Knocked Up By the Mafia Boss (Signed in Blood #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Chloe

If someone were about to die, what would they want to do?

I'd imagined every kind of last hurrah—Northern Lights in Iceland, one final goodbye to someone I couldn't let go of, blowing every cent I'd saved.

Never thought the answer would be standing in the middle of an office, getting torn apart by my supervisor in front of everyone.

"This is what you're giving me?"

Hans held up my proposal, waving it in the air like a used tissue.

Third time this month. I'd worked around the clock, revised this jewelry pitch three times, and the bastard still wouldn't let up.

"Chloe Bennett." Hans drew out my full name, like he was chewing something rotten. "I'm honestly curious how you even got hired here. My dog's probably more creative than you."

Muffled snickers leaked from various corners. But nobody spoke. The rules in this office were simple. When Hans was on a tear, you turned yourself into a breathing plant.

This wasn't my first public humiliation. Every other time, I'd swallowed it—accepted blame for mistakes that weren't mine, just to make it end faster.

But today was different. My hand clenched around my bag under the desk. Inside was something I'd gotten this morning—test results.

I couldn't remember the medical terms. Just the way the doctor's eyes wouldn't quite meet mine. He said my situation wasn't good. Worst case, three months.

Three months.

I was twenty-five. I'd moved here from a town nobody'd heard of, spent two years clawing my way to this job. I'd lived on ramen, slept in a windowless basement, and gotten my wallet stolen three times on the subway.

I thought it was all worth it. Finally had my foot in the door in New York. Had a badge that said Falcone Jewels, even if I was just bottom-tier designer, even if my boss was a certified prick.

None of that mattered now.

Hans was still talking. His mouth opened and closed, spit flying with every exaggerated gesture. He started flipping through my proposal page by page, snorting at each one like he was looking at a toddler's crayon scribbles.

My silence must have pissed him off. Hans's voice shot up an octave.

"Are you even listening to me?" He leaned down, hands on my desk, face less than a foot from mine.

Christ, his breath smelled like onions.

"I'm talking to you, Chloe. Or do you think that face of yours is enough to coast by here? Let me tell you something， in my department, that face is worthless."

I glanced down at my bag. The corner of the test results peeked out from the zipper, white edge slightly curled.

Three months. Ninety days, two thousand one hundred sixty hours.

I'd been counting all morning. However I added it up, it wasn't enough.

Not enough to do everything I wanted, go everywhere I needed to go.

But it was enough to deck one asshole.

I took a deep breath and stood up. Before Hans could react, I grabbed the proposal off my desk and slapped it across his face.

I put real force behind it. Hans's head snapped to the side, pages scattering across the floor. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open, like he couldn't comprehend getting what he deserved.

I didn't give him time to process. My right fist was already swinging, connecting solidly with his nose.

Hans screamed, clutching his face, stumbling backward. Blood seeped through his fingers and dripped onto Falcone Jewels' pristine floor.

The office erupted. Everyone snapped out of their plant state, staring at the chaos unfolding.

My right hand throbbed, knuckles swelling, but something inside me was thawing—a satisfaction I hadn't felt in forever.

Felt damn good.

"Chloe! Have you lost your fucking mind?" Hans's voice came out garbled through the blood. "You crazy bitch! You're done. Expect to hear from my lawyer!"

"Good idea." I smiled faintly. "I'd love to explain to a lawyer how you took my Blue Diamond Series proposal, changed the name to yours, and submitted it. All you did was swap the signature, then stood on that stage grinning like an idiot."

Hans's face froze. Blood smeared across his usually polished executive face made him look both pathetic and grotesque.

"And," I stepped closer, "where does all that money go? The budget you skim every month? Our overtime pay? You think we're all blind? Everyone knows, Hans. Everyone."

Subtle shifts crossed my coworkers' faces. People started murmuring—quiet protests, but real ones.

Hans sneered, ignoring the voices behind him. He pointed a bloody finger at me, eyes full of venom.

"Chloe, you're just some small-town girl who doesn't know how things work. Slander me like this, and you'll never work in jewelry in this city again."

"You're already doing that, Hans." I held his gaze.

"You never planned to give me a chance. And you know exactly why you've been targeting me—because six months ago I turned down your invitation to get drinks.

A forty-five-year-old balding man got rejected by his twenty-five-year-old subordinate, and you've been nursing that grudge ever since. Isn't that right?"

Hans laughed harshly, forcing out a lie nobody would believe.

"I have zero interest in you, Chloe. You're just another airhead with tits. Don't flatter yourself."

I glanced at his beer gut. "Maybe worry about yourself first, Hans. You've popped two buttons this month. You really want to bodyshame me?"

Actual laughter rippled through the office. Hans's face turned the color of liver.

