Faking It with the Mafia Boss

I witnessed a brutal murder, now the killer wants me dead before I can testify. Nick Falco steps in offering me his protection if I’ll do something for him in exchange. I must pretend to be his fiancée while I produce a priceless painting for him to solidify his power. The arrangement was simple enough until I moved in with him, and those haunting blue eyes began lingering upon me…..

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Chapter 1

"Raven, darling, you're right on time," Luca greets me with his usual
charming smile and twinkle in his eyes. I step inside the back room of Luca's antiques and art restoration shop, my eyes adjusting to the low light. "When am I ever late, Luca?" Luca chuckles, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Never, my dear. That's why you're one of the best in the business." I smirk, setting my bag down on the table. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but let's talk business, shall we? What have you got for me this time?" Luca pulls out a photograph, sliding it across the table. "A client wants a replica of this Botticelli. Think you can handle it?" "Please, Luca, you insult me," I grin as I study the image, my mind already dissecting the brushstrokes and composition. "You know I could paint this in my sleep."

"That's my girl." Luca chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "Always up for a challenge." "What can I tell you?" I smirk as I ball up a scrap piece of paper and give a little hop as I shoot it into the waste basket. "It keeps a roof over my head and food on the table. When do they need it by?"
"Two weeks. Can you manage that?" I scoff, pulling out my sketchbook and pencils. "I'll have it done in one. You know how I live for this stuff, Luca. Besides, I need to pay for Nonna's next round of treatments."
That, in a nutshell, is how I got into this line of work in the first place after earning an art degree in college back in New York. It's rare that I do full- blown art forgeries, though those jobs pay very well, but most people just like having famous works of art hanging in their living room. If they tell people that they are originals, then hey, that's their business.
Luca's expression softens. "How is she doing?" I shrug, my hand already sketching the outline of the painting. "As well
as can be expected. The doctors say the new medication is helping, but the supplier just increased the price again." I shake my head. "It's such a racket, you'd think it's the damn mafia running the pharmaceutical companies." "Raven, sweetheart, that's why we do what we do, isn't it? To take care of our own when no one else will." I pause sketching and look up at Luca. "Yep, just like how Nonna stepped up to take care of me when my parents died, and I had no one. I owe her so much, you know. I'd do anything for her."

Luca's uncle lives in the same assisted living facility where my Nonna
resides. One day, he saw me there working on a sketch of Nonna. He admired my work and asked to see my portfolio. Being duly impressed, he told me about the little art restoration and antiques shop that he ran near one of the grand art museums. He told me he could use the extra help and that I needed a job here in Florence, Italy, to be near Nonna.
And the rest, as they say, is history. This is where I've been for nearly a
year, working for Luca and looking after Nonna. And heck, as an artist, living in Florence, Italy, is a dream come true, and I've been soaking in all the rich culture and history. I love it here and love being here for Nonna. "You know it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a minor masterpiece to create." Luca stands, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder. "You know where to find me when it's done." I wave him off, my mind already lost in the world of color and canvas. As the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a long breath. Another night, another high-production art replica. But if it means keeping Nonna healthy
and happy, I'll paint a thousand counterfeit Botticellis. After all, that's what family is for. As I work through the long night, the world outside fades away, leaving only me and the art. The next morning, the sun warms my skin as I step out of the office, a grin plastered on my face. Luca's praise still rings in my ears, his enthusiastic Italian accent making the compliments sound even grander. "Magnifico, Raven! This is your finest work yet!"

I can't help but feel a surge of pride knowing hours of meticulous work,
hunched over the canvas, are paying off. As I navigate the narrow streets of Florence, my mind wanders to Nonna. I can't wait to share the good news with her. She's always been my biggest fan, even when I doubted myself. I quicken my pace, eager to reach the assisted living center and to see her smile. But as I turn down a quieter alley, a shortcut I've taken countless times before, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Something feels off, the usual bustle of the city is replaced by an eerie stillness. And then I hear it - a muffled cry, followed by a sickening thud.
My heart races as I inch closer to the source of the noise, my curiosity
overriding my better judgment. I peer around the corner, and my blood runs cold. There, in the shadows, lies a man, his hands are raised as if warding off an attack. Standing over him are two figures, their faces obscured by the shadows. One of them holds a gun, the barrel pointed at the man on the ground. I freeze in place as their words reach my ears.
"Please, Enzo, I c-can get the money," the man sputters in, begging for his life. "Just give me a couple more days!" My Italian is mediocre, but I believe that's what he said. "You don't have a couple more days," Enzo spat at him. "You stole from me like a filthy rat. Now it's time to send a message to anyone else who tries to steal from Enzo Rossi." With that, he fires three bullets into the man's chest.

I clap my hands over my mouth, stifling a scream. But it's too late. The
figures turn, their eyes locking with mine. "Ah, what have we here?" the taller one sneers, his Italian accent thick and menacing. "A little mouse sticking her nose where it doesn't belong." I stumble back, my heart pounding in my ears. I know I should run, but my legs feel like lead, rooted to the spot. The shorter one, Enzo, steps forward, his eyes narrow as he takes me in, recognition dawning on his face. "You're that American restoration girl, aren't you? You work for Luca?" His
voice is smooth, almost pleasant, but there's an undercurrent of danger that raises my hackles. I shake my head, no, my throat is too dry to speak. Enzo clucks his tongue, shaking his head. "Such a shame that you had to witness this. Your exquisite talent will be sorely missed, signorina." Hearing the death note in his words, my instinct to survive finally kicks in, overcoming my fear. I dash from the alley as fast as my legs can carry me. I hear a gunshot ricochet off the brick walls where I'd been standing. Fueled by adrenalin, my legs pump furiously as I run down the cobblestone street in search of help. I can hear their footfalls striking the ground just behind me. Another bullet flies by me, hitting the flowerpot hanging from a storefront. "Help!" I scream, but it was too early in the morning for most folks to be up and around. My lungs burn from exertion as I turn another corner and started heading back to the art shop. They were gaining on me and would be upon me within seconds.

