Taming The Mafia Princess

Diana's POV

If life wanted to kill me, it could at least buy me flowers first. Instead, it chose to attack me with an empty gas cylinder at six-thirty in the morning.

"Not today... please!" I groaned, twisting the stove knob for the fifth time.

Click. Click. Click. Nothing.

I tried once more, applying extra pressure as if my willpower could force the gas out of thin air.

Still nothing!

The suffocating silence coming from the cold burner was louder than any alarm clock. Behind me, the dining room was already sliding into absolute, chaotic warfare.

"Diana!" Vlad screamed from the table, his chair scraping violently against the floor. "Matei stole my sausage!"

"I did not, stupid!" Matei protested, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster's with his mouth overflowing with food.

"You literally have one in your mouth right now!"

"I was protecting it!" Matei shot back, abandoning his plate entirely and running around the table. Vlad chased him around with a metal fork and knife in hand like a mini gladiator.

"Protecting it from who?!"

"From you!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, shutting my eyes tightly. Five minutes. All I had asked the universe for was five peaceful minutes to fry eggs and drink coffee. Was that truly too much to ask? Younger brothers were an absolute, relentless pain in the ass...

Mom walked into the kitchen, tying her faded apron around her waist before pulling a silk bonnet over her hair. She walked past me and headed for the stove, attempting to light the burner herself, but the burner remained stubbornly dead. She frowned, letting out a heavy, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world.

"The gas is finished? So soon?"

Dad leaned against the wooden doorframe, fresh grease stains already decorating his work overalls. He had been active since five in the evening working down at the auto shop-he was a mechanic, after all.

"I'll take the tank down and refill it after my shift, my dear," Dad offered, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag.

Mom looked up at him, her green eyes soft with a painful sadness. "We don't have enough cash left in the jar to cover a refill until next week, Mihai."

The kitchen fell instantly silent. Not a comfortable, cozy silence-the heavy, suffocating kind that makes your chest ache.

Without saying a word, I quietly unzipped my handbag resting on the counter and pulled out the small paper envelope hidden inside.

Every single euro tucked into that envelope had a sacred purpose. My university tuition. My textbook fees. My future.

I counted out enough bills for a full gas tank, sliding the money across the counter toward my father...

Dad glanced at the cash and immediately shook his head, pushing it right back. "No. Take it back, Diana. That is for your school."

"Papa," I smiled, forcing a lighthearted tone to mask the sharp pain in my chest. "It's just money."

But we both knew it wasn't just money. It meant another week of skipping lunch in the university cafeteria. Another week of walking three miles across Milan to campus instead of taking the bus. Another week of pretending everything was completely fine.

Tears gathered in the corners of Mom's eyes. I hated seeing her cry more than anything in the world. "You know it's not right taking your savings, Miss D..."

"I know, Mommy," I murmured, stepping forward to press a warm kiss against her cheek before she could start arguing. "And one day, I swear I'm going to give you both the world. I'll spoil you and my brothers so much you'll never have to worry about a single thing ever again. I swear it on my life."

That earned a rich laugh from Dad. He grinned from ear to ear, pulling Mom into a tight side-hug. We might not have much in terms of bank accounts, but in our house, laughter was richer than gold....

-

An hour later, after dropping the twins off at their school gates, I navigated through the bustling streets of Milan. My heavy backpack swung over one shoulder while my black waitress apron remained neatly folded inside it.

Morning shift at the restaurant first. University lectures followed in the afternoon. Late-night study sessions after midnight. Then, if life remembered I actually existed, I managed to snatch a few hours of sleep before repeating the cycle all over again.

The brass bell above the door chimed merrily as I stepped inside.

La Magnolia.

It wasn't a Michelin-star establishment, nor was it famous among tourists, but it smelled like freshly ground espresso beans, warm garlic bread, and home...

"You're two minutes early, Diana," Marco, the owner and my boss, called out from behind the espresso machine, wiping down the stainless steel steam wand.

I let out a soft laugh, pulling my apron out.

"So you're actually complaining about punctuality now?"

"I'm Italian," Marco shot back with a dramatic shrug, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Complaining is strictly part of my job description. It's what we do best."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Fair enough."

"Anyway, congratulations-you've officially been promoted," Marco added, handing me an order pad and a pen.

"Oh? To what? Head waitress?"

"No, to a professional trouble magnet."

