Wedged between the seats of the Rolls Royce lay a pink lace bra, size 36C. It certainly wasn't mine, and I could only think of one woman who wore that size—Bianca!

“I’ve come to accept your job offer, Mr. Garcia, and will start as soon as possible.” Mr. Garcia sounded delighted. He thought that I didn’t know that he had an ulterior motive in hiring me, and that is to get inside information about Romano Holdings, Inc. He is a linchpin from a rival Mafia group, Lombardi, Ltd.

My boyfriend also tried to keep his involvement with the Mafia hidden, especially from the media and from me. Trying to keep a low profile while generating much wealth proved to be impossible. Such a fact often doesn't go unnoticed to a discerning eye. His unimaginable wealth came from centuries of Mafia-related transactions, tracing back its roots to Italy. He is the only heir to Romano Holdings, Inc., a multinational conglomerate specializing in food distribution and secretly funded by the Romano Mafias run by his father.

Rocco emerged from the shower, beads of water still clinging to his skin. His damp hair sent a thrill of excitement coursing through me. “He still excites me,” I thought, but I tried to suppress my feelings; he had grown so distant since hiring Bianca. Even in the shower, he had brought his cellphone, continuing his conversation with a woman—presumably Bianca. He tried to excuse himself, insisting that work took precedence over everything, even his bath time. I nodded at him, a guarded expression on my face.

It would be foolish to believe that no woman could fall for him, given his status and power. He stood tall and muscular, his tanned skin glowing and his full beard exuding strength. He resembled a god, and women were drawn to him like moths to a flame. I couldn't blame them; I had once been one of them, worshiping the ground he walked on, yearning for him to notice me.

I had no idea what drew him to me in the first place. I was just an ordinary employee in his company. Perhaps it was my air of innocence and childlike spirit—qualities he hadn’t encountered before among his countless women. At this very moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had once been a novelty to him, but now that novelty had faded.

“Who were you talking to just now?” he asked, not even looking up from his phone.

“No one. Just some random guy selling insurance.”

He reached for his cup of herbal tea and was surprised to see that I haven’t made one. He looked skeptically at me, but decided to change the topic.

“I received your x-ray and showed it to our company physician. He said it’s nothing serious, just a minor injury that will heal after a week. Just keep the wound dry so that it will not get infected.”

I simply nodded at him, my mind intent on drafting my resignation letter. I may have appeared nonchalant on the outside, but inside, I was seething with hurt and frustration. He had no idea I had six stitches on my leg from the accident; all he seemed concerned about were broken bones. My injuries ran deeper than the physical; they cut to the very core of my being. The loss of a child is a pain no parent can speak about lightly, a sorrow that twists your heart and leaves you feeling utterly alone.

I decided not to tell him about my miscarriage.The bond that should have drawn us closer is now gone. What purpose would it serve to tell him? It wouldn’t bring back our dead child, or heal the deep ache in my heart. I found myself struggling in silent grief, feeling more alone than ever in a relationship that once held much promise.

He was puzzled about what I was doing, as I was barely listening to him. He glanced at my phone, but then his phone rang. He smiled and was about to disappear into his study, but I stopped him in his tracks.

My fingers trembled as I reached into my bag, my eyes flickering with a mix of worry and apprehension. “There is something I am going to show you,” I said. “It’s something I saw wedged between the seats. You can’t say it’s mine because it’s not. Can you explain why you have it?”

Rocco’s brow furrowed, a flash of confusion crossing his face. “What is it? Tell me now! Don’t keep me waiting because you know how I am when I’m angry!”

As he leaned closer, the tension thickened , a charged silence filling the space between us. My heart was racing. I kept the thing hidden, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You might want to sit down for this…”

Rocco's eyes narrow, suspicion sparking. “Isabella, what have you—”

I held the lacy bra for his view. "This definitely is not mine.” He stood there, stunned. Then he slowly came near me, snatched the garment away from me, and walked away.

I opened my secret Instagram account and scrolled through his feed. There was a new entry. The words were so sweet that I felt sadness sweeping over me. It was addressed to Bianca.

“I should have been a better boss and skipped a boring business dinner. Tomorrow, my dear assistant, the night will be ours. Cheers, and keep the champagne on ice.”

I feel like crying, but I liked the post. I received a notification and saw the contract sent by Mr. Garcia. With fingers crossed, I uttered a silent prayer for my future. Without hesitation, I affixed my e-signature to the document.

It was early morning, and Rocco had instructed one of his men to buy chocolate and peanut bagels from a well-known bakery. As I was hungry, I was about to take a chocolate bagel, but he slapped my hand away and told me to pick the peanut bagel.

Shocked, all I could do was stare at him. We’ve been together for four years, and still he forgot that I am allergic to peanuts. I have an anaphylactic reaction to nuts and almost died of complications a few months ago when Bianca gave me peanut butter cookies, which she made. She must have known I was allergic to peanuts (she had access to HR documents), but she so conveniently forgot to tell me that the cookies had peanuts in them.

“Four years is a long time to get to know me well. In all those years, didn’t you know that I’m allergic to peanuts and almost died eating them?” Tears threaten to fall down my cheeks.

He stared at me, suddenly recalling that fateful night when paramedics rushed me to the hospital, bloated and struggling to breathe. Without swift medical intervention, I would have died.

His face flushed, and he couldn’t meet my gaze. What kind of man forgets the life-threatening moments of his girlfriend?

