Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 13

Aria's POV

"What a coincidence," I said.

Antonio smiled gently. "Indeed it is, my dear. Tell me, what do you enjoy doing when you're not working? What brings you happiness?"

We continued walking through the gardens as I thought about his question. "I love reading, when I can afford books. There's a small library near the orphanage where I spent hours as a child. And I enjoy cooking simple meals—there's something peaceful about it."

"Cooking?" His eyes lit up with interest. "What kind of dishes do you prepare?"

"Nothing fancy," I said quickly. "Just basic pasta, simple soups. Whatever I can make with cheap ingredients that will stretch to feed Jessica and me for several days."

Antonio nodded thoughtfully. "My daughter-in-law was the same way. She could take the simplest ingredients and create something wonderful. She had this way of humming while she cooked—old Italian songs her grandmother had taught her."

I found myself smiling. "I do that too. I don't know why, but there's something about cooking that makes me want to sing."

"Remarkable," he murmured, studying my face again with that intense look. "And what about mornings? Are you an early riser?"

"I have to be. The hospital visiting hours start at seven, and I like to see Jessica before the day gets busy. Plus, most of my jobs have required early starts."

"Isabella was always up before dawn," Antonio said softly. "She'd sit in the garden with her coffee, watching the sunrise. Said it was the most peaceful part of her day."

The way he spoke about her made my chest tight with longing. I'd never had someone talk about me with such love and warmth. The closest thing I'd had to family was Jessica, and even that relationship was built on necessity rather than blood.

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," I said. "I'm honored that you think I remind you of her, even a little."

Antonio stopped walking and turned to face me fully. "You don't just remind me of her, child. The resemblance is... extraordinary."

Something in his tone made me uncomfortable, but I pushed the feeling away. "Well, I should get back to training. I don't want to give Signora Russo any more reasons to dislike me."

"Don't worry about Benedetta," Antonio said firmly. "You focus on your training and do your best. I have complete confidence that you'll excel at this job."

For a moment, looking into his kind eyes, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if he really were my grandfather. To have someone in my corner, someone who believed in me not because of what I could do for them, but simply because I mattered to them.

Don't be ridiculous, I told myself firmly. You're an orphan from the streets. He's the head of one of Italy's most powerful families. This is just kindness from a stranger, nothing more.

The rest of my training passed surprisingly smoothly. Without Adriana around to create drama, and with Signora Russo clearly under orders to treat me fairly, I was able to focus on learning the intricate details of high-end service.

I memorized the difference between champagne flutes and wine glasses, learned the proper way to serve from the left and clear from the right, and practiced moving through crowds without disturbing the guests. It was demanding work, but it felt good to use my mind for something other than worry about Jessica's medical bills.

The other temporary staff were friendly enough, though most kept to themselves. We were all here for the money, not to make friends. Still, there was a camaraderie in our shared nervousness about serving Florence's elite.

"Remember," the lead server told us during our final briefing, "these guests are accustomed to invisible service. You should anticipate their needs without drawing attention to yourself. And above all, discretion is paramount. What you see and hear tonight stays within these walls."

The gala was set to begin at seven in the evening. At five o'clock, we were given our uniforms—crisp white shirts, black slacks, and black vests that were surprisingly well-tailored for temporary staff clothing.

I stared at myself in the small mirror of the staff changing room. The uniform was conservative, professional, completely different from the revealing costume I'd worn at the Moon Bar. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I had dignity in my work.

"You look good," said Maria, one of the other servers, as she adjusted her vest. "Much better than those club outfits, I bet."

I blushed, wondering how she knew about my previous job. "This feels... professional."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," she said with a laugh. "Jobs like this don't come around often for girls like us."

She was right, of course. Tomorrow I'd be back to searching classified ads and hoping someone would hire me despite my lack of connections. But tonight, I could be proud of my work.

At six-thirty, we received our final assignments. I was placed on beverage service for the main ballroom, straightforward work that would keep me busy and invisible.

I collected my serving tray and headed toward the wine station to begin preparations. The kitchen was buzzing with activity as caterers put finishing touches on elaborate hors d'oeuvres and servers practiced their routes through the house.

Just get through tonight, I told myself. Earn your three hundred euros, pay for Jessica's treatment, and figure out what comes next.

The wine station was located in a small alcove off the main kitchen, lined with bottles that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. I was checking my tray for water spots when I heard a soft clinking sound from the corner.

I looked up to see Adriana Montrosso hunched over a table of prepared champagne glasses, her back to me. She had a small vial in her hand and was carefully adding drops of clear liquid to several of the glasses.

My blood turned to ice. I'd heard stories about wealthy people drugging their enemies, about substances that could incapacitate or worse. Whatever she was doing, it wasn't innocent.

I should have backed away quietly, pretended I hadn't seen anything. But my foot caught the edge of a wine crate, and it scraped against the floor with a loud scraping sound.

Adriana spun around, her eyes wide with panic when she saw me. For a split second, we stared at each other in frozen silence.

Then she dropped the vial, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock. The small glass container shattered on the marble floor, spreading its contents across the stone.

"You," she whispered, her voice sharp with fear and rage.

I didn't wait to hear what she planned to do about my discovery. Whatever was in that vial, whoever those glasses were intended for, I wanted no part of it. I turned and ran.

Behind me, I heard Adriana's heels clicking rapidly against the floor as she gave chase. My heart hammered as I dodged between kitchen staff and catering equipment, looking for somewhere to hide or escape.

She was poisoning someone, I thought frantically. And now she knows I saw her do it.

I rounded a corner too quickly and slammed directly into something solid and unmoving. Strong hands gripped my shoulders as I bounced backward, my serving tray clattering to the floor.

Looking up, I found myself staring into the face I'd been hoping never to see again.

Dark eyes. Sharp cheekbones. That mouth that had whispered commands I'd obeyed without question.

Every rational thought fled my mind as I met his gaze, my body remembering things I'd tried desperately to forget.