The Mafia King's Forbidden Desire

The office smelled like burnt coffee and someone's leftover fish from lunch. Amelia saved the spreadsheet and finally allowed herself to lean back in her chair. Ten hours. She had been staring at numbers for ten straight hours, and her eyes felt like they were going to fall out of her head.

Her phone buzzed against the desk.

Mom: Did you send the money? Your father is asking.

Amelia's jaw tightened. She had sent money three days ago. Five hundred dollars she could barely afford, transferred without a single thank you.

She typed back quickly. Already sent it Monday.

No response came. It never did.

Amelia shoved her phone into her bag and stood up, stretching her back until it cracked. The office was nearly empty now. Most people had left by six. It was almost eight. She should have left hours ago, but the Morrison account needed to be perfect. Her boss had hinted at a promotion last month, and Amelia was determined to prove she deserved it.

"You're still here?"

Jennifer from HR was walking past, coat already on, clearly on her way out.

"Just finished," Amelia said with a tired smile.

Jennifer shook her head. "They don't pay you overtime, you know."

"I know."

"Then why stay?"

Because working late meant she was valuable. It meant she mattered. It meant maybe, eventually, someone would notice how hard she tried.

Amelia just shrugged. "I wanted to get it done."

Jennifer gave her a look that was half pity, half concern, then walked away.

Amelia packed up her things slowly. Laptop. Notebook. The coffee mug she had been refilling all day. She was exhausted, but it was Friday. She could sleep in tomorrow.

The elevator ride down was silent except for the mechanical hum of the cables. When she stepped outside, the Seattle cold hit her immediately. March was miserable here. Wet and gray and the kind of cold that soaked into your bones.

She walked to her car, tossing her bag into the passenger seat.

Her stomach growled.

Amelia checked the time. Marcus was probably hungry too. She had texted him earlier saying she would be late, but she had not heard back. He was probably gaming or watching something.

On impulse, she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the Thai place two blocks from their apartment. Marcus loved their pad thai. Maybe surprising him with dinner would be nice. They had not really spent quality time together in weeks.

The restaurant was busy, but she got the food quickly. Pad thai for him. Green curry for her. Spring rolls to share.

Amelia paid and headed back to the car, the warm bag sitting on her lap as she drove. The smell made her stomach growl again. She had skipped lunch today again. Traffic was light, made it home in fifteen minutes.

The apartment building looked the same as always. Ordinary. A little run down but affordable. She had lived here with Marcus for two years now. It was home.

Amelia grabbed the food and her work bag, juggling both as she locked the car. The elevator took forever, like always. When it finally dinged on the third floor, she stepped out and walked down the familiar hallway.

Their door was the fourth on the left.

She fumbled with her keys, balancing the takeout bag against her hip. The lock clicked. The door swung open.

"Marcus?" she called out, stepping inside. "I brought dinner."

No answer.

The living room was empty. TV off. His jacket was tossed over the back of the couch, so he was definitely home.

Amelia kicked off her shoes and set the takeout on the kitchen counter. Maybe he was in the bedroom. Maybe he had his headphones on.

She walked down the hallway, still holding her work bag.

The bedroom door was halfway open.

"Marcus, I got Thai food from that place you like"

The words died in her throat.

Marcus was in bed.

He was not alone.

Amelia stood frozen in the doorway. Her brain tried to process what her eyes were seeing, but it did not make sense. Nothing made sense.

Because the person in bed with Marcus was not some random woman.

It was Derek.

Her best friend Derek.

They were tangled together in sheets she had washed two days ago. Skin against skin. Intimate in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Marcus looked up.

His face went completely white.

"Amelia."

Her work bag slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Derek scrambled to pull the sheet higher, his eyes wide. But he did not look shocked. He looked caught.

There was a difference.

"What" Amelia's voice came out strangled. She tried again. "What is this?"

Marcus sat up, running both hands through his hair. A nervous gesture. One she had seen a thousand times.

"Amelia, I can explain."

"Explain what?"

Silence.

Derek would not look at her. He stared at the wall, his jaw tight.

Marcus opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he finally said.

Find out.

Like this was something that had been happening. Something ongoing.

Amelia felt her knees go weak.

"How long?"