In order to hide his embarrassment, he assumed an aggressive stance. “You’re already old enough to protect yourself. You don’t need to use your imperfections against me to play victim and gaslight me! He grabbed me by the arm, his action hurting me. He gritted his teeth, then whispered harshly in my ear, “You don’t know the things I’m capable of doing.”

“I do,” I silently whispered to myself. I’ve heard of some Mafia atrocities going on in downtown Chicago and knew that Rocco was in the middle of it all. I’ve heard him having secret phone conversations and talking about ambush, kidnappings, and even murder. To what extent his evildoings were, only he himself knows. But I guess the police already had a clue, as I’ve seen plainclothesmen secretly following me and observing my every move. They thought that by tailing me, his girlfriend, I would unknowingly reveal some clues about his clandestine activities.

It was our first real fight. I am usually submissive by nature and avoid confrontations whenever possible. On some days when we had disagreements, I was the one who always crawled back to him and asked for forgiveness even though it wasn’t my fault. I tried to keep peace whenever possible, even to the point of agreeing with him at all times. “Sentimental fool,” I chastised myself.

But this time, something snapped inside me. My inner child could no longer be summoned. In its place, a demon reared its ugly head and took over my entire being.

I went to the kitchen and got the lacy bra from the garbage can. He threw it away after I gave it to him. But I have kept it solely for occasions like this.

I went back to the living room and handed him the undergarment. “Please give this back to Bianca, your girlfriend. I don’t want to see it; it’s too garish in color and stinks a lot.” I threw the bra at his face and walked away. He tried to stop me from leaving, but I was too fast for him. I ran to the street, got into my car, and sped away.

I looked in the rearview mirror. He was shaking his fist at me and shouting, “She’s not my girlfriend!”

He ran after my car, his anger palpable even at a distance. I revved up, frightened of a Mafia boss chasing me! Noooo! Stop chasing me please! Panic surged, I lost concentration and slammed the car into a post! The airbag deployed, a cloud of white bursting around me, and then everything went black. The last thing I remembered was the fury in his eyes!

I limped as I got inside my cubicle to start my work. My stitches hurt after the effects of painkillers had worn off. I can feel eyes staring at me, boring a hole at my back. But as soon as I turned to look at them, they all looked away and pretended they were in deep conversation with one another. Strange. I was quite confused, as I could sense that they were talking about me and that I am the center of attention.

“Is there something going on?” I thought. I heard muffled laughter whenever I passed by, sometimes a snicker or two. I even heard a woman say, “Serves her right.” I turned to confront her, but she just looked at me from head to foot, sneered at me, and walked away. “It must only be my imagination,” I tried to reason with myself. But my gut instinct told me something was wrong. Something was off, and it involved me.

I went to the washroom. I was inside a cubicle when I heard two colleagues gossiping. The words they were saying were like daggers piercing my broken heart.

“Have you heard the latest gossip? Mr. Romano ditched Isabella in favor of that bitchy assistant!”

“Really? Where did you hear that news from?”

“You should read our group chat! Everybody’s talking about it! There was a meeting yesterday, and Bianca was serving coffee. I don’t know if she intentionally poured coffee on her dress! But then we know how sly she is! I think she did it on purpose.”

“So, her dress got wet and became transparent?” The girl snickered.

“You read her well. All the men during the meeting were staring at her. And she was like, ‘Oh, how careless of me. I’m all wet. Whatever shall I do? ’ She acted so helpless that Rocco got tissues and tried to wipe the stains off her white dress. She was wearing a plunging neckline too. Rocco was wiping that area a little too diligently. Sensing that everyone was observing his moves, he picked her up in front of everyone, went out of the room, and brought her inside his office.”

“Then I guess that some of you were listening right outside the door?” The girl cackled.

“Yes! You should have been here! Everyone was having a field day! We heard Bianca giggling like crazy! Then there was absolute silence. We then looked at each other and giggled like crazy!”

“In my opinion, Isabella is just too tame and naïve to be the girlfriend of a Mafia boss. Mr. Rocco would need someone who is very assertive and domineering to be his wife someday.”

“Serves her right if Bianca will be able to snatch our boss away from her. She’s too full of herself, acting high and mighty with her holier-than-thou attitude. I prefer Bianca over her to be the girlfriend of our boss.”

I don’t know what on earth made me bring a mirror inside the cubicle. Its existence was cut short as it shattered on the floor and broke into many pieces. But that was nothing compared to the state of my heart. A broken mirror couldn’t feel any pain. It just ceased to exist. My heart, on the other hand, continued to throb and pulse even though it just wanted to die over and over again. No balm or salve can heal a heart that’s been broken countless times.

The women gasped when they realized that I heard all of their conversations. Horrified, they scuttled into the corner when I came out of the cubicle. My legs were covered with pinpricks of blood where the shards cut through my skin. I looked at my face in the mirror, and who did I see? A girl so pale and wan, who was nothing but a shadow of her old, happy self.

I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the washroom. The women inside froze, their faces drained of color as they scrambled for the exit, panic written all over them.

Alone in the sudden silence, I felt the weight of my despair crash down. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving me in a tense stillness.

I screamed in pain and agony and smashed my fists at the mirror! Rivulets of blood ran down my arms as shards of broken glass cut through my skin. I sank down to the floor, feeling weak as I lost a lot of blood. I tried to keep my eyes open but lost consciousness in the end.

Then, from somewhere beyond the walls, a voice called my name, urgent and filled with dread. “What’s happening in there?”