"I've held that title for five years, Marco. Try again."

He chuckled, gesturing with his chin toward the sunlit front window.

"Table seven. A lovely couple just sat down."

I glanced over. A well-dressed man and woman in their early thirties were settling into the booth. The woman was wearing oversized dark Saint Laurent sunglasses indoors. But I have a question, why do wealthy people wear shades inside a dimly lit restaurant?

The man wore a gold watch that probably cost more than our entire apartment building; if I sold it, it could cover my tuition for the next three years.

Rich people. Wonderful. Time to bear with their lovely attitudes...

I plastered on my best, polished customer-service smile and strolled over to their table.

"Good morning," I greeted politely, holding my pad ready. "Welcome to La Magnolia. My name is Diana, and I'll be taking care of you today."

The man looked up from his leather menu, his eyes widening as he took my features in. A slow, creepy smile spread across his face, making my skin crawl instantly.

"Well, well..." he purred, leaning back. "Aren't you just the prettiest little waitress I've ever seen?"

Before I could even think of a polite response, the woman sitting opposite him whipped her head toward me, eyeing me up and down with intense disgust. She had perfectly painted red lips, heavy foundation, and dramatic false lashes that fluttered with annoyance.

"So this is the kind of staff they hire here now," she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I completely ignored her. Years in customer service had taught me that silence was far more effective than engaging with insecure customers.

"What can I get started for you today, sir?" I asked calmly, keeping my gaze professional.

The man didn't even glance down at his menu. "I'll have whatever the redheaded beauty recommends."

The woman slammed her menu shut against the table with a sharp crack. "I'll just have a bottle of water," she snapped, her angry glare locking back onto me. "And try not to flirt with my boyfriend. You waitresses always have a cheap knack for trying to snatch other people's men."

I blinked, taking a slow breath to keep myself from bursting out laughing. Lady, please. I am trying to pay my bills, not steal your ugly boyfriend.

"I assure you, ma'am, your relationship is the absolute last thing on my mind," I replied smoothly.

She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. "We'll see about that."

I scribbled down the order, stepping back to return to the counter. I had barely taken a single step away from the table when it happened...

A firm, heavy hand landed heavily on my backside with a loud, resounding smack.

My entire body froze instantly. Every muscle in my spine locked up. What the actual fuck?

The surrounding tables fell dead silent.

Slowly... very slowly... I turned on my heel.

The man was leaning back in his leather booth, a shameless, arrogant grin plastered across his face. "Don't look so offended, sweetheart," he winked, tapping his fingers on the table. "How about you drop the attitude and write your phone number on that pad instead?"

My fingers tightened around the order pad until my knuckles turned white.

"You disgust me," I said, my voice dropping into a dangerously quiet tone as my fists clenched at my sides, releasing the rage I had been trying so hard to suppress all morning.

The man laughed carelessly. His girlfriend sat back, smirking as if this were completely normal.

Something inside my brain snapped in two. Before my mind could intervene to stop me, my right fist flew straight toward his jaw.

Diana's POV

Pow!

My knuckles connected directly with his jaw, sending a satisfying, jaw breaking punch.

The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock, before his legs gave out completely.

He hit the floor with immense force, taking his dining chair down with him in a clattering crash against the brick wall.

Gasps tore through the packed dining room, followed instantly by a suffocating, pin-drop silence. I stood over him, my shoulders heaving, my right hand throbbing with so much pain.

Dozens of eyes stared back at me in utter disbelief. Spilled lattes pooled across the tile floor. Mouths hung agape. Beside the counter, two of my fellow waitresses stood frozen like statues, holding their serving trays mid-air.

"Mummy.... she punched him!" a little boy said from a corner booth, pointing his finger directly at me.

"Ahh! How dare you lay your filthy hands on my boyfriend?!"

I spun around toward the annoying, high-pitched voice. The man's girlfriend was trembling with rage, her fake eyelashes fluttering like an agitated Chihuahua.

A wave of pure disgust washed over me. "How can she still defend that bastard after what he just did?" I thought bitterly. Some women really are their own worst enemies.

She lunged toward me, with her nails out like that of a hawk, but Marco appeared out of nowhere, planting himself directly between us and catching her wrists.

Good for her though. If her tacky manicured nails had made even the slightest contact with my skin, I would have sent her flying right alongside her precious boyfriend.

