“I Need a Boyfriend by Tomorrow,” the Plus-Size Maid Whispered—And Her Mafia Boss Heard Everything

By Friday evening, word had spread through the Chicago underworld like wildfire.

The Moretti family had been crippled overnight, their leadership vacuum quietly absorbed by the Rossi syndicate. But what truly fascinated the city's criminal elite was the rumor that Roman Rossi—the cold, emotionless monster who had spent fifteen years immune to women—was parading a lush, broad-shouldered maid around high-society events, dripping in multi-million-dollar Rossi diamonds.

Inside the quiet sanctuary of her Pilsen studio apartment, Sadi was oblivious to the mob politics. She was currently staring at a long, flowing navy blue gown drapes across her sofa—a custom gown delivered to her door three hours ago by two muscular men in dark suits, complete with a handwritten note from Roman: Wear this. 2:00 PM.

The dress was breathtaking—a rich navy silk dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline, a corset waist that snatched her middle while hugging her wide hips, and a dramatic slit that went all the way up her left thigh.

As she touched the smooth silk, her phone rang.

She picked it up without looking. "Hello?"

"Sadi."

It wasn't Roman. The voice was thin, raspy, and unfamiliar, dripping with a sinister, mocking tone.

Sadi went instantly still, her hand tightening around the phone. "Who is this?"

"A friend of the family," the voice purred through the speaker. "We saw you at the Naperville Country Club last week, Sadi. You looked very pretty in green. Roman’s yellow diamond looks even better on you."

A cold spike of pure terror drove straight through Sadi’s chest. "How did you get this number?"

"Roman thinks he's untouchable because he sits in his fortress in Lincoln Park," the man sneered softly. "He thinks he can wipe out the Moretti leadership and hide behind a sweet, soft maid. Tell me, Sadi... does Roman know how easy it was to find your apartment in Pilsen? Does he know how thin your front door lock is?"

Sadi’s breath caught in her throat. She instinctively backed away from her apartment window, her eyes darting frantically toward her front door.

"If you drop a single tear on that pretty blue dress," the man continued smoothly, "we’ll make sure Roman gets the necklace back... with your throat still attached to it."

CLICK.

The line went dead.

Sadi stood in the middle of her living room, her phone pressed against her ear, her chest heaving in absolute, blind terror. Her legs felt like water. The reality of Roman’s world—the blood, the violence, the lethal danger—had just smashed through her quiet life like a battering ram.

She didn't call her mother. She didn't call the police.

She dialed the only number that mattered.

The phone rang precisely once before a low, heavy voice answered. "Sadi."

"Roman," she gasped out, tears finally breaking through her voice. "Roman, someone... someone just called my phone."

The line went completely dead silent. The background noise on Roman’s end—the faint clink of glass and low voices—instantly vanished as he stepped into a quiet room.

"What did they say?" Roman’s voice was no longer human; it was a flat, terrifying blade of ice.

"He... he knew about the green dress," Sadi sobbed, holding her hand over her mouth to stop her hyperventilating. "He knew about the yellow diamond. He said... he said he was outside my door in Pilsen."

"Listen to me very carefully, Sadi," Roman commanded, his voice dark, steady, and overwhelmingly powerful. "Do not go near the windows. Do not open the door for anyone. Look under your bed."

Sadi blinked through her tears. "What?"

"Look under your bed," Roman repeated firmly. "There is a black pelican case strapped to the bedframe. Undo the latches."

Sadi dropped to her knees, crawling frantically across her hardwood floor toward her bed. She lifted the dust ruffle, reaching into the dark space. Her hand struck a heavy, hard plastic case. She dragged it out, her fingers fumbling blindly with the heavy latches until they snapped open.

Inside, resting in custom-cut foam, was a sleek, matte-black semi-automatic handgun, complete with two loaded magazines.

Sadi gasped, dropping her hands. "Roman! I don't know how to use a gun!"

"You don't need to use it," Roman’s voice boomed softly through her speaker, the sound of a heavy car engine roaring to life in his background. "Because I am currently three minutes away from your street, running every red light in the city. If anyone touches that door before I arrive, you pick up that weapon, rack the slide, and shoot through the wood."