For three months, I’d been seeing a guy named “Rex.” A total stranger I’d only met online.

We were in the thick of it, that honeymoon phase where every night my phone would blow up with messages that made my pulse jump.

“Miss you, sweetheart.”

“Dreamt of you again last night. You were all over me, begging for it.”

I was about to suggest we finally meet.

But then he sent me a picture, a casual shot of his desk, and I saw something familiar: the crest of the Falcone crime family.

And I work for a company owned by the Falcones.

For three months, I’d been sexting a dangerous man, a made man in the mafia, who could be right under my nose.

And just when I was trying to figure out who he was, I saw them.

The custom black onyx cufflinks I’d picked out for “Rex”… on my boss, Marco’s, wrists.

“What’re you up to?”

My thumbs flew across the screen. I hit send.

I stared at the chat, waiting for the man I knew only as "Rex" to reply.

This had been my ritual for the past three months.

I’d added him on a whim. We hit it off instantly, falling hard and fast until things got intense.

My phone vibrated.

It was a picture, a side shot of his computer desk. A few files were scattered next to the keyboard.

“Working. And waiting for a text from my sweetheart.”

A smile crept onto my face.

This man knew exactly how to make me blush with just a few words.

Maybe it was time to take this offline, to finally meet in person.

But as I was about to type my reply, my fingers froze.

Bottom right of the photo, on the corner of a folder, was a sliver of a metal pin. A falcon with its wings spread.

The Falcone family crest. The same mafia that owned the company I worked for.

My online boyfriend was one of them.

I stared at the screen for a full ten minutes, my mind blank.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

"Babe, what do you actually do?"

"Are you... with the Falcones?"

I typed the words, then deleted them. Over and over.

I didn't know what to say. If I asked, he’d ask right back. He’d want to know where I was. He'd find out I worked for a Falcone company.

He would come looking for me.

And then what? What the hell would I do then?

When I didn’t reply right away, Rex’s texts started coming in, one after another.

“Baby, you there?”

“Busy? Send me a pic. Like you do. Your hand… or anything.”

“Dreamt of you again last night. You were all over me, begging for it.”

His words were getting dirtier, bolder.

But this time, my cheeks weren't just hot with a blush—they were burning with a cold dread.

For three months, I thought I was talking to some normal businessman. A guy who was exciting and new, but safe.

I might work for the mob, but I never, ever wanted to be with a mobster.

That was a death wish.

And to think I’d been trading my deepest fantasies and whispering my secrets to a made man…

My phone buzzed again—a voice call.

I couldn’t answer. He’d hear the panic in my voice. I fumbled with the screen, declining the call.

Then I quickly typed out a lie: “In a meeting, honey. Talk later.”

He seemed to buy it. A moment later, he replied, “Waiting for you.”

I closed the chat and took a deep, shaky breath.

I needed to calm down. Think.

First: I had to figure out who he was. Was he some low-level muscle or a high-up manager?

Second: What was I going to do? Risk it and keep this going, or run for the hills?

I opened our chat history, scrolling through our old messages, searching for clues.

We’d both been careful about privacy, never sharing details about our work or personal lives.

But one thing stood out. He’d once sent me an ab pic from a gym mirror.

His stomach was perfectly defined, and just below his left ribs, there was a black tattoo.

It looked like some ancient, cryptic symbol, all sharp lines and mystery.

It was the only identifying feature I had.

The problem was, I couldn’t exactly start ripping open shirts at headquarters to play a game of find-the-tattoo.

Back at my desk, I scanned the office. Men in expensive suits with stone-cold faces prowled the halls.

Any one of them could be Rex.

My only saving grace was that I’d never sent him a picture of my face. He couldn’t recognize me.

I opened our chat history again, combing through every line.

Finally, I found it. A conversation from last month. He’d told me he was shopping on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago, looking for cufflinks for a big event, and asked me to help him choose.

I’d picked out a pair of custom black onyx cufflinks with gold trim. He’d bought them.

I stood up, pretending to get coffee, and walked the hallways, my eyes glued to every man’s wrists.

Most wore long sleeves. The few cufflinks I saw were just generic styles.

Nothing.

I went back to my desk. An idea sparked. I had to test it.

I sent a text to Rex:

“Hey, you wearing those cufflinks I picked out for you?”

He replied almost instantly. “Of course.”

“I wear them every day. A reminder of you.”

Just then, the internal phone on my desk rang.

“Liliana, my office. Now.” It was my boss, Marco.

Marco Rossi was in his early thirties, with brown hair and dark eyes. He was a Capo in the family, high enough up to report directly to the Don, Alessandro Falcone.

I walked to his office, but as I reached the door, I heard his voice from inside.