"Idiota! Do you have any idea who I am? Do you know what I can do to you?!" the man barked from the floor.

He wiped a hand across his face, his fingers were smeared with a thick, deep red blood running down his nose. Well deserved. At least I drew blood from the nasty bastard.

"Who bloody cares?" I shot back, a nasty, venomous smirk plastering itself across my face. He had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get my attention, well, now he had every single drop of it.

"That filthy man touched her first!" a woman at table four suddenly yelled, standing up.

"Yes! I saw the whole thing!" a gentleman beside her chimed in. "He grabbed her ass!"

"Honestly, what do these rich snobs think they are? Second to God?!" my ride-or-die coworker, Mia, shouted triumphantly from behind the espresso counter.

"I got the entire thing on camera!" a teenager in a hoodie announced, holding up his phone.

Instantly, the ugly guy and his girlfriend ducked their heads, instinctively shielding their faces from the camera.

In a world powered by social media, a single viral video could destroy a reputation by sunset. The last thing a self-important creep like himself wanted was to end up as the main dish on an influencer's gossip feed.

Realizing his precious ego was shattered beyond repair, the man scrambled to his feet, threw a wad of cash onto the ruined table, and turned on his heels.

He stormed out of the restaurant in utter shame, his girlfriend scurrying right behind him like a loyal lapdog.

I stood tall, chest rising and falling, feeling like a gladiator who had just won a battle in the arena. The entire restaurant suddenly erupted into a deafening round of applause.

"You did well, my dear," an elderly woman cheered, patting my shoulder gently as she passed. "Always stand up for yourself!"

Any lingering trace of guilt I had felt melted away in an instant. I smoothed down my white apron, held my head high, and spent the next hour flying through my shift.

Customers went out of their way to smile at me, dropping unusually heavy bills into my apron pockets. It felt like a blessing in disguise.

Until the heavy wooden door of the back hallway swung open.

"Diana. My office. Now!."

My stomach instantly dropped into my shoes. Oh God No...

Mia and Alice exchanged sad, heavy looks across the counter. In our restaurant, being summoned to Marco's back office was a death sentence.

I wiped my hands on my apron, my heart hammering heavily against my ribs.

"Mother Mary, help me," I whispered under my breath, making a swift, subtle sign of the cross over my chest.

-

I pushed open the heavy oak door and slipped inside, my palms were soaked with sweat. I had a reputation for causing a little chaos wherever I went, but I had never been dragged into Marco's inner sanctum before.

Marco didn't look up immediately. He sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples in silence. Finally, he gestured toward the empty leather chair opposite him.

I sank into it, the quietness in the room reminding me of the rare occasions my father used to scold my little brothers back at home.

"Diana..." Marco began softly. He didn't yell. His voice was unnaturally calm, lacking the fiery Italian tongue-lashing I had braced myself for. "Tell me the truth. Did he touch you?"

"Yes, sir," I blurted out, my voice tight. "He grabbed my butt and demanded my personal number like I was something on a menu!"

"Hmm." Marco let out a long, weary sigh, as he entangled his fingers. "Diana, you are a remarkably beautiful young woman, and I know men act like fools around you. I understand why you snapped. I really do."

I let out a huge breath I didn't realize I was holding. Relief flooded through me. Phew. Someone who actually gets it!

"Which is why it breaks my heart," Marco continued quietly, "that I can't keep you here."

The air vanished from my lungs. "What? No... please, Marco!"

My voice trembled dangerously. Cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck.

I reached frantically into my apron pocket, pulling out a small handkerchief to dab at my forehead, but the room felt like it was shrinking by the second.

"You're fired, Diana. I am so, so sorry," Marco whispered, looking genuinely pained. "You don't understand. That man isn't just rich, his family holds so much power. If he files a formal assault complaint, he could have my little restaurant revoked by tomorrow morning. He could close my entire business."

"Marco, please..."

"Pack your belongings. You're dismissed."

Just like that. The job that had kept a roof over my family's head and food on our table for the last two years was swept out from under me in a single breath.

All because a wealthy creep couldn't keep his hands to himself, and a poor waitress had no power to fight back.

I slowly pulled myself out of the chair. Marco couldn't even meet my gaze; he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his desk. I turned and walked toward the exit, my breath hitching in my throat as my entire future crumbled into dust.

