MIA'S POV
My first instinct was to deny everything. My second was to run. I did neither.
"How long have you known?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Roman moved away from the window, each step deliberate. "Since your first shift. You think I don't vet everyone who works for me? Especially someone who applies with a fake Social Security number."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Then why let me stay?"
"Because I was curious." He circled his desk, leaning against it with casual confidence. "Most journalists send requests through proper channels. They're predictable, easy to manage. But you? You committed identity fraud to serve drinks in my club. That takes either desperation or stupidity."
"Or dedication to the truth."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The truth. Is that what you think you'll find here? That I'm the monster you've decided I am?"
"Aren't you?"
"That depends on who you ask." He picked up a folder from his desk and held it up. "This is everything I know about you, Mia Sterling. Your twelve foster homes before you aged out of the system. Your full scholarship to community college. Your apartment in Queens that you share with Lila Chen. Your editor, James Henderson, who rejected your story about city council corruption six months ago because you couldn't prove the connection to my organization."
I forced myself not to react, but my hands clenched at my sides.
"You're good at research," Roman continued, setting the folder down. "But you're reckless. Coming here without backup, without anyone knowing where you are. What exactly was your plan?"
"To find evidence of what you really are."
"And what am I?"
"A criminal hiding behind legitimate businesses. A man who inherited an empire built on violence and pretends he's different from his father."
Roman's expression hardened. "You don't know anything about my father."
"I know he was assassinated three years ago. I know the official story doesn't match the evidence. I know you took power at twenty-five, which is unusually young, and I know….."
"You know nothing." His voice cut through mine like a blade. "You've assembled facts and created a narrative that fits your worldview. That powerful men are always corrupt. That someone like me can't possibly want something different."
He pushed off the desk and closed the distance between us. I held my ground even though every instinct screamed to step back.
"Here's what's going to happen, Mia. You have two choices. One, you walk out of here tonight and never come back. You stop investigating me, you stop digging into my family, and you go back to writing about restaurant openings. I'll make sure Henderson knows to keep you on fluff pieces permanently."
My stomach dropped. "Do you have connections with my paper?"
"I have connections everywhere. That's how I've survived this long." He tilted his head, studying me. "Or, choice two. You spend the next thirty days with me."
"What?"
"You want the truth about who I am? I'll show you. Full access to my world. Every meeting, every dinner, every business deal. You'll see exactly how I operate."
I stared at him. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're going to write about me anyway. At least this way, I control the narrative." He moved back to his desk, picking up a tablet. "At the end of thirty days, you write your story. Whatever you want. I'll even fact-check it for you, make sure you get the details right."
"There has to be a catch."
"There is." His dark eyes locked on mine. "You don't observe from a distance. You're with me. At my side. My companion for every event, every meeting. If someone asks who you are, you're mine. Not a journalist. Not an investigator. Mine."
Heat crawled up my neck. "That's not..."
"Professional? Neither is committing fraud to spy on me." Roman set the tablet down. "Those are your options, Mia. Walk away and lose everything you've worked for, or take the access you've been dying to get."
"And if I refuse both?"
"Then I make a phone call, and by tomorrow morning, you're not just fired from the Herald. You're facing criminal charges for identity theft and fraud. Claire Monroe's real owner might be interested to know someone's been using her Social Security number."
My hands trembled with rage. "That's blackmail."
"That's business." No apology in his voice, no remorse. Just a cold calculation. "I'm giving you a choice most people in your position wouldn't get. The question is whether you're brave enough to take it."
"Thirty days."
"Thirty days. You see how I really operate. Then you write your exposé, or your puff piece, or whatever your conscience tells you is true." He pulled out his phone. "I need an answer now. I have a dinner meeting in an hour."
My mind raced through options. I could refuse, but he'd destroy my career and possibly put me in jail. I could walk away, but I'd never get another chance like this. Or I could agree, spend a month gathering real evidence, and finally write the story that would make my career.
But being his companion. Being seen as his. That meant stepping into his world completely, no distance, no objectivity.
It also meant he thought he could control me.
"Fine. Thirty days."
Roman's expression didn't change. "Smart choice."
"But I have conditions."
Now his eyebrow raised. "You think you're in a position to negotiate?"
"You want me to play a role convincingly. That requires some boundaries." I lifted my chin. "I'm not sleeping with you."
"I don't recall asking." His voice was dry. "Anything else?"
"I keep my apartment. I'm not moving in with you."
"Agreed, though you'll need to stay at my place occasionally when events run late. I'll have a room prepared." He made a note on his phone. "What else?"
"At the end of thirty days, you won't interfere with my story. No threatening my editor, no blocking publication."
"As long as it's accurate, I won't stop you." He looked up. "But if you print lies, Mia, there will be consequences."
The threat hung in the air between us.
"When do we start?" I asked.
"Now." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "That dinner meeting I mentioned? You're coming. We need to establish you as part of my life immediately, before anyone starts asking questions about the new waitress who disappeared into my office."
"I'm not dressed for….."
"You're fine. It's not formal." He moved toward the door, then paused. "And Mia? Drop the scared journalist act. If you're going to be at my side, you need to look like you belong there. Confidence. Not arrogance, but certainty. Can you do that?"
I thought about all the foster homes where I'd learned to adapt, to become whatever I needed to be to survive. This was just another role.
"Yes."
"Good." He opened the door. "One more thing. In public, you call me Roman. Not Mr. Caruso, not sir. We're supposed to be close. Understood?"
"Understood."
His security guard waited in the hallway. Roman said something to him in Italian, too quick for me to follow, then gestured for me to walk beside him, not behind.
As we headed for the elevator, reality crashed over me. I'd just agreed to spend thirty days as the companion of the most dangerous man in the city. I'd either get the story of my career or end up as a cautionary tale.
The elevator doors opened, and Roman stepped inside, holding them for me.
"Having second thoughts already?" he asked as I hesitated.
I stepped in beside him. "No."
"Liar." The doors closed, sealing us in the small space. "But that's okay. Fear keeps you sharp. Just remember, Mia, for the next thirty days, everyone will believe you're mine. That means they'll watch you. Test you. Try to use you against me."
He looked down at me, and I saw something calculating in his expression.
"So the real question isn't whether you can handle being close to me. It's whether you can handle what everyone else will do to you because of it."