Just when I thought my legs would give out from the strain, a car skids to a halt beside me. The window rolls down, revealing Luca's face. "Get in!" he shouts, eyes wide with fear. Without hesitation, I open the door and dive in. Luca spins off with tires screeching before I can even shut the door. I keep my head down as Luca cuts a sharp turn and flies down the street, leaving the murderous Enzo and his goon behind. "Raven, are you alright?" I hear Luca ask as I sit up. "What was that? Who were those men?" My heart beats a thousand times per second as I try to find my voice. "T- they...they killed a guy. I saw the one, the short one. He killed a guy over some money." "And they saw you?" "Yes," I cry, my hands trembling. "I was so shocked and stunned I couldn't
move at first. But then, when I realized they were going to kill me too, I ran." "Thank God Sophia needed me to come back home because her car
wouldn't start," he says, explaining why he wasn't still at the shop. "I saw you running down the street and the men chasing you, so I swerved back around to catch you." "Thank you, Luca. I thought I was dead," I say, rubbing my temples. But then I remember their words and turn sharply at Luca. "They recognized me, Luca. They know I work for you. They'll come to the shop looking to finish the job!" "Jesus, you're sure?"

"Yes, they said you're that American girl, the art restorer," I say frantically. "Luca, we've got to go to the police to report this. They've got to get this guy." "Okay, okay," he attempts to calm me. "Let me tell Sophia we're going to the police station." "Thank you, Luca. You saved my life!" We pull up to the police station. Luca ushers me inside, a fatherly arm around me, a comforting presence in the midst of the chaos. The station is a hive of activity, with officers milling about, phones ringing, and the faint aroma of coffee and stale cigarettes hanging in the air. We're led to a small, sparsely furnished room where a detective sits behind a metal desk, his face etched with lines of exhaustion. I recount my story, my voice shaking as I describe the murder, the body, and Enzo's cold-blooded demeanor. The detective listens intently, jotting down notes, his expression unreadable.
"And you're certain it was Enzo Rosetti?" he asks, his eyes boring into mine. I nod, swallowing hard. "Yes, he boasted his name twice. It was
unmistakable." The detective leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. He snaps his fingers, and two officers materialize at his side. "Go check out the location she mentioned. See if there's a body."
As they leave, the detective turns to me, his expression softening slightly. "I'll personally go speak to Enzo. In the meantime, I suggest you lay low. Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?"

I glance at Luca, who nods. "She can stay with me and my wife. We'll make sure she's safe." The car ride back to Luca's place is a blur, my mind still reeling from the day's events. As we pull into the driveway, I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me, the adrenaline finally wearing off. Luca's wife, Sophia, greets us at the door, her kind eyes filled with concern as she ushers me inside. I sink into the plush couch, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Sophia presses into my hands. I drink it heartily, eager to have its magic do its work on my frayed nerves.
For a couple of hours, I try to distract myself, chatting with Luca and Sophia about anything and everything but the murder I witnessed. But the memory of Enzo's cold eyes and the smoking gun lingers in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the danger I'm in.
Suddenly, my cell phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet conversation. I glance at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I don't recognize the number. Could it be the police calling to tell me they've made an arrest? I answer, my voice tentative. "Hello?"
"Raven D'Angelo?" The voice on the other end is deep, Italian accent not as strong as most of the locals I've encountered here in Florence. "Yes, this is she." "My name is Nick Falco. I'm calling to warn you that your life is in grave danger."

My blood runs cold at the mention of his name. Falco. I've heard that name whispered about in the art world, rumors of his ruthless tactics and shadowy dealings. If Enzo is the proverbial frying pan, then Falco is surely the fire. "What do you want?" I snap, my voice trembling slightly. How could he possibly know unless he were in on it? "How did you get my number?" But Falco is undeterred. "Not only is your life in danger, Miss D'Angelo. But so are the people you're staying with, Luca and his wife, Sophia." He rattles off Luca's address, and my heart sinks. How does he know where I am? "I can provide the protection you need from Enzo," Falco continues, his voice smooth and persuasive.
"How do I know this isn't a trap?" I argue. "You could be in on this with
him." "If I wanted you dead, Ms. D'Angelo, I'd march right in that house and blow your brains out," he replies icily. "To set your mind at ease, we can meet in a very public place. Be at Rose Thorn Café in twenty minutes. We can discuss your predicament over a drink."
I hesitate, torn between my fear of Falco and my desire to keep Luca and
Sophia safe. When the silence stretches on, he sighs his impatience, "I won't offer my protection again. Do you want it or not?"
"I've reported the matter to the police," I toss out there. "They'll arrest Enzo and -" his derisive laugh cuts me off. "The cops that Enzo doesn't already have in his pocket can be easily bribed to look the other way while he slits the throats of you and the nice family

you're staying with." He chuckles darkly. "Face it, Ms. D'Angelo, I'm your only hope."

 

 

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