She Woke Up in the Mafia Boss’s Bed by Mistake, but His Mother Saw the Shoes and Changed Everything

By three o'clock that afternoon, Emma was sitting in a high-backed leather chair inside the private legal offices of Romano Holdings on the 40th floor of a downtown Chicago skyscraper.

Across the glass desk sat Gabriel Vance—Matteo’s sharp, terrifyingly efficient chief legal counsel—and Matteo himself, who had discarded his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

Gabriel pushed a thick, paper-bound document across the desk toward Emma.

“This is the formal Cohabitation and Non-Disclosure Engagement Agreement,” Gabriel stated in a dry, professional tone. “It outlines the exact parameters of the next six months.”

Emma pulled the document toward her, opening her pen. “I want to read every single line.”

Matteo leaned back in his leather chair, a faint flick of amusement touching his lips. “By all means, Miss Collins. Take your time.”

For forty-five minutes, the room was silent except for the rustle of turning pages. Emma read with the precision of a woman who had spent years catching hidden clauses in venue contracts.

“Clause 4,” Emma said, raising her head. “'The Candidate agrees to reside at the Romano Penthouse on Lake Shore Drive for the duration of the six-month period.' Absolutely not. I am keeping my apartment in Lincoln Park.”

“Safety issue,” Gabriel answered immediately. “Once the press picks up the engagement story tomorrow morning, reporters will be camped outside your Lincoln Park building. Furthermore, Donato Caruso’s associates will be monitoring your movements. At the Lake Shore Drive penthouse, you have twenty-four-hour private security personnel and direct underground garage access.”

Emma looked at Matteo. “Separate bedrooms.”

“Naturally,” Matteo said evenly. “The penthouse has seven suites. You may choose whichever you prefer.”

“Clause 7,” Emma continued, scanning down the page. “'Public Displays of Affection shall be maintained at a level convincing to third-party observers, including hand-holding, light physical contact, and ceremonial kissing during public events.' What defines a 'ceremonial kiss'?”

Gabriel looked slightly uncomfortable, clearing his throat.

Matteo leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his dark eyes fixed on hers. “It means, Miss Collins, that if we are at the Opera Gala next month and a photographer from the Chicago Tribune is taking our picture, I will kiss you on the cheek or the lips, and you will not flinch or look as though you are swallowing poison.”

Emma held his stare. “And in private?”

“In private, we are business partners,” Matteo said smoothly. “I do not touch what has not been explicitly negotiated.”

Emma felt a strange, electric heat flash across her skin at his words, but she kept her face completely blank.

She turned to the last page. “And the financial clause? One million dollars total, paid in two installments, plus the five-year corporate vendor contract for my event firm.”

“Already deposited into an escrow account held by an independent bank,” Gabriel confirmed, sliding a bank verification letter toward her. “The first five hundred thousand will be released to your personal account the moment both signatures are applied to this document.”

Emma stared at the blue signature line at the bottom of the paper. This was the moment of no return. She was selling six months of her life to a man whose reputation was built on ruthlessness and absolute control.

She looked up at Matteo one last time. “Why me? Truly, Matteo. You could have hired an actress. You could have picked a high-society woman who knew how to play this game.”

Matteo’s eyes softened slightly, the harsh lines around his mouth relaxing.

“High-society women want the crown, Emma,” he said quietly. “Actresses break under pressure when men like Donato Caruso look at them. You didn't break. You looked a lion in the face at breakfast and didn't even drop your pastry.”

He held out a sleek black fountain pen.