When I pulled the office door open, I nearly tripped over my coworkers. Mia, Alice, and Mrs. Ginevra were hovering in the narrow hallway, having listened to every word through the door.

They were my little family, the main reason I managed to keep smiling through double shifts and struggling hours while still trying to balance school with work.

A faint, heartbroken smile touched my lips before everything burst, and tears spilled down my cheeks. In a second, all three of them wrapped their arms around me, pulling me into a suffocating group hug.

"I'll miss you, my little firecracker," Mia sobbed, burying her face into my shoulder, her hot tears soaking straight through my cotton blouse.

"Take care of yourself, Diana," Mrs. Ginevra murmured gently, stroking my hair. "You did the right thing. Never let Marco break your spirit."

-

I walked over to the staff lockers, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely turn the small padlock. I opened the narrow metal door and slowly began gathering the tiny pieces of my life.

My freshly washed apron.

A chipped coffee mug Mia had bought me for my last birthday.

A small notebook filled with my shift schedules.

And a pale white envelope containing the meager cash wages from my last week of work.

Before I could close the locker, Mrs. Ginevra stepped up beside me, holding out a large, heavy glass jar overflowing with crumpled bills and coins.

"This is yours," she said warmly, pressing it into my hands. "The customers were so proud of you for standing up to that pig that they filled the tipping jar to the brim. Take it."

My chest tightened. I hugged the heavy jar against my ribs and threw my arms around her one last time. "Thank you," I choked out.

I might be jobless, but this kindness would buy us a few extra weeks of bread.

I walked toward the front entrance, my head down, my spirits lower than they had ever been in my entire life.

I paused at the threshold, turning back to take one final look at the warm, glowing dining room. My coworkers lined up by the counter, waving goodbye with sad, tearful smiles.

Marco stood leaning against the glass. He didn't say a word, but as my eyes met his, his lips silently framed two words: "I'm sorry."

I offered a sad, forgiving nod, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped out onto the pavement as the little brass bell above me chimed for the very last time...

-

The cool air in Milan hit my face as I began walking aimlessly down the cobblestone streets. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and buttery pastries drifted out from a corner bakery, instantly making my stomach let out a loud, painful rumble.

I had skipped breakfast to make it to my shift on time.

I unzipped my bag and peeked inside my wallet.

Empty!.

I reached toward the glass jar of tip money, but my fingers froze. No. This money is for my family's rent and other necessities.

Being poor was an absolute curse.

I turned away from the bakery window, swallowing down the hunger pains, when my phone suddenly vibrated loudly in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw the name flashing across the screen in bold capital letters: SOFIA. My best friend.

I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "Hello-"

"Hey bitch! Don't you dare say no until you hear me out!" Sofia's energetic voice boomed through the speaker before I could even draw a breath.

I instantly squeezed my eyes shut, my brow furrowing in irritation.

"Hear what out, Sofia? I'm really not in the mood f-"

"I just found a job for you," Sofia interrupted, her tone sharp and dripping with excitement. "A gig that pays more in a single month than you've made in the last entire year."

Diana's POV

"I just found a job for you that pays more in one month than you've ever made in an entire year!" Sofia screamed excitedly from the other side of the line, her voice so loud it practically vibrated through the speaker.

I blinked, pulling the phone an inch away from my ear. "What...?"

Is this girl a psychic? How on earth did she already know I lost my cafe job less than an hour ago? I was still drowning in my own bewildered thoughts when her sharp tone dragged me right back to reality.

"I'm sending an Uber to your location right now," she ordered with full girl boss authority. "Get in and meet me ASAP, migliore amico!"

Before I could even answer, the call disconnected. I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. Sure enough, less than three minutes later, a bright yellow cab pulled up along the curb in front of me.

I tapped lightly on the passenger window to signal the driver, pulling open the door and sliding into the plush back seat. As the car pulled smoothly into the mid-afternoon traffic, I caught the driver's eyes watching me through the rearview mirror.

He looked like a kind, old man in his late fifties, with deep crinkles around his eyes.

"Having a rough day, miss?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a gentle, fatherly warmth.

"You could say that," I replied, attempting to force a polite smile that completely failed to reach my eyes.

The old driver offered a knowing, sympathetic nod. "You see, miss... the road that breaks your heart is often the exact same one that leads you to a much better place."

