Chapter 7 Connection

Albert POV Her gaze held a flicker of something I hadn't anticipated – disgust and a furious distance. It was like she was seeing someone else through me. And for some reason, I didn't want to see that kind of disdain in her eyes. "Do you wish I had connections with them?" "No," she said, her voice firm. "I'd rather not be associated with the mafia at all." Her answer surprised me. The city has been controlled by Italian mafias for decades. Most people living here learned to fawn on them. It had never occurred to me that someone might find my position… undesirable. A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Fair," I conceded, drawing out the word. "I have dealings with the mafia and the bratva, but they're all above-board legal transactions. It's just a way to survive." It wasn't a complete lie. There were ways to operate within the fringes of the mafia world without being a full-fledged member. And I wasn't a part of the Mafia. We were the bratva. It was different. I watched her closely, gauging her reaction. "Do you mind?" Mia POV "Fine," I finally said, the word a reluctant sigh escaping my lips. "It's not ideal, but…" I trailed off, searching for the right words. "If it's how you survive in this city, I can't very well judge you for it, can I?" After all, his deals were probably the reason he could afford to pay me. We all did what we had to, especially in a city like this. "So," I continued, forcing a lightness into my voice that I didn't quite feel, "you're an… associate? A familiar important enough to kill a capo for?" "Yes," he said simply. "We're in the middle of a big deal, and Carmelo, well, let's just say he values profit over pride. Besides," he added, a glint of steel in his eyes, "Marco disrespected my wife. They verified it and made an example of him." My stomach churned. The brutal efficiency of it all left me cold. Even if I hated Marco, witnessing his death was still unsettling. "Look," I said, gathering my courage, "I appreciate you… taking care of things. But can we make a deal? No more killing people because of me, alright? I don't want to be responsible for that kind of violence." “I can’t guarantee you that,” Albert said with a sigh. “Mafia bosses are a stubborn bunch, not exactly known for taking orders. Bratva, too." I guess he was right. Dealing with crime lords was not an easy job. “But trust me, I also hate it. Murder just to make a point has always been pointless to me,” Albert continued. “I’ll try my best next time.” Maybe it was something in Albert’s voice that made it easier to accept. Soon, the bodyguard got us moving again and headed toward my building. The bodyguard pulled up outside my walk-up, and the car glided to a stop. "We're here." Albert glanced over at me, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Head upstairs, get packing. The movers I hired should be arriving soon." With a nod, I climbed out of the car with the other bodyguard. I signed as I unlocked the door and looked around. There wasn't much to pack. I didn't even think I needed boxes, honestly. I started with my mom's stuff first. Then I heard the hiss of a large truck's brakes. I looked out the window and flushed at the size of the moving truck. How much stuff did he think I had? I guess my worries about how much space there would be for me and my mom's stuff was completely unfounded. The doorbell echoed through the apartment. Opening the door, I came face-to-face with a burly man, his face as unreadable as a stone wall. He introduced himself as part of the moving crew and led a few others in with empty boxes and bubble wrap. I tried not to cringe, as it was clear they wouldn't have much to do. By the time they moved everything into the truck, I felt smaller than ever. They could have probably fitted all in the trunk of the car and a corner of the truck, but no one said anything. Saying goodbye to my landlord was surprisingly emotional. The kind-faced woman had always been more than just a landlady. She seemed genuinely sorry to see me go, even offering to return the remaining rent for the month, which I took graciously. I must have dozed off on the drive to Albert's place because suddenly, the car had stopped in a sleek garage like something straight out of a movie. We walked into the building together. The moving crew loaded my things onto a few dollies and followed. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and entered the lobby after Albert. The opulent lobby did little to ease my nerves. This was a world of wealth and privilege, a world in which I was a complete outsider. Two burly men in sharp suits stood guard by an elevator in the back of the lobby. We took the elevator up to the top floor of the glass tower. Finally, after a seemingly endless elevator ride, the doors slid open, revealing a sight that took my breath away. A sprawling penthouse apartment stretched before me, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Luxury defined every inch of the space, from the gleaming marble floors to the plush furniture. Following a brief tour, I found myself at the door of what was supposedly my room. My jaw dropped open. It was bigger than my old apartment and decorated much nicer than anywhere I had ever lived. Turning to face Albert, who leaned against the door frame, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "What kind of business are you in, Albert? To have all this…" I gestured around the room, the words failing to capture the sheer opulence of it all. He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something crossing his features before he finally spoke. "Investments," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I invest in various ventures. And sometimes," he added, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, "I help criminal clients and other… businessmen with their investments as well." "If you're so wealthy," I said, pushing the words out, "why did you need a fake marriage with me to get a green card?"