It wasn't his usual cold, hard tone. It was soft, so sweet it made my skin crawl.

“Baby, I miss you,” he was saying to someone on the phone. “Come see me at the office later, okay?”

“I might have to work late tomorrow. The Don’s making an appearance to check on things… I have to be ready.” Marco’s voice was laced with respect, almost fear.

Don Alessandro. The head of the entire Falcone family. A man who was rumored to be ruthless.

“Okay, baby. See you soon.” Marco hung up.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

“Liliana, have a seat.” He pointed to the chair across from his desk. “About tomorrow’s board meeting, I need you to prepare a detailed report.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to keep my voice professional.

Marco started explaining the requirements, but as he reached for a glass of water on his desk, my eyes locked onto his cuffs.

And there they were. Gleaming. A pair of black onyx cufflinks with gold trim.

The exact same ones I’d picked for Rex.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Marco looked up, his brow furrowed.

“N-nothing.” I bent down to pick up the pen, my heart hammering against my ribs. “It just slipped.”

“Boss, your cufflinks… they’re unique,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

Marco glanced down at his wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. “You think so? They are pretty nice, right?”

I pushed, needing to be sure. “Where did you get them?”

He frowned, confused. “The Magnificent Mile.”

“Why, you like them?”

I forced a casual smile and waved it off.

“Oh, no reason. Just curious.”

Then I practically ran out of there.

I stumbled back to my desk, my mind reeling. I was almost certain: Marco was "Rex."

But if that was true, who was he calling "baby" on the phone?

Was he cheating on me with a secret lover?

Oh, my God.

An hour later, a stunning blonde walked into Marco’s office.

I pretended to organize files nearby, straining to listen.

“Baby, I missed you,” Marco’s voice was syrupy sweet again. It made my stomach turn.

“You look extra handsome today,” the woman cooed.

“I wore the new suit,” Marco said. “And the cufflinks you like. I want to make a good impression when I meet your parents tonight.”

“Darling, you’re already perfect. My father is going to love you.”

Meeting her parents? New suit? The cufflinks she likes?

The truth hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was just the side piece. The fun little secret he used to help him pick out date-night accessories. An online mistress he could keep in the dark.

And the blonde, she was the one he was serious about. The one he was taking home to mommy and daddy.

My heart shattered, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

All those sweet messages for three months, the words that made me blush… they were all lies. I was just a plaything to him, something to be tossed aside.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and sent one last message to Rex:

“You’re a scumbag. We’re done.”

Then, without a second’s hesitation, I blocked and deleted him.

Done. I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to fight back the anger and humiliation.

A few minutes later, Marco walked out, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend, and saw her to the door.

He didn’t even look fazed.

A bitter taste filled my mouth, but I tried to console myself. At least no one knew about my pathetic little secret.

If I couldn’t have love, I would have my career.

I was a smart woman. I wasn’t about to throw away a high-paying job over some guy.

The next day, Marco called me into the conference room to present a business plan to Don Alessandro.

It was my first time seeing the legendary Don up close.

Alessandro Falcone sat on the sofa, and he wasn't the old, gray-haired man I’d imagined. He was young, with deep-set gray eyes that seemed to strip you bare.

He wore a custom navy-blue suit that made him look even more handsome.

My eyes lingered on the suit for a second.

I remembered telling Rex once that I loved a man in a navy suit, that it was more mysterious than black.

Just a coincidence, I told myself.

“Miss Liliana, you may begin,” his voice was a low, magnetic rumble that demanded attention.

I forced myself to stay calm and launched into my report on financial data and market analysis.

The whole time, Alessandro listened in silence, occasionally nodding or asking a sharp, insightful question.

Marco sat beside him, adding a comment here and there, but mostly he kept his head down, taking notes, looking distracted.

Probably thinking about his blonde girlfriend. A fresh pang of hurt shot through me.

When I finished, I gave a respectful nod, ready to leave, but Alessandro suddenly stopped me.

“Liliana, wait.”

He rose slowly from the sofa and walked toward me.

My instinct was to step back, but I forced myself to stand still.

He stopped right in front of me, his gray eyes fixed on a spot on my collarbone.

It was a single mole, my only birthmark. It was in an odd spot, usually hidden by my clothes, but visible when I wore a lower-cut top.

“That mark on your collarbone… it’s very distinct,” Alessandro said suddenly. His voice was laced with an unnerving familiarity, completely different from the stoic man who had been listening to my report.

Panic seized me.

I had sent Rex a picture showing my collarbone once. He’d replied, I want to kiss that mole while you’re screaming my name.

I instinctively glanced at Marco, but his face was a mask of confusion.

“Is… is it?” I stammered, covering the spot with my hand. “I guess a lot of people have them.”