His words hung in the air, hit me like a splash of refreshing water. The heavy tightness in my chest began to loosen. My life had been an unrelenting roller coaster of ups and downs, but sitting in the back of that cab, I realized I still possessed the one thing nobody could steal from me: hope.

"I really pray so, sir," I murmured, leaning my head back against the headrest.

The rest of the ride was remarkably peaceful. The driver clearly had an incredible taste in music-or perhaps he was just playing his teenage daughter's favorite playlist.

Ariana Grande's 'bye' began blasting softly through the speakers.

"So I grab my stuff, Courtney just pulled up in the driveway, it's time!"

The beat completely carried me away into my own little world. I was singing along at the top of my lungs, dramatically gesturing out the window, completely oblivious to my surroundings until the car smoothly came to a stop.

"Miss... I think you've reached your destination," an amused voice called out.

The music cut off. I snapped out of my trance to find the driver looking back at me with a massive, cheek-to-cheek grin, biting his lip to keep from bursting into full-blown laughter.

My face instantly flushed red in embarrassment. "I am so, so sorry, sir!" I squeaked, hurriedly unbuckling my seatbelt. I pushed the door open, practically tumbling out onto the sidewalk.

"Thank you for the ride! Have a wonderful day!"

He just chuckled warmly, waving goodbye as he pulled away. I exhaled a long breath-most drivers with terrible anger issues would have screamed at me to shut up or just kicked me out.

Turning around, I looked up at the familiar view in front of me.

Caffè Fiore.

This tiny, charming café was our absolute sanctuary. It was warm, cozy, decorated with fresh floral arrangements, and smelled of roasted espresso beans and sweet vanilla.

Sofia and I had spent endless afternoons here gossip-talking, eating pastries, and cramming for our university semester exams...

The moment I stepped through the glass door, something heavy crashed straight into me.

"Hey girlie!" Sofia squealed, throwing her arms around my neck with enough force to knock both of us down to the floor.

God, this girl will be the death of me. It was a miracle I was a few inches taller than her, or we both would have ended up on the hardwood floor.

Sofia was my absolute rock. As the only daughter of multi-millionaire Enzo Russo, she was the sole heiress to the massive Russo Hotels and Resorts empire. A certified nepo baby. She had every reason in the world to be bratty, arrogant, and insufferable like so many wealthy heirs, but Sofia was the exact opposite-sweet, wildly generous, occasionally clueless about real-world struggles, and an absolute angel.

She pulled me over to our favorite corner booth. But as she opened her mouth to order our usual drinks, her brown eyes locked onto my swollen eyelids.

"Wait... what happened to your face, Miss D? Have you been crying?"

I took a deep, shaky breath, laying out every single detail of my disastrous morning-from the ugly guy incident to my manager unfaiy firing me.

"He WHAT?!" Sofia suddenly roared, slamming her palms onto the marble table so hard the water glasses shook violently. "Chi è quel bastardo?! Who does that slimeball think he is?!"

Every head in the café turned in our direction. I instantly buried my face in my hands. "Sofia, please! Lower your voice!"

"If I was there, I would have given that man the beating of his life!" she fumed, her chest heaving.

"Calm down, girlfriend," I coaxed gently. "I survived, didn't I?"

After three full minutes of me fanning her face and offering soothing words, Sofia finally collapsed back into her chair, regaining her composure like a civilized human being.

A sly, reassuring smile slowly spread across her lips.

"Well... maybe today wasn't the end of the road for you after all," she murmured, sliding her sleek gold iPhone across the table toward me.

On the screen was an elegant crest and in bold lettering:

NURTURE LINE AGENCY

Seeking Elite, Professional Nannies. Exceptional Compensation. Private Luxury Accommodation Included.

I let out a sudden, fit of laughter. "Professional? Sofia, surviving my chaotic little twin brothers every single day is professional enough!"

Sofia burst into a maniacal laughter, clapping her hands together. "Exactly my point! You've been basically co-raising Matei and Vlad since they were born! You've survived sleepless nights, mastered primary school homework, cooked endless meals, and handled chickenpox outbreaks without blinking!"

She leaned across the table, her eyes shining with absolute conviction. "Trust me on this, Diana-you were literally built for this job."

Before I could even process the idea, Sofia had already called her private driver, refusing to let me talk my way out of it.

-

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the massive, sleek glass skyscraper housing the Nurture Line Agency. The entire lobby practically screamed luxury; polished marble floors, grand crystal chandeliers, and security guards in tailored suits.

