immediately pointed toward the door.
Roman stopped.
But this time, he wasn’t alone.
Behind him stood a teenage girl.
She looked uncomfortable, guarded, and as if she would rather be anywhere else.
Roman’s entire demeanor changed.
His voice softened.
“Clare, this is my niece, Lily.”
Lily gave Clare a cautious nod.
Clare lowered her hand.
“So,” Lily said, looking between them, “you’re the famous girlfriend?”
“I am absolutely not.”
For the first time, Lily smiled.
It was small, but Roman noticed.
So did Clare.
Lily wandered toward the counter while Roman remained unusually quiet.
Clare didn’t question her. She simply handed Lily a spare apron.
“You can help me, or you can continue watching your uncle stand around looking important.”
Lily laughed.
Roman froze.
Clare’s amusement faded.
Suddenly, she understood why he had brought Lily there.
Later, when Lily stepped away to help one of the employees, Roman spoke quietly.
“She hasn’t laughed like that in months.”
Clare looked toward the girl.
Roman continued.
“Her mother died. My sister.”
His voice remained controlled, almost businesslike.
“I tried giving her space. Then counselors. Schools. Trips. Anything she wanted.”
He paused.
“Nothing worked.”
Clare studied him.
“Did you ever ask what she needed from you?”
Roman said nothing.
That silence told her everything.
The great Roman Duca could apparently negotiate with anyone except a grieving teenage girl.
“You really are terrible at this,” Clare said.
“Yes.”
No argument.
No arrogance.
Just one quiet word.
It unsettled her more than his money ever had.
Roman looked toward Lily.
“Yesterday, she asked if we could come back here.”
Clare sighed.
Her resistance weakened by exactly one inch.
Roman noticed.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“I said nothing.”
“Your face did.”
“What did my face say?”
“That you think you’re winning.”
“Am I?”
Clare picked up another bag of flour.
Roman immediately raised both hands.
“Understood.”
Across the bakery, Lily laughed again.
Clare closed her eyes.
That was unfair.
Roman’s money had failed.
His reputation had failed.
His persistence had mostly made Clare want to lock the door every time she saw him.
But Lily was different.
Clare opened her eyes.
“Three weeks.”
Roman nodded.
“Strict rules.”
“How many?”
“As many as I need.”
His mouth almost curved into a smile.
Clare pointed at him.
“And that expression is going to be rule number one.”
“What expression?”
“The one where you think you’ve gotten what you wanted.”
Roman’s almost-smile disappeared.
Clare looked toward Lily, then back at the powerful man who could apparently command an empire but couldn’t figure out how to reach his own family.
“I haven’t agreed yet.”
Roman nodded once.
But Clare already knew he would return tomorrow.
And, irritatingly, she wasn’t sure she would tell him to leave.