Marcus hesitated.

"How long, Marcus?"

He exhaled slowly. "Eight months."

The number hit her like a fist to the stomach.

Eight months.

Eight months of him pulling away. Eight months of her asking what was wrong. Eight months of her wondering if she was not attractive enough, not interesting enough, not enough.

And the whole time, he was with Derek.

"I'm gay," Marcus said quietly. Like that was supposed to make it better. Like that explained everything. "I've been trying to figure it out. I didn't know how to tell you."

Amelia stared at him.

"So you figured it out in our bed?" Her voice sounded hollow. Distant. "With my best friend?"

Derek flinched but still did not look at her.

Marcus stood up, wrapping the sheet around his waist. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"You're sorry."

"Yes."

"You're sorry you hurt me. Or you're sorry I caught you?"

He did not answer.

Amelia looked at Derek. Really looked at him.

Five years of friendship. Five years of late night conversations and shared secrets and him telling her she deserved better than the way Marcus had been treating her lately.

He knew.

The whole time she was crying to him about feeling unwanted, about Marcus being distant, about wondering what she was doing wrong, Derek knew exactly why.

Because he was the reason.

"Did you plan this?" she asked, her voice eerily calm. "Or did you just accidentally fall into bed together for eight months?"

Derek finally looked at her. "Amelia"

"Don't." She held up a hand. "Don't say my name like we're still friends."

"We are friends"

"Friends don't do this."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Marcus stepped toward her. "Can we talk about this? Please?"

Amelia took a step back.

Everything in the room felt too bright. Too sharp. The edges of her vision were going dark.

She had walked into this apartment thinking about pad thai and spring rolls.

And now her entire life was disintegrating in front of her.

Three years with Marcus. Five years of friendship with Derek.

All of it built on lies.

"Get out," Marcus said suddenly.

Amelia blinked. "What?"

"This is my apartment. I need you to leave so we can figure this out."

The words did not compute at first.

He was kicking her out.

She had just caught him cheating, and he was telling her to leave.

Something inside Amelia went very still.

Very cold.

She looked at Marcus. Really looked at him. At the man she had spent three years loving. The man she had imagined a future with.

And she realized she did not recognize him at all.

"Okay," she said quietly.

Her voice didn't shake, and somehow that scared her more than anything else.

She turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Behind her, Marcus called her name, but she did not stop.

She walked through the hallway. Past the kitchen where the Thai food was getting cold on the counter. Past the living room where they had spent countless nights watching movies.

She grabbed her purse from the hook by the door.

And then she left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Amelia stood in the hallway, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

She had nowhere to go.

Her wallet was in her purse, but her phone was still in her work bag in the bedroom, with them.

The elevator dinged down the hall.

Amelia walked toward it, got inside, and pressed the button for the lobby.

As the elevator descended, she caught her reflection in the metal doors.

She looked exactly the same as she had twenty minutes ago, but everything had changed.

Amelia sat in her car and stared at the steering wheel. Her hands were shaking, and she pressed them flat against her thighs, trying to make them stop, but they would not listen.

The parking lot was quiet with just a few other cars scattered around. Streetlights cast orange pools of light across the pavement, and everything looked normal and ordinary, like the world had not just imploded.

Eight months. The number kept circling in her head like a vulture. Eight months of lies, eight months of her wondering what she was doing wrong, eight months of Marcus pulling away while she tried harder and harder to fix something that was never broken on her end.

Because he was with Derek. Her best friend.

Amelia pressed her palms harder against her legs until her fingers went numb. She needed to think, needed to figure out what to do next, but her brain felt like static, like white noise where nothing coherent would form.

She did not have her phone. It was still upstairs in her work bag, in the bedroom, with them. The thought of going back up there made her stomach turn. She could not do it, could not walk back into that apartment and face them again, not tonight and maybe not ever.

Amelia dug through her purse with trembling hands and found her wallet, keys, a crumpled grocery receipt, chapstick, and twentythree dollars in cash. Her credit cards were in her wallet, and that was something at least. She could get a hotel, somewhere to sleep tonight, somewhere that was not here. Tomorrow she could figure out the rest.

