Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 34

Aria’s POV

"Miss Rossi. We'll be going directly to the corporate offices. Mr. Cavalieri will meet you there in two hours."

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and slid into the backseat. The interior was a study in understated luxury—supple leather that probably cost more than most people's annual salaries.

Yet despite all the opulence, I felt like I was sitting in a hearse.

The city blurred past the tinted windows as we drove through Florence's winding streets. I watched my old life recede—the familiar café where I'd worked, the narrow alleyways where I'd learned to navigate as a child, the bridge where Jessica and I used to feed pigeons with stale bread from the orphanage. Each landmark felt like a goodbye.

We entered the business district, where glass towers reached toward the sky. The driver pulled up in front of a sleek building that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Two security guards flanked the entrance, their tailored suits doing little to conceal the weapons I was certain they carried.

This was the legitimate face of the Cavalieri empire—a constellation of businesses that provided convenient cover for activities that never appeared on any corporate balance sheet.

"The front desk will direct you," the driver said, already moving to open my door. "Mr. Cavalieri's office is on the forty-second floor."

The lobby was all marble and steel, designed to intimidate through sheer scale. My footsteps echoed embarrassingly as I approached the reception desk, where a woman with perfect makeup and a practiced smile looked up from her computer.

"I'm here to see Mr. Cavalieri," I said, my voice smaller than I'd intended. "I have an appointment."

She consulted her screen with theatrical precision. "Name?"

"Aria Rossi."

Her fingers clicked across the keyboard, each tap seeming to judge me somehow. "I don't see you on the schedule. Are you certain about the time?"

"I was told to be here at nine. His driver picked me up—"

"His driver picks up many people, Miss..." She paused deliberately. "Rossi, was it? That doesn't necessarily mean you have an actual appointment with Mr. Cavalieri himself."

The dismissal in her tone was clear. I was being categorized, filed away as someone not worth her professional courtesy.

"Perhaps you could call his office?" I suggested, trying to maintain some dignity. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding—"

"I'll contact his administrative assistant," she said with the air of someone doing me an enormous favor. "Please take a seat."

Twenty minutes passed before another woman emerged from the elevator bank. This one was impossible to ignore—tall and striking, with waves of chestnut hair that caught the light as she moved. Her red dress was cut to showcase a figure that belonged in fashion magazines, and her heels clicked against the marble with the confidence of someone who owned whatever room she entered.

"Miss Rossi?" Her voice carried just enough warmth to be professionally pleasant and just enough distance to establish hierarchy. "I'm Victoria Marchetti, Mr. Cavalieri's executive assistant. I understand you're here to see him?"

"Yes, we have—"

"An appointment, so I've been told." Her smile was perfect and completely empty. "Though I have to say, his calendar shows no such meeting. Are you quite certain about the details?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. "His driver picked me up. He told me to be here at nine—"

"Drivers receive many instructions, dear. That doesn't necessarily mean they understand the nuances of executive scheduling." Victoria's eyes traveled over my simple dress and worn shoes with the kind of assessment that catalogued everything and found it wanting. "What did you say this meeting was regarding?"

"It's... personal business."

"Personal business." She repeated the words as if they left a bad taste in her mouth. "How delightfully vague. You realize that Mr. Cavalieri is one of the most powerful men in this city? His time is scheduled months in advance. He doesn't simply meet with people who show up claiming to have 'personal business.'"

"I understand that, but—"

"Do you?" Victoria stepped closer, and I caught the expensive scent of her perfume. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you've made some rather significant assumptions about your importance in his life."

The implication hung in the air between us like a slap.

"While we're waiting for clarification," Victoria continued smoothly, "perhaps you could make yourself useful? I have some documents that need copying, and it would be a shame for you to simply sit there wasting time."

Before I could protest, she was leading me toward a room filled with office equipment, her assumptions about my purpose here crystal clear. I was help, not a guest. A convenience to be utilized while more important people sorted out whatever confusion had brought me here.

"The copier is quite straightforward," she said, handing me a stack of papers. "I'm sure someone with your... background... can manage simple tasks."

As she clicked away on her heels, I heard voices drifting from nearby cubicles—office gossip delivered in the kind of stage whispers that were meant to be overheard.

"That's her, isn't it? Victoria? The one who's been warming Damian's bed for the past year?"

"They say she practically lives at his penthouse. Lucky girl, landing someone like him."

"She certainly dresses the part. Those aren't secretary wages paying for that wardrobe."

"I heard she's hoping for a ring soon. Makes sense—she's not getting any younger, and men like Cavalieri don't stay single forever."

I stood frozen by the copying machine, the papers forgotten in my hands. Victoria and Damian. Of course there would be someone—a woman sophisticated enough for his world, beautiful enough for his standards, connected enough to navigate the dangerous waters he swam in.

A strange mixture of relief and something I didn't want to examine settled in my chest. If Damian had a woman he cared about, someone he was building a relationship with, then my contract became even more clinical. Just a biological function, nothing more complicated than hiring someone to provide a service.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it left me feeling somehow emptier than before.

The sound of clicking heels announced Victoria's return before I saw her. She swept back into the copy room with a stack of additional documents, her expression shifting to surprise when she noticed me still standing by the machine with the original papers untouched.

"Oh my," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "Having trouble with the equipment? I suppose not everyone is cut out for office work." She moved closer, her perfume overwhelming in the small space. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable waiting in the lobby? This really isn't the place for... visitors... of your particular background."

"I was told to wait—"

"Were you?" Victoria's eyebrows rose in theatrical surprise. "By whom, exactly? Because I've checked Mr. Cavalieri's schedule thoroughly, and there's absolutely no record of any appointment with someone of your... description."

She picked up the phone on the nearby desk, her fingers dancing over the numbers with deliberate slowness. "Perhaps I should call security? We can't have unauthorized personnel wandering around corporate offices. There are confidentiality concerns, you understand."

"Please, I'm not trying to cause trouble—"

"Of course you're not, darling." Victoria's smile was razor-sharp. "I'm sure whatever little fantasy brought you here seemed perfectly reasonable to someone with your limited understanding of how these things work. But Mr. Cavalieri is a very important man with very specific standards about the company he keeps."

She moved to stand between me and the door, effectively trapping me in the small room. "Now, I'm going to give you one chance to leave quietly before this becomes embarrassing for both of us. You can walk out of here with whatever dignity you have left, or you can wait for security to escort you out. Your choice."

The phone was still in her hand, her finger hovering over what I assumed was the security extension. The threat was clear—submit to her authority or face public humiliation.

"What exactly is your choice going to be, Miss Rossi?"