My dangerous boss asked me to play the role of his girlfriend at midnight, but after my first answer his face suddenly froze

At eleven forty-five on Friday night, when I still had shampoo in my hair, Marco Ricci called me and told me that I had to tell the most important lie of his life.

The phone almost fell into the sink. His name was flashing on the screen.

“Mr. Ricci?”

“Emilia, I need you at the office. Right now.”

His voice was low and rough. He spoke in a voice that people heard only when it was already too late.

“Now? It is fifteen minutes before midnight.”

“That is exactly why I am calling you.”

The call ended.

Twenty-two minutes later I went up to the top floor of the skyscraper. My hair was still wet, I was wearing mismatched sneakers, and the gray hoodie hung from my shoulders as if I had run away from home. In the elevator I put balm on my lips and immediately hated myself. Apparently, before seeing Marco, I still cared about how I looked.

The door to his office opened before I knocked.

Marco stood there, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it all evening. Manhattan glittered beyond the window, while on the glass desk lay a small copper lighter, which he always turned between his fingers when he was hiding something.

I had been his assistant for two years.

Two years of secretly loving him.

“Sit down,” he told me.

“If you need help killing someone, you should call a lawyer, not me.”

Almost a smile appeared at his lips.

“Are you always this brave when your hair is covered in foam?”

“Only then.”

Marco leaned against the desk. Usually, standing beside him made people lower their voices. But his closeness made me forget to breathe. That was much more dangerous.

“Next Saturday my mother turns seventy. The whole family will gather in the Hamptons and stay there for seven days.”

“I know. I even chose the gift. The old diamond necklace you keep in the glass display case.”

“My mother asks me every week when I will get married and when I will give her grandchildren.”

“Mothers are persistent.”

“My mother is an investigator stewed in marinara sauce.”

I laughed. His face softened for a moment, but immediately closed again.

“Last month I told her I was seeing a woman.”

My chest tightened. I had seen in the newspapers the red-haired heiress, the tall model, the women photographed at charity evenings who looked natural beside Marco.

“Do you need travel arrangements?”

“No.”

He looked straight at me.

“I want that woman to be you.”

Even the distant noise of the city disappeared from the room.

“What do you mean?”

“You will come to the Hamptons for one week and pretend to be my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Before your mother, sisters, cousins, and the whole Italian family?”

“Exactly.”

The copper lighter stopped between his fingers.

“This is madness.”

“I know.”

“Why me?”

Marco went to the window. He stood between our reflections and was silent for several seconds.

“Because my family will believe that I love only someone they trust.”

The word “love” stuck inside me like a needle.

“And you trust me?”

“More than the others.”

“Is this a work assignment?”

“No. It is a request.”

For the first time I heard tension in his voice.

“What if I refuse?”

“Your job will not be threatened.”

“But?”

Marco put the lighter on the desk. The small metal lid shut sharply.

“But then my mother will think I am a liar. And in this family that is much more dangerous than an angry enemy.”

His eyes darkened strangely.

“And one more thing, Emilia. Someone will come to your home tomorrow morning. Do not open the door if you do not recognize his voice.”

My heart tightened.

“What does that have to do with this?”

“It has to do with everything.”

He looked toward the door, as if someone were already standing there.

Then Marco opened the desk drawer and took out a dark green folder. He slowly extended his hand toward me. The folder’s clasp was still closed, but his fingers had already reached its edge…

Marco’s hand stopped on the folder.

“Before you see this, tell me one word,” he said.

“What word?”

“Are you agreeing?”

Rain ran down the window behind him. I remembered every time he had quietly protected me: once, when his cousin tried to accuse me; the second time, when I was threatened from an unknown number. Then Marco asked me only one question: “Do you believe me?”

Now he needed an answer from me.

“Yes,” I said.

He opened the folder.

On the very first page was my name, but the address listed beneath it had never been mine. On the second page lay an old photograph in which a young woman was holding a child to her chest. The woman’s face resembled Marco’s mother.

“Who is this?”

“A person whose existence my mother wants everyone to forget.”

There were three knocks on the door.

Marco immediately stepped in front of me.

“No one was supposed to come here.”

The fourth blow was stronger.

A man’s voice came from behind the door:

“Marco, I know you are inside. If you have already opened the folder, you will not be able to hide from anyone tonight…”

The door handle moved. Marco reached behind him and silently motioned for me to hide by the window. But I froze in his place. I was still holding the small copper lighter that I had unintentionally taken from the desk.

“Who is it?” Marco asked.

“A person who can dig out your family’s lies.”

Marco opened the door. His lawyer, Luca Bianchi, stood on the threshold. Water dripped onto the floor from his wet coat, and he held a folder of white documents.

“You were forbidden to come here,” Marco told him.

“I know. That is why I came.”

Luca looked into the room at me.

“Is this Emilia Hart?”

“My assistant.”

“Not anymore.”

Marco moved toward him.

“Choose your words carefully.”

“Your father was not dead two years ago, Marco. He disappeared because your mother and uncle were fighting for control of the company. Your father left half of the fortune to a woman who worked in your house at that time.”

Marco’s face went pale.

“Luca, stop.”

“To a woman named Elena Hart.”

I heard the sound of blood in my ears.

“That is my mother’s surname,” I said.

Luca opened the document.

“Your mother was Elena. Your father took the infant girl and raised her in another family so that no one could reach her inheritance. You did not end up in this family by accident, Emilia. You are the girl whose return Marco’s father waited for twenty-eight years.”

Marco leaned against the wall.

“No. This is impossible.”

“The DNA result came yesterday,” Luca said. “Emilia is your half-sister.”

The words split the room in two.

I looked at Marco. Two years of silent love turned into forbidden territory in one moment. He lowered his eyes, as if looking at my pain was harder for him than for himself.

“Why now?” I asked.

“Because tomorrow, at your mother’s birthday, they will sign the property-transfer agreement,” Luca answered. “If you are not there, they will keep everything.”

“Does my mother know?”

“Elena knows that you are alive. But she does not know where you are.”

Marco raised his head.

“And this folder?”

Luca smiled bitterly.

“There is a letter in it that your father never sent to Emilia. A letter saying that his disappearance was not an accident.”

At that moment Marco’s phone rang. His mother’s name appeared on the screen. He answered.

“Mother?”

A frightened woman’s voice came from the other side. The phone almost fell from Marco’s hand.

“What happened?”

He looked toward the window.

“Your father is alive. And he is coming toward us now…”