Amelia started the car and pulled out of the parking lot without looking back. She drove aimlessly for a while with her mind blank and her hands moving on autopilot as the streets of Seattle blurred past, familiar but suddenly foreign.

Three years with Marcus. Two years living in his apartment like she belonged there. But she never really belonged anywhere, did she? Not at work, where she stayed late every night trying to prove her worth to people who barely noticed. Not with her adopted family, who only called when they needed money. Not with Marcus, who had been lying to her face for eight months. Not even with Derek, who had been sleeping with her boyfriend while pretending to be her friend.

She had no one. The thought should have scared her, but instead it made something hard and cold settle in her chest.

Amelia pulled into a gas station and parked under the fluorescent lights. Inside, the clerk barely looked up as she browsed the aisles. She found what she needed near the front, a burner phone that was prepaid for thirtyfive dollars. She paid in cash and sat in her car with hands still shaking as she peeled open the plastic packaging.

It took her three tries to get the phone activated. When the screen finally lit up, Amelia stared at the empty contact list. She only knew one phone number by heart.

Lucia. Her cousin, the only person in her family who had ever treated her like she actually mattered. Lucia lived in Florence now and had been there for five years, working in fashion and living a life that seemed impossibly glamorous from the outside. They texted sometimes and called on birthdays, but it had been months since they really talked.

Amelia hesitated with her thumb hovering over the number pad. It was late, almost nine thirty here, which meant it was six thirty in the morning in Italy. But she had no one else to call.

She dialed. The phone rang once, then twice.

Then Lucia's voice came through, thick with sleep but instantly alert. "Pronto? Who is this?"

"It's me," Amelia said, and her voice cracked. "It's Amelia."

Silence. Then, sharper now, "Amelia? Why are you calling from a strange number? Are you okay?"

Amelia opened her mouth to say yes, to say she was fine, to brush it off like she always did. But the word would not come. Instead, something broke.

"No," she whispered. "I'm not okay."

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I caught Marcus cheating."

Lucia sucked in a breath. "Che bastardo. I never liked him. Where are you?"

"In my car."

"In your car? Amelia, it's freezing. Where's Marcus?"

"At the apartment. With Derek."

A pause. "Derek? Your Derek?"

"Yes."

"Porca miseria. Che schifo." Lucia's voice was low and furious. "How long?"

"Eight months."

"Madonna." There was a string of Italian that Amelia did not understand but felt in her bones. "Amelia, I'm so sorry. What do you need? Do you want me to fly out there? I can get a flight tonight."

"No," Amelia said quickly. "No, you don't have to do that."

"Then what? Talk to me, cousin. What do you need?"

Amelia closed her eyes. What did she need? To leave, to get as far away from Seattle and Marcus and Derek and her entire life as possible. To disappear and start over somewhere no one knew her, somewhere she did not have to be the girl who was never quite good enough.

"Can I come stay with you?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "In Florence. Just for a little while. Until I figure things out."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. Absolutely yes. When?"

Amelia looked out at the gas station parking lot, at the city that had never really felt like home. "Soon," she said. "Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. I don't know yet."

"Whenever you want. My door is open. You know that."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. We're family. Real family." Lucia's voice softened. "Are you going to be okay tonight? Do you have somewhere safe to sleep?"

"I'll get a hotel."

"Okay, text me when you're settled. From whatever number you're using."

"I will."

"And Amelia?"

"Yeah?"

"Screw Marcus. And screw Derek. You deserve so much better than both of them."

Amelia felt her throat tighten. "I know."

"Do you? Because I don't think you do. But you will. I promise you will."

They hung up. Amelia sat in the silence of her car with the burner phone clutched in her hand.

She pulled out of the gas station and drove until she found a cheap hotel near the highway, the kind of place that did not ask questions and took cash. The room was small and smelled faintly of cigarettes and cleaning product, with an ugly floral bedspread, carpet that had seen better days, and a TV bolted to the wall.

Amelia locked the door behind her and stood in the middle of the room. She still had on her work clothes, black slacks and a blouse that was wrinkled from ten hours at the office, and her feet hurt from her heels. She kicked them off and sat on the edge of the bed.

The silence pressed in around her. No Marcus, no Derek, no apartment full of memories that were all lies now. Just her, alone in a hotel room that cost fortynine dollars a night.

