Tell Your Don, I'm Not Interested!

Chapter One

Alessia

“Ma'am, are you sure you’re not ready to order yet?”

I look up from my phone.

The waiter is standing beside my table with the same polite smile he's been wearing for the past hour. At this point, I almost feel bad for him.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” I glance at the empty chair across from me before looking back at him. “I'm waiting for someone. He must be stuck in traffic. You know how this city gets at night.”

The waiter nods sympathetically. “Of course. Take your time.”

“Thank you.”

He walks away, and the second his back is turned, my smile disappears.

“Where the hell are you, Stefano?” I mutter as I dial his number again.

I've called him so many times tonight that I've honestly lost count.

“Answer your fucking phone.”

The call rings and rings against my ear until I'm forced to lower the phone and stare at the screen, as if glaring at it hard enough might somehow make him answer.

It doesn't.

Of course it doesn't.

I've been sitting at this ridiculously expensive restaurant for two hours, waiting for my long-term boyfriend to show up for our anniversary.

Two fucking hours.

I booked this table three weeks ago. I rearranged my schedule to leave work early, which is something I almost never do, and I even wore the dress Stefano once told me he loved.

And he couldn't even show up.

I should have known better.

Stefano has been acting strange lately. His calls have become shorter, his excuses have become longer, and every time I ask him what's wrong, he tells me he's busy.

Apparently, tonight he's too busy to even send a text.

I try calling one last time, but this time, it goes straight to voicemail.

That does it.

I let out a slow breath and lock my phone.

Fine.

If he wants to play this game, he can play it alone.

I grab my purse and stand.

The waiter notices immediately and hurries over. “Leaving already, ma'am?”

“Yes.” I force a smile. “Something came up.”

Technically, that isn't a lie.

Something definitely came up.

My patience.

I clear my bill and leave the restaurant with my head held high, even though every step toward the exit makes me angrier.

I am Alessia Bianchi.

People wait weeks for meetings with me.

Executives twice my age sit in my office and choose their words carefully.

And somehow, I just spent two hours sitting at a restaurant waiting for a man who couldn't even bother to tell me he wasn't coming.

Me.

A whole me.

How could I allow myself to be treated like this?

I take the restricted VIP parking exit because it is closer to where I left my car. The restaurant's main exit would mean walking all the way around the building, and I'm already too irritated to waste another minute.

My heels echo against the concrete as I walk toward my car, already thinking about getting home, taking off this stupid dress and forgetting tonight ever happened.

“You bastard.” A low, cold voice from somewhere ahead suddenly echoes. “Did you really think you could steal from me and walk away?”

Another voice answers, shaky with fear. “Please, I can explain.”

A heavy blow cuts him off.

The sound makes me wince.

I slowly turn toward the darker corner of the garage.

Several men are standing in a circle, all dressed in black. In the middle of them, a man is tied to a chair, blood running down the side of his swollen face. One of them grabs him by the hair and forces his head up while another stands nearby, holding what looks suspiciously like a metal pipe.

My stomach twists.

What the hell am I looking at?

“Where is the money?” the man grabbing his hair asks.

“I told you, I don't have it.”

Another blow sends the man's head snapping to the side.

Okay. This is definitely not something I was supposed to see.

I should leave.

Right now.

I should get in my car, lock the doors, drive home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Except then I notice the man standing in front of them.

He isn't holding the victim.

He doesn't need to.

Everyone else seems to wait for his permission before moving.

He stands perfectly still, dressed in a dark suit that looks completely out of place in a blood-stained parking garage.

I know that face.

Everyone does.

Anyone who reads the newspapers or moves through the upper circles of Italian society knows the name Enzo Moretti.

The city's most feared Mafia Don. The shadow king who controls its criminal world with an iron fist, a man whose reputation is enough to make powerful men lower their voices whenever his name is mentioned.

And right now, he's standing a few feet away from a bleeding man tied to a chair.

I should be terrified.

I probably would be if tonight hadn't already been the worst anniversary of my life.

Instead, something inside me snaps.

“Hey!”

Every man in the circle turns.

I step out from the shadows before I can talk myself out of it.

“Step away from him.”

The circle of guards immediately stiffens. Several hands move toward the waistbands of their jackets, reaching for their guns.

My heart gives one hard thump, but I refuse to show it.

Enzo doesn't reach for a weapon. He simply turns his head toward me, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, he looks almost amused.

“Well,” he murmurs in a deep baritone. “I didn't realize L'Assaggio had started letting tourists wander into the private decks.”

He gestures lazily toward his men. “Hold your positions.”

His men immediately stop reaching for their weapons.

Then he steps away from the group and walks toward me.

His shoes pass through a small puddle of blood without hesitation.

“Walk away, tesoro,” he says calmly. “This doesn't concern you.”

“It does when you're committing a felony in a public space.” I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to take a single step backward even as he closes the distance between us.

“You should really learn when to mind your own business,” he says with a straight face.

“Frown all you want. It's still pathetic.”

A few of his men exchange looks.

I don't care.

“Torturing someone who can't even defend himself?” I shake my head. “What exactly do you think that makes you?”

Enzo stops a few feet away from me.

Up close, he's even more intimidating than he looked from across the garage. He's tall enough that I have to tilt my chin slightly to meet his eyes, and he smells faintly of expensive cologne and tobacco.

His expression remains calm.

Far too calm.

I, on the other hand, can practically hear my heartbeat.

But I'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me back down.

“That makes you criminals,” I tell him. “And you should be behind bars for this because there are fucking laws and something called basic human decency, neither of which you seem to possess. So unless you want me calling the police, I suggest you step away from that man.”

One of his men looks like he wants to laugh but is too scared to.

Enzo just stares at me, a dark smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“You have a lot of courage for someone who wandered into the wrong parking garage.”

“I didn't wander.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I was leaving the restaurant.”

“And somehow ended up in the middle of my business.”

“Your business?” I scoff. “You call this business?”

“You talk a lot, tesoro.” His lips twitch as his gaze moves slowly over my face before settling on my eyes again. “Do you even know who I am, or are you just historically ignorant?”

I almost laugh.

“I know exactly who you are, Enzo.”

That seems to catch his attention.

“And you don't scare me.”

Something changes in his expression, just slightly.

He studies me as though I'm some puzzle he hasn't decided how to solve yet. Then he says softly, almost to himself, “You're a strange one.”

He turns away from me and waves a dismissive hand toward the injured man.

“Get him up.”

The men move immediately.

“Cut him loose.”

One of them hesitates.

Enzo looks at him and that is all it takes. The man quickly pulls out a knife and cuts through the ropes.

Enzo looks back at me, his smirk widening. “He's not a goat, lady.”

I frown. “What?”

“He's not some helpless victim you need to rescue.” He gestures toward the bleeding man. “He stole from one of my warehouses. So, no, my men weren't beating him for fun.”

I glance at the injured man, who looks like he might collapse at any moment.

“But since you gave such an inspiring speech about decency...” His eyes settle on mine. “He's all yours.”

I stare at him. “You're serious?”

“Completely.” He pauses. “Just know you might end up regretting playing hero tonight.”

The injured man tries to stand, but his knees buckle. I instinctively move toward him before he can hit the ground.

Taking an injured man to the hospital after being stood up on my anniversary definitely wasn't part of my schedule. But hey, things can't always go our way, right?