Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 22

Aria's POV

The heavy wooden doors of the Montrosso estate slammed shut behind me.

I stood on the marble steps for a moment, my legs trembling beneath me as the reality crashed over me in waves. Fired. Again. The three hundred euros that were supposed to save Jessica's life—gone.

The first drops of rain began to fall as I walked away from the estate, each droplet cold against my burning cheeks. The autumn night was turning harsh, and I pulled my thin jacket tighter around my shoulders, though it did nothing to ward off the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

"Should have thought of that before you decided to play the whore in our guest quarters."

Signora Russo's words echoed in my mind, each syllable a fresh cut. The way she'd smiled as she delivered that final blow, the satisfaction in her voice as she stripped away not just my job but my dignity.

The rain began to fall harder, turning from gentle droplets to a steady downpour that soaked through my uniform within minutes. I didn't care.

I thought about Jessica lying in that hospital bed, her small face pale against the white pillows, trusting me to find a way to pay for her treatment. What was I going to tell her? How could I explain that I'd lost our last chance because I couldn't control myself around a man who saw me as nothing more than a convenient distraction?

The marks on my throat throbbed beneath the collar of my soaked shirt.

"Look at these marks! Look at the evidence of exactly what kind of work she's been doing instead of serving our guests!"

I pressed my hands against my face, trying to block out the memory of those women staring at me with disgust and fascination. The way they'd stripped away my jacket, exposing my shame for everyone to see. The whispers that would follow me if I ever tried to find work in Florence's service industry again.

But beneath the humiliation and self-recrimination, a small flame of anger began to burn. Yes, I'd made mistakes. Yes, I'd lost control. But I wasn't the only one responsible for what had happened tonight.

Adriana—that poisonous princess who'd started this entire nightmare by slipping something into my champagne.

They would go back to their world of privilege and power, their reputations intact, their futures secure. While I walked through the rain with nothing but shame and empty pockets.

The unfairness of it all made my chest tight with rage. How was it that the people who caused the most damage were the ones who faced the fewest consequences?

By the time I reached the main road, I was completely soaked and shivering. The elegant buildings of Florence's wealthy district gave way to more modest neighborhoods, and still I kept walking. I couldn't go back to the small apartment I shared with the other girls—not yet. I couldn't face their questions, their sympathy, their practical advice about finding another job.

Because the truth was, I was running out of options. And time.

I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers, checking for any messages that might offer hope. Nothing from the hospital, which was probably good news—they only called when Jessica's condition worsened. But also nothing from any of the other jobs I'd applied for, no last-minute opportunities that might salvage this disaster.

Wait.

I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at a name I hadn't thought about in weeks. Marco Benedetti. My ex-boyfriend, the man who'd thrown me away for a woman whose father could advance his career.

He still owes me money.

The realization hit me like a lightning bolt. Before we'd broken up, I'd lent Marco nearly two hundred euros—money I'd saved from my part-time jobs during university, money he'd needed for some emergency car repair. He'd promised to pay me back within the month.

That was three months ago.

Two hundred euros wouldn't cover all of Jessica's treatment, but it would buy us time. A few more days, maybe a week if I was careful with it. Time to find another job, another opportunity, another miracle.

My hands shook as I dialed his number, whether from cold or nerves, I couldn't tell. The phone rang once, twice—

"Aria?" Marco's voice sounded surprised, annoyed even. "What the hell are you calling me for?"

In the background, I could hear music, laughter, the clink of expensive glasses. He was at some social gathering, probably with her—the woman who'd taken my place in his bed and his life.

"Marco, I need to talk to you about the money you borrowed—"

"Money?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Are you seriously calling me about two hundred euros? Jesus, Aria, we broke up. Move on."

"You promised you'd pay me back. I need that money. It's important."

"Important to you, maybe. But two hundred euros? That barely covers the wine I'm drinking tonight." His voice grew more dismissive, more cruel. "Besides, what exactly did you do to earn that money back then? Clean my apartment? Cook me dinner? Play the devoted girlfriend? I'd say we're even."

The casual cruelty of his words hit me harder than Signora Russo's formal dismissal. This was the man I'd trusted, the man I'd thought loved me enough to build a future together. Now he was reducing our entire relationship to a transaction, dismissing my desperation as if it were a minor inconvenience.

"You bastard," I whispered, my voice breaking. "You promised—"

"I'm busy, Aria. Stop calling me. We're done, remember? Find someone else to solve your problems."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone through the rain streaming down my face, feeling something inside me crack beyond repair.

But even as despair threatened to drown me, that small flame of anger grew brighter. Marco thought he could dismiss me, treat me like some pathetic beggar who didn't deserve basic respect? He thought he could enjoy his new life while ignoring his debts to the woman who'd supported him through university?

We'll see about that.

I scrolled through my contacts again, this time looking for Sofia's number. If anyone would know where Marco was tonight, it would be her. She still moved in the same social circles, still heard all the gossip about who was dating whom and where the popular crowd gathered.

"Aria?" Sofia's voice was warm with concern when she answered. "Where are you? I've been worried sick. Maria said you disappeared from the gala hours ago."

"Sofia, I need to ask you something, and I need you not to ask questions right now, okay?"

A pause. "Okay. What do you need?"

"Do you know where Marco is tonight? Marco Benedetti?"

Another pause, longer this time. "Aria, what are you planning? Because that tone in your voice is scaring me."

"Just tell me where he is."

"He's at Villa Benedetti. His girlfriend's family is hosting some kind of dinner party for her father's business associates." Sofia's voice grew more worried. "Aria, whatever you're thinking of doing—"

"Thank you," I said, ending the call before she could finish her warning.

Villa Benedetti. Of course he'd be there, playing the devoted boyfriend in front of Claudia's father and his wealthy friends. Probably charming them with stories about his bright future, his ambitious plans, his perfect new relationship.

I turned toward the hill district where the Benedetti estate was located, my jaw set with determination.

Marco wanted to pretend I'd never existed? He wanted to erase our history and move on without consequences?

Fine. Let's see how he handles having his past show up on his new girlfriend's doorstep.