The Hundredth Choice: Claiming the Mob Boss
444 Views · Ongoing · Agatha Christie
Ninety-nine times.
That was how many times Bianca used me to test her mob-boss fiancé.
Ever since I was brought back to the family, the fake heiress tried to prove that Roman Falcone would always choose her over me, the real daughter.
She locked Roman and me in the same room. She passed his expensive gifts right to me. She even made me wear the exact same dress as her to see who he would look at first.
Every single time, she would cry and say, "Vittoria is the real Rossi. She should be your bride. I'm just a fake."
And every single time, Roman chose her.
Used to getting her way, Bianca pushed things even further.
At the mafia's biggest annual gathering, right in front of hundreds of bosses, she demanded a public proposal.
But when the moment came, she pulled her usual trick. She refused the ring, cried that she wasn't good enough, and booked a night flight to Paris.
"Roman, she should be your wife," she cried before running off.
She expected him to drop everything and chase her. Just like always.
But this time, Roman didn't run after her.
He just stood there. Surrounded by the mocking stares of rival bosses and his own cousins waiting for a joke, he wearily rubbed his temples.
When he finally looked up, his dark eyes bypassed the empty doors and locked straight onto me.
"Vittoria," his voice cut through the silence. "Do you want to marry me?"
That was how many times Bianca used me to test her mob-boss fiancé.
Ever since I was brought back to the family, the fake heiress tried to prove that Roman Falcone would always choose her over me, the real daughter.
She locked Roman and me in the same room. She passed his expensive gifts right to me. She even made me wear the exact same dress as her to see who he would look at first.
Every single time, she would cry and say, "Vittoria is the real Rossi. She should be your bride. I'm just a fake."
And every single time, Roman chose her.
Used to getting her way, Bianca pushed things even further.
At the mafia's biggest annual gathering, right in front of hundreds of bosses, she demanded a public proposal.
But when the moment came, she pulled her usual trick. She refused the ring, cried that she wasn't good enough, and booked a night flight to Paris.
"Roman, she should be your wife," she cried before running off.
She expected him to drop everything and chase her. Just like always.
But this time, Roman didn't run after her.
He just stood there. Surrounded by the mocking stares of rival bosses and his own cousins waiting for a joke, he wearily rubbed his temples.
When he finally looked up, his dark eyes bypassed the empty doors and locked straight onto me.
"Vittoria," his voice cut through the silence. "Do you want to marry me?"


















































