One Year with the Mafia Boss

Isayanna

I bite my lower lip until it stings, staring at the high-resolution photo of Jaydon Alexander Grey on my laptop screen. He looks perfect. Cold. Untouchable. I let out a jagged breath and spin my chair away from the desk, my tiny office suddenly feeling like a cage.

Julie’s voice echoes in my head, raw and suggestive.

"Men like Jaydon don’t give charity, Isayanna. They make trades. If you want that money for your grandma, stop acting like his assistant and start acting like his weakness. Find out what he wants in the dark, and give it to him."

The thought makes my palms slick with sweat. Just thinking about asking him for help—or offering 'that' kind of trade—makes my heart hammer against my ribs.

Jaydon isn't the type to offer a helping hand. He’s the type to freeze the blood in your veins with a single look. I can still feel the burn in my chest from yesterday when he snapped at me for being clumsy. My cheeks flush at the memory of his eyes tracking me as I scrambled on the floor. He probably thinks I’m a joke.

I twist a strand of black hair around my finger, my heart aching as I think of Grandma. The doctor’s words are a heavy weight in my pocket. She needs that surgery. If I don’t get this money, I’m watching her die in slow motion.

I close my eyes, trying to find some courage, but my mind slips back to last weekend. Julie took me to that club to "practice" her advice. I found a guy with a sharp jawline and a designer shirt, someone I thought I could handle. Then he opened his mouth.

He wanted me to get on my knees right there in the middle of the crowded club.

The memory makes my stomach churn. The way he looked at me, like I was a convenience, makes me want to scrub my skin raw. He wasn't the answer. He was just trash.

But Jaydon... Jaydon is different. He’s a king, and if I’m going to sell my soul to save Grandma, I’d rather sell it to a king than a peasant.

The sharp buzz of the intercom makes me jump. I hit the button with a shaky hand.

"Ms. Romero," Jaydon’s voice pulses through the speaker. It’s deep, smooth, and carries an authority that makes my thighs press together instinctively.

"Yes, sir," I say, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"My office. Now."

The line goes dead.

This is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to lay it all out and pray he has a heart buried somewhere under that three-piece suit. Because if he says no, the only other person I can turn to is George Almero, and that’s a nightmare I’m not ready to survive.

I grab my notebook and head down the hall. The click of my heels against the floor sounds like a countdown. When I brought him his coffee this morning, he didn't even look at me. Now, my skin is prickling with a weird, restless energy as I reach his door.

I knock. Once. Twice.

"Come in."

The room is huge, but with him in it, there’s no oxygen left. Jaydon is hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed as he scribbles on a document. The hum of his laptop is the only sound in the suffocating silence. He doesn't look up, so I just stand there, clutching my notebook against my chest like armor. My heart is thudding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

"Take a seat," he says without glancing up.

I slide into the chair opposite him, feeling small.

"Vincent Piatriz sent an email," he says, his voice clipping every word like a blade. "You didn't give me a heads-up."

My stomach drops. I was so busy staring at his photo, trying to build up the nerve to follow Julie’s lead, that I completely missed it.

"I... I must have overlooked it," I stammer. I can feel the heat climbing up my neck, staining my skin. "It won't happen again."

Jaydon stops writing. He narrows his eyes, letting the silence stretch until I feel like I’m going to snap. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up to my eyes.

"I checked the inbox before I left Saturday," I add quickly, my hands shaking so much I have to hide them under the desk. "It must have come in this morning."

He leans back in his leather chair. His posture is relaxed now, which is somehow even more intimidating. He looks at me the way a predator looks at something it’s about to break.

"Have you been in your office today?" he asks.

"Yes. I have."

"So," he says, his voice dropping into a casual, low tone that sends a shiver straight down my spine. "What have you been up to?"

The silence in the room isn't heavy like usual. It’s thick. Jaydon isn’t snapping at me or making some biting comment about my incompetence. He’s just watching.

Is this a trap?

I shift my weight, wondering if I should bring up Grandma now or wait until I prove I can actually do my job.

