Betrayed by My Boyfriend, Claimed by the Mafia Boss

Catherine's POV

"Miss? Ms. Vitale?" The flight attendant leaned over me, her voice pitched low and warm. "We're overbooked in economy this evening. We'd like to offer you a complimentary upgrade to first class. Would you accept?"

For a second I just stared at her, certain I'd misheard.

"Me?" I actually pointed at myself, like an idiot. "You mean—a free upgrade? To first?"

"Yes, ma'am." She gave me the practiced smile. "If you'll gather your things, I'll walk you up."

"Oh my God. Yes. Yes, absolutely, thank you."

I fumbled for my bag so fast I nearly clocked the man across the aisle in the head. My heart was doing something ridiculous in my chest.

First class. Things like this did not happen to me.

Marco had spent years building his startup, and we counted every dollar. We split rent down to the cent and dreamed about the day his company finally took off.

Sometimes, though, he seemed oddly unfazed by financial setbacks, and he occasionally mentioned business connections I couldn't imagine a struggling entrepreneur having. I'd never thought much of it.

I trusted him when he said he wanted to build something of his own.

That was why I only ever booked economy.

My thumb was already hovering over Marco's name before I'd even lifted myself out of my seat.

I wanted to text him so badly it was a physical ache. You will not BELIEVE what just happened—

I stopped myself.

No. I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket, biting back a grin.

Tomorrow was his birthday. I'd cut the trip two days short to surprise him, and if I texted him now I'd never make it through the flight without spilling the whole thing.

I followed the attendant up the aisle, through the curtain, into a world of wide leather seats and champagne flutes and that hushed, expensive quiet.

"Right here, Ms. Vitale." She gestured to a window seat. "Enjoy your flight."

I sank into it and nearly moaned. The leather actually cradled you. There was a little pillow. A real pillow.

And then the woman in the seat beside me turned her head, and my stomach dropped straight through the floor of the plane.

"Isabella?"

She turned, and her eyes went wide before her lips curled into that lazy, familiar smile. My sister. Perfect blowout, designer sunglasses shoved up into her hair, a handbag in her lap that probably cost more than my flight.

"Catherine?" She looked me over, and I watched her take in my wrinkled travel clothes, my drugstore concealer, the whole unglamorous picture of me. "What are you doing up here? In first class?"

"They upgraded me." I couldn't stop smiling despite my racing pulse. "The economy cabin was overbooked, apparently. I got lucky."

I looked at her. "What are you doing here? Mom didn't say you were traveling."

"Last-minute trip." She waved a hand. "I went out with a friend and decided to come back early. Guess we ended up on the same flight."

Her phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down at the screen, and something moved across her face—a laugh she didn't quite let out, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Are you seeing someone?" I asked.

Her thumb paused over the screen. "Maybe."

"Isabella." I grinned. "You are. Who is he?"

"Just some guy who won't leave me alone." She settled back into the plush seat and lifted her chin, and I recognized the look immediately—the one she wore when she was about to show me something she wanted me to envy. "You have no idea how far he goes to chase me."

Here we go, I thought, and hated myself a little for thinking it.

She lifted the handbag from her lap and turned it slightly, so the little gold clasp caught the cabin light. "This was Tuesday. Just because I mentioned I liked it."

"Do you like him?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "He's useful."

"Isabella." I chose my words carefully, the way you'd step around broken glass. "If you don't actually like him—you shouldn't be taking things like that from him. It sends the wrong—"

"God, here we go." She rolled her eyes and pulled her sunglasses down over them.

"Not everyone wants to date a broke saint, Catherine. Some of us like nice things. It's not a crime."

I bit the inside of my cheek and let it drop.

A flight attendant appeared at my elbow. "Something to drink before takeoff, ma'am? Champagne, sparkling water, freshly pressed juice?"

I fumbled. "Oh—um—I'm okay, thank you, I don't want to trouble—"

"It's complimentary," the attendant said gently.

"Right. Sorry. Water's fine. Thank you so much." I heard how many times I'd apologized and cringed at myself.

The attendant moved on, and Isabella lowered her sunglasses just enough to look at me over the top.

"You are so embarrassing," she said. "It's free. That's the whole point. This is why you'll never land a man with real money—you flinch every time someone offers you something. Rich guys can smell it. That poor-girl gratitude."

"I'm not looking for a man with money," I said, keeping my tone casual. "I'm actually flying home early to surprise My boyfriend. It's his birthday tomorrow."

I couldn't help the way my whole face softened. "We've been talking about getting married. Soon, I think. Really soon."

Isabella's eyebrow arched, slow and delicate.

"Married." She said the word like she was turning it over to check for cracks.

"Catherine. Please tell me you're not one of those women who nags a man into giving her a ring."

"It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" She smiled. "Some men just say yes to make the crying stop, you know."

I forced a laugh, though it scraped on the way out. "My boyfriend would never do that."

"Sure. Okay. If that helps you sleep at night." She stretched in her seat like a cat in the sun. "Funny thing is, the guy chasing me? He's got a girlfriend too. A broke, pathetic little thing who spends every day counting pennies and bending over backward to keep him happy."

Something cold moved through me.

"He hates the way his girlfriend fawns over him. But now? One word from me, and he'll crawl back to economy to figure out why he ever dared defend her in front of me." She examined her nails. "That's why there was a spare seat for your little upgrade."

I meant it as a joke. "So I'm part of you two lovebirds' games now? Should I be flattered?"

She looked at me then—really looked—and the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was watching something at the zoo.

"Can you imagine? A CEO with an entire company on his shoulders, trudging back to a middle seat in coach just because I told him to." She smirked, pleased with herself. "Honestly, he'd crawl if I asked."

"He sounds ridiculous." I was still smiling. "Who is this poor man?"

"Marco." She said it lazily, reaching for her champagne. "Marco Conti. He runs some hot new startup. He's the CEO."

That was my boyfriend.

The plane hadn't even left the ground, and the entire world beneath my feet had already disappeared.