Amelia pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She did not cry because crying felt like it would break something inside her that she could not afford to break right now. Instead, she sat very still and let the truth settle over her like snow.

Everything she thought she had was gone. Her relationship, her best friend, her home. But sitting there in that ugly hotel room, Amelia realized something else. She did not have to go back. She could leave, walk away from all of it, start over somewhere new.

Florence, the word felt like a lifeline. Lucia was there, Lucia who had always treated her like she mattered, who did not see her as the adopted kid or the girl who was never quite good enough. Just Amelia.

She could go to Florence, stay with Lucia, and figure out what came next. The decision settled into her bones with quiet certainty. She was leaving Seattle.

Tomorrow she would go back to the apartment when Marcus was at work and get her things, her phone, her laptop, whatever she could fit in two suitcases. And then she was gone.

Amelia lay back on the bed, still fully dressed, and stared at the waterstained ceiling. For the first time in eight months, Marcus was not pulling away from her because there was nothing left to pull away from. It was over, and somehow, lying there in a cheap hotel room with nothing but a burner phone and a decision that felt both terrifying and right, Amelia felt something unexpected.

Relief.

Amelia woke to sunlight cutting through thin curtains. For a moment, she forgot where she was, and then it all came rushing back. Marcus, Derek, the bed, eight months.

She sat up slowly with her body stiff from sleeping in her work clothes. The hotel room looked even worse in daylight, with water stains on the ceiling, carpet with suspicious dark patches, and the smell of stale cigarettes stronger now.

Her phone buzzed. No, not her phone, the burner. Amelia grabbed it from the nightstand.

Lucia: Are you awake? How are you feeling?

Amelia stared at the text. How was she feeling? Numb, empty, like someone had scooped out her insides and left behind a hollow shell. She typed back, I'm okay. Going to get my things today.

The response came immediately. Be safe. Call me if you need anything. I mean it.

Amelia set the phone down and looked at herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her hair was a mess, mascara smudged under her eyes, and her blouse wrinkled beyond repair. She looked exactly how she felt, destroyed, but she did not have time to fall apart, not yet. She needed to get her things from the apartment before Marcus came home from work. Get in, get out, never see him again.

Amelia used the tiny hotel soap to wash her face and tried to smooth down her hair. It did not help much, but it would have to do. She checked out of the hotel at nine and drove straight to the apartment.

The parking lot looked the same as it had last night, normal and ordinary. Marcus's car was gone, which was good because he would be at work by now. Amelia sat in her car for a long moment, gathering courage she did not feel, and then she got out and walked to the building.

The elevator ride up felt like descending into a nightmare she had already lived once. When she reached the apartment door, her hand shook as she inserted the key. It turned, and she pushed the door open.

The apartment was quiet and empty. The Thai food was still on the kitchen counter with containers unopened and cold, the pad thai she had bought for Marcus and the green curry she never got to eat. Amelia walked past it without looking.

She went straight to the bedroom. The bed was unmade with sheets tangled, the same sheets she had seen them in last night. Her work bag was on the floor where she had dropped it.

Amelia grabbed it and pulled out her phone. Fiftythree missed calls and seventytwo texts, most from Marcus and some from Derek. She did not read any of them.

Instead, she opened her email and typed quickly.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Resignation Effective Immediately

Jennifer,

I am resigning from my position effective immediately. I will not be returning to the office. Please mail my final paycheck to the address on file.

Thank you. Amelia Harper

She hit send before she could secondguess herself. Done. No two weeks notice, no explanation, just done.

Amelia pulled two suitcases from the closet and started packing. Clothes, not all of them, just the ones that mattered like jeans, sweaters, and the few dresses she actually liked. She left behind anything Marcus had ever bought her. Laptop, charger, the few photos she had of her parents before they died, her passport. Everything else could stay because she did not want it anymore.

Amelia worked quickly and methodically with her hands steady now that she had a purpose. Twenty minutes, that was all it took to pack up two years of living here. Two suitcases and a work bag, that was all she was taking.

She was zipping up the second suitcase when she heard the door open.

Her heart stopped. Footsteps in the hallway.

"Amelia?"

Marcus.