chapter 3

I stood in the flower shop long after he left, the dinner invitation still in my hand.

Villa Campania.

I’d heard of it—everyone in the leoni had. A fortress hidden behind walls and guards, surrounded by the kind of silence only money and power could buy. No one entered without permission. No one left without being noticed.

And I was going in.

For flowers.

For him.

I held the invitation like it might burn me, but deep down, I knew I had asked for this. Every day I’d spent playing the role of the sweet florist had led to this moment. The door to his world was finally open.

But was I ready to walk through it?

I spent the rest of the evening preparing.

I chose the flowers carefully—white lilies for elegance, soft pink peonies for grace, and orchids because they were rare, mysterious, and expensive. Like me.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, I memorized every name, every face that might be there. I studied the Campania hierarchy—who had been loyal, who had betrayed. Who had died recently. Who had killed them.

I dressed simply the next day. A soft cream dress, flowing but modest. No jewelry, just a single gold hairpin from my mother.

I was ready.

At least, I thought I was.

The villa was even grander than I imagined.

Stone walls rose around the property like a fortress. Armed guards watched me as I drove up in the small flower van my shop used for deliveries. I kept my face blank, innocent.

“I’m here to arrange flowers for the dinner,” I said, holding up the invitation with both hands.

They took it. Scanned it. One guard walked away to confirm while the others stood in silence, eyes like knives.

Finally, the first one returned. “You can go in. Straight to the east wing. Someone will meet you.”

I nodded, thanking them softly.

As I drove through the gates, I swallowed the nerves climbing up my throat.

This was no longer a game.

This was war in a dress.

The inside of Villa Campania looked like something from a dream and a nightmare. Marble floors that could echo secrets, high ceilings with gold and dark velvet drapes. Beautiful. Cold.

Just like him.

A woman with sharp eyes and an earpiece guided me to the ballroom where the dinner would be held. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask questions.

I arranged the flowers quickly but carefully. Every centerpiece was perfect. No petal out of place.

I was setting the final bouquet when I felt eyes on me.

I turned.

Alexandro.

Dressed in black again. Fitted suit. Dark silk shirt. No tie. A presence so powerful, the air bent around him.

“You came,” he said.

“You invited me.”

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets.

His eyes skimmed the arrangements, then landed on mine. “My mother will like this.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope she does.”

He tilted his head. “You’re nervous.”

I smiled. “I’m in a billionaire’s home, full of guards and guns. Should I be calm?”

His lips curled slightly. “You’re braver than most.”

I lowered my gaze. “Or maybe I don’t know what I’ve walked into.”

He studied me for a long moment. “Maybe.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he watched me finish, then offered me a drink.

“I shouldn’t—” I began.

“Just one,” he said. “Then you can go.”

I followed him to a private lounge—warm lighting, leather chairs, heavy curtains. He poured something into two glasses. The liquid shimmered.

“To beautiful lies,” he said, raising his glass.

I looked at him, startled.

“What?”

He held my gaze. “You’ve got secrets. I can see it.”

I smiled, my heart racing. “So do you.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “Fair enough.”

We sipped in silence.

Minutes passed.

He leaned back, arms on the chair, watching me like a puzzle he was dying to solve.

“Do you always work alone?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“No family helping you?”

I shrugged. “No one close. Just me.”

He nodded slowly. “Smart.”

My hands were sweating. I needed to leave before I slipped, said too much.

But then he said, “You’re different.”

I looked up. “How?”

“You don’t ask questions. You’re not scared. You don’t try to impress me.”

I laughed lightly. “Maybe I don’t care about impressing you.”

He smirked. “Maybe that’s why I’m impressed.”

I stood. “Thank you for the drink.”

He stood too. “I’ll walk you out.”

The walk to the door was quiet. Tense. Not awkward—just full of the kind of silence that holds something dangerous inside.

At the door, he paused. “You’ll be back.”

It wasn’t a question.

I met his gaze. “Why?”

He stepped closer, just enough to make my breath hitch.

“Because I’m not done with you,” he said softly. “Not yet.”

The moment I was out of the gate, I let out a shaky breath and gripped the steering wheel hard.

This wasn’t just attraction anymore.

It was deeper.

And far more dangerous.

That night, back at my small apartment above the flower shop, I paced like a caged animal.

He was getting close. Too close.

The look in his eyes told me he was starting to want me.

And if he wanted me, he’d start looking.

I had to keep up the act.

The sweet girl with no past.

The innocent stranger.

But part of me wasn’t acting anymore.

Part of me was starting to fall for him.

Not the mafia prince.

Not the billionaire.

But the man.

The one who brought me flowers.

The one who watched me like I was worth something.

The one who, even in his silence, made me feel seen.

I couldn’t afford to fall.

I had one job: make him fall for me first.

Because if he found out who I really was before I got his heart...

He wouldn’t just hate me.

He’d destroy me.

And the worst part?

I might let him.