"Here. Take this." He slides a thick manila folder across the mahogany desk.

I reach for it, my fingers grazing the smooth cardstock. "Take a look at the mail before you touch this. Sort them alphabetically and get a reply out. I need this file back on my desk by noon."

"Yes, sir," I whisper, hugging the folder to my chest like a shield.

"Cool." He gives a short nod, already looking back at his screen. "You're good to go."

I should move. My brain tells my legs to walk, but I stay rooted to the carpet. My teeth sink into my lower lip. If I walk out that door, the courage Julie fueled in me will evaporate.

"What?" He doesn't look up, but his pen stops moving. "You still here, Romero?"

"S-sorry," I stammer. I turn for the door, but my feet feel like they’re stuck in drying cement.

"Wait."

His voice is a low vibration that stops me dead. I close my eyes for a second, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne and cold air conditioning. 'Do it for Grandma. Just say it.'

I turn back, my head bobbing in a nervous nod. "Sir, I... there's something I need to ask."

The room goes dead quiet.

Jaydon drops his pen. He props his chin on his linked fingers, his sharp eyes pinning me to the spot. He doesn't say a word. The stillness is terrifying. It makes the blood rush in my ears, a frantic, steady rhythm.

"I need a favor," I force out. My voice cracks, sounding small and desperate in the vast office. "My grandma needs surgery. For her legs. The doctor says we need thirty-five thousand dollars."

His dark brows twitch upward. A flash of genuine surprise breaks through his mask before he shuts it down.

"Thirty-five?" He leans forward, his shadow stretching across the desk. "You’re asking for an entire year’s salary in advance?"

The way he says it makes my stomach turn. It sounds like a fortune when he puts it like that. It sounds impossible. I nod anyway, feeling the heat of humiliation crawling up my neck.

He leans back, tilting his head as he studies me. His gaze travels slowly from my messy hair down to my shaking hands, then back to my eyes. It feels like he’s stripping away every lie I’ve ever told myself. The silence stretches until it feels like a noose tightening around my throat.

Then, his voice cuts the tension. "Sure. I’ll give it to you."

My heart leaps. The relief is so violent I almost lose my balance. A sob of pure joy bubbles up in my throat and I can’t stop the massive, shaky grin from breaking across my face.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, sir! You have no idea... I’ll work every hour, I’ll do anything, I—"

"But."

The word is a cold bucket of water. I freeze. My pulse spikes, moving from relief to a sharp, jagged dread. There is always a catch.

Jaydon’s face is a blank slate, his expression unreadable and dark.

"I want you to be my wife, Ms. Romero."

He says it with the same casual tone he’d use to order a black coffee.

The air leaves my lungs. I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train. My brain stutters, trying to process the sounds coming out of his mouth. 'Wife?'

"W-what?" I choke out.

"You heard me," he says, leaning back into his leather chair, looking every bit the predator Julie warned me about. "It’s only for a year."

"Wait... what?" I repeat it like a broken record. I can't help it. My jaw is literally hanging open.

He just stares back at me, unfazed, his eyes dark and hungry. I came in here begging for a loan, and I just got a marriage proposal from the devil himself.

Jaydon

The silence in the room was a heavy, physical thing, but I was used to it. Silence had been my only constant for two years.

Two years since the fire and the blood. Two years since I lost Hera and the tiny life she was carrying. I could still taste the ash in the back of my throat if I thought about it too long. I’d traded the Mafia throne for a corporate glass cage, trying to scrub the scent of the family business off my skin, but the hollow ache remained.

My mother’s voice rang in my head, a relentless, polished blade. 'You need a wife, Jaydon. You need an heir.'

She didn't realize I was already dead inside. Love wasn't a luxury I could afford twice. It was a trap, a blood-soaked promise that ended in a cemetery.

I looked at the woman sitting across from me. Isayanna.

She was a mess. A beautiful, high-definition mess. Her long black hair was slightly disheveled, and her eyes—a startling, clear blue—were rimmed with red. She was vibrating w