Chapter Twenty-four – Boyfriend Material

Chapter Twenty-four – Boyfriend Material
MALIA

I wriggled immediately, trying to get out of his grip. “Let go.”
Instead of releasing me, he pulled me in tighter.
“Stop moving,” he growled, eyes stormy as they locked onto mine. “Unless you are prepared for the consequences.”
I froze.
It took a beat before I realized what he meant—or more specifically, felt what he meant.
Dio Mio!
I stiffened. Heat rose into my cheeks like someone had lit a fire under my skin.
“Then let me the fuck go, stronzo,” I hissed, and shoved off him with everything I had. I made it to my feet, but pain ripped through my side and I winced, clutching it instinctively.
He was up in a second, already pulling my hand away and lifting the hem of my shirt before I could even argue.
“Fuck,” he muttered, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a first-aid kit.
He dragged me toward the sofa and pushed me down with zero room for negotiation.
“Lean back so I can see it properly.”
“Pervert,” I muttered when he pulled up my shirt, but when he shot me a warning glare, I obeyed — shifting slightly, turning my hip out so he could reach the injury.
“I appreciate the fighting spirit, Mia, but maybe wait until your stitches aren’t falling apart.”
Mia?
I blinked.
That was new. Part of my name, sure — but it sounded… strange. Intimate. 
“You asked for it, stronzo,” I muttered, crossing my arms, though I stayed still while he worked.
“No idea how many times you’ve moved wrong already. Nearly ripped this open.” His voice was low, annoyed. “It’ll probably scar.”
“Wouldn’t be my first,” I mumbled.
He paused for a second. Just long enough for me to notice. Then he kept working.
The silence grated on me, so I broke it.
“How did you know where to put all my things?”
“They took detailed photos of your room before packing it,” he said matter-of-factly. Like it was normal.
“Why bother setting it all up? I could’ve done it. Don’t you have something more important to do?”
He glanced at me. “I wanted to avoid the drama of you walking into a mess of boxes. And no — you’re my assignment. There’s nothing more important than making sure you’re safe, stocked, and not staging a coup.”
“Sounds like a thrilling career path,” I said flatly.
He smirked. “I already told you. You’re only boring when you act all fragile and whiny.”
I raised a brow. “Do you want me to punch you again?”
“You can try,” he said. “This time, I’ll see it coming.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw a quick punch — not full force, just a test — and he caught it easily in his hand.
“Boring,” I muttered, letting him go and sinking back into the sofa. I pulled my shirt down as he finished bandaging me.
———
He stood and crossed the room, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thin folder, which he handed to me.
The same documents I had thrown in his face the other day. 
“Don’t throw the, but read them this time,” he said
I flipped through the pages. My stomach twisted.
The engagement contract. The fabricated cover story I was supposed to use to explain my sudden relationship. Obvious lies.
“This is ridiculous,” I hissed. “Who’s going to believe this fairy tale?”
“Its on you to convince everyone,” he said. “Because the truth would get them killed.”
I hated it.
But deep down, I knew he was right. And that terrified me more than anything else.
“My friends will never believe this,” I said flatly, tossing the papers onto the table. “How is it even remotely believable that I’ve never mentioned being engaged to some rich kid before? It doesn’t add up.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
“Then tell me what would work better.”
I thought about it. No matter what I said, I’d have to lie either way.
“No engagement,” I said slowly. “The only reason someone my age would be in a relationship that serious is if there was a pregnancy. So instead of throwing the word fiancé around, I’ll say he’s just my boyfriend. But I can’t drop something like that without introducing him to them first — which isn’t exactly possible right now, is it?”
“I’ll be your boyfriend then,” he said flatly.
My jaw dropped. “You what?”
“I’m Blaine’s double,” he said like it was obvious. “You could say we look quite alike.”
“That’s why you called him devilishly handsome?” I scoffed. “Pure arrogance. Wow.”
He smirked but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he continued like I hadn’t said anything.
“If your friends don’t look too closely, they won’t notice the difference when they eventually meet Blaine.”
“For real?”
“Google him,” he said coolly, nodding toward the phone on the coffee table.
I eyed him suspiciously, then grabbed the phone and opened Safari. My fingers hovered a second before I typed it in: Blaine DeCavalcante.
Instantly, search results flooded the screen.
For a moment, I genuinely thought it was Marcello in those pictures — same sharp cheekbones, same dark eyes — but the longer I stared, the more I noticed the differences. Subtle. Precise. But there.
“Crazy,” I muttered.
“So, as you can see, there will be no problem about me pretending to be your boyfriend, in order to sell the story to your friends.”
“I guess not,” I mumbled under my breath. He was right — it would probably work. Mason wasn’t exactly the perceptive type, and Lia would be too busy drooling over how handsome Marcello was to notice anything specific. The only one who might be harder to convince was Val. She was sharp. Observant. Naturally skeptical.
But beyond logistics, I just didn’t want to pretend that Marcello was anything to me. It was hard enough having him around all the time. Because — as twisted as it was — I didn’t feel uncomfortable around him. And that was the most uncomfortable part.
I’d never admit it out loud, but I was… attracted to him. I liked the way we argued. The way his icy control slipped when I said the right things. The way he actually reacted, like I was more than a task.
He made this whole nightmare feel dangerously close to normal.
No doubt in my mind that he could kill without blinking — that he’d done it before. And maybe that’s what made all of this so fucked up.
But what really bothered me was something else.
How would the Capo Bastone — the ruthless heir to a Mafia empire — feel about another man being this close to his fiancée?
And that’s when it hit me.
What if Marcello being around wasn’t just about convenience?
What if it was a test?
A test of loyalty. A test of character. Of fidelity.
Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner?
Still — if it was a test, fine. I’d pass it. I usually aced my tests.
“You don’t sound so convinced that it’ll work,” Marcello said, eyeing me with quiet scrutiny.
I gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile.
“Oh, no. No problem at all… boyfriend.”