Without proper directions, a person could easily get lost because it was such a massive building.

A polished receptionist greeted us with a cute smile. "Welcome to Nurture Line. Are you here for applicant registration?"

"Yes, please!" I nodded eagerly.

She handed me a heavy paper form attached to a leather clipboard.

> Applicant Details:

> Occupation:

> Emergency Contact:

> Childcare Experience:

> Languages Spoken:

"Boy, this company doesn't play around," I thought, meticulously writing down my details before handing the clipboard back across the desk.

The receptionist scanned the page, her eyebrow arching slightly as her eyes landed on one specific line. "Under Childcare Experience, you wrote... 'Five years of intense combat survival raising twin younger brothers'?"

Sofia instantly exploded into a fit of giggles, and after a brief pause, the receptionist's professional mask slipped into a warm laugh as well.

"Honestly? That definitely counts," the receptionist smiled, stamping my file with a green seal. "You certainly have real-world experience!"

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, offering a silent prayer to the heavens: Please, just let me land a decent, reasonable employer...

***

Francesco's POV

"These people are utterly wasting my bloody time!" I growled, my voice dark and dangerously low.

I had been sitting for a long time in the back of my armored Range Rover due to Milan's insufferable traffic for thirty minutes now.

I hated inefficiency. In my line of work, lost time wasn't just lost money-it was a vulnerability.

I angrily flicked the switch, lowering the soundproof glass partition separating me from the driver's seat.

Up front, my right-hand man, Matteo, sat with his jaw clenched, looking just as pissed off as I was.

"Are you absolutely certain about this agency, Matteo?" I demanded, tapping my heavy signet ring against the leather armrest.

Matteo turned his head slightly, his tone respectful. "Yes, Boss. Nurture Line is the top firm in the country. They exclusively supply elite staff to diplomats, international CEOs, and high-ranking politicians. If their recruiters cannot find someone capable of handling Lady Aurora... then no one in Europe can..."

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up to the private rear entrance of the agency.

The owner of the establishment was already standing outside on the pavement, practically shaking with anxiety. Sweat formed beads along his receding hairline.

As I stepped out into the cool air, he bowed his head nervously, his hand trembling as he gestured toward the doors.

The moment I crossed the threshold into the building, the atmosphere shifted instantly...

Employees froze in their tracks. Conversations died instantly. No one dared to breathe, move, or make eye contact. They knew exactly who I was-and what happened to people who crossed the Marino family.

I was escorted directly into a huge, private office. Waiting for me on the heavy mahogany desk was a thick stack of portfolio folders.

"M-Make your pick, Mr. Marino," the owner-a sniveling man named Mr. Hugo stammered, wiping his eyebrows with a silk handkerchief. "Every single applicant here has passed our most rigorous background checks and psychological evaluations."

I sat down, pulling the first file toward me with total indifference. I flipped page after page, my annoyance growing with every passing second...

Former schoolteachers, aristocrats, overly polished career nannies. None of them looked remotely capable. Lucia would tear every single one of these women to shreds within two hours.

I was about to slam the stack shut and walk out when a photograph on the final page caught my eye.

A young woman stared back at the camera. She possessed long waves of vibrant red hair, striking green eyes, and a soft, genuine smile that seemed entirely out of this world.

No heavy makeup, no ridiculous designer jewelry, no fake posture-just completely herself.

My fingers froze against the edge of the paper. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the photograph.

Beside me, Mr. Hugo leaned in cautiously, noticing my sudden stillness. "Ah... an excellent choice, sir!"

"What is her name?" I asked, my voice dropping into a deep, commanding tone.

"Diana Popescu," Hugo replied quickly, reading everything from his tablet. "She... ah, actually just finished registering with us this very afternoon!"

Diana Popescu. The name rolled off my tongue. It was exotic, sharp and definitely not native Italian.

A strange, unfamiliar sensation settled in my chest. She was the one. I could feel it in my bones..

Without another word, I snapped the leather portfolio shut, standing up and buttoning my tailored suit jacket.

"Arrange an interview," I commanded.

Hugo nodded frantically, grabbing his desk phone. "Of course, Mr. Marino! I will set it up for tomorrow morning-"

"No," I cut him off smoothly, stepping toward the doors while adjusting my cufflinks.

I paused at the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder with a cold shimmer in my eye.

"Arrange it today...."