"Get out!" he screamed. "You're fired! Right now! Pack your shit and get out!"

"I'm out?" I laughed lightly, standing my ground. "What authority do you have to fire me? What did I do wrong?"

Hans's lips trembled. He couldn't get a word out. We stood deadlocked in the corridor, tension ready to snap.

Then a low, cold voice cut in.

"Your mistake was not bringing this shit to me sooner."

The dangerous edge in that voice made my hair stand on end. I shivered involuntarily.

I turned.

Enzo Falcone stood at the office entrance. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit, tie knotted with precision. Hands in his pockets, shoulder against the doorframe—casual posture, but his presence changed the air itself.

CEO. Falcone family heir. I'd only seen his photo in new-hire training materials. That picture made me think he was just another rich kid born with a silver spoon—only better looking.

Now, standing ten feet away, I realized how stupid I'd been.

Enzo was tall—half a head taller than any man in the office. His features—I couldn't find better words—were the kind you couldn't look away from. Magazine-cover perfection that'd get called over-edited. But his eyes... that photo couldn't capture this.

Those black eyes swept slowly toward me.

Nobody moved. I wasn't even sure anyone dared breathe.

Hans went pale. He straightened reflexively, wiping blood off his face with his sleeve, forcing a pathetic smile. "Mr. Falcone, this is just a small misunderstanding. My subordinate got emotional. I'm handling it."

Enzo didn't look at him. His gaze landed on me, coolly assessed, then withdrew.

"Continue," his voice held no inflection. "You weren't finished."

Hans's mouth twitched. He stood there, lost. And as I stared at Enzo's detached, superior attitude, for some reason, my anger flared hotter.

Maybe because I'd had terrible coffee today. Maybe because I was remembering every day of the past year—getting squeezed, humiliated, treated like a disposable part in this building.

But most likely because I was dying, and the dying had the nerve to do what the living didn't dare.

"Mr. Falcone." I whipped around to face him directly. "Since you're here, I've got things to say to you, too."

Enzo raised an eyebrow slightly, regarding me with mild curiosity. He didn't interrupt.

"Do you know what your company's really like?" My voice shook, but I forced it louder. "All you care about is efficiency and results. You've turned this place into a heartless machine! Everyone's spinning, spinning until they break, then you throw them out and slot in someone new to keep spinning."

I gained momentum, wanting to unleash every frustration from the past year.

"Your employees work twelve-plus hours a day! We barely get days off, can't take sick leave, can't complain! Because if anyone shows the slightest dissatisfaction, the next day their keycard's deactivated!"

The office went dead silent. Even breathing seemed audible.

"You know why people like Hans run wild?

Because you created this environment. Your iron fist made every manager copy you.

You don't treat people like people, so they don't either.

Your company's rotten top to bottom, Mr. Falcone.

And you're standing at the peak watching it all happen, doing nothing. "

I was done.

The entire floor felt muted, coworkers' faces showing terror and disbelief. Hans's mouth formed an O. His eyes held something like pity—genuine belief that I'd lost my mind.

Enzo's expression didn't change. He'd listened to every word quietly, those black eyes never leaving my face.

The suffocating silence lasted about five seconds. Then the man at the top finally spoke.

"Your feedback has merit." His tone was infuriatingly calm, like I'd just read a quarterly report instead of publicly calling him out. "Come to my office. We'll discuss this properly."

Enzo's gaze swept the room. "Anyone else with complaints about my management, feel free to join us."

Nobody moved. Everyone looked down, pretending to type, pretending to read files, pretending to be plants again.

Enzo turned toward the elevator, expensive shoes striking a steady rhythm on the floor. He didn't check if I was following, simply assumed I would.

And I did.

What did someone with three months left have to fear? I grabbed my bag and followed Enzo under everyone's stunned stares, stepping into the executive elevator only he had access to.

The doors closed behind me. Reality started seeping back in. My body stiffened inch by inch.

I stood at the back of the elevator. Enzo faced away, one hand casually in his pocket. His tall frame blocked most of the light. Just standing there, he radiated crushing pressure. The air felt thinner.

Belated fear trickled down my spine like ice water.

I'd heard rumors about this man. The Falcone family's business went beyond jewelry—a massive commercial empire, with whispers of shadowy connections. Rumors were just rumors, but right now, trapped in an enclosed space with someone like this, the back of my head prickled.

Soft elevator lighting cast sharp shadows across Enzo's profile. His expression stayed cold, unreadable. I started catastrophizing. Would he tear into me? Or have someone throw me off the top floor?

Lost in spiraling thoughts, the elevator lights suddenly died.

Then came violent shaking. The entire car lurched like something had grabbed it, then let go. I lost balance completely, flailing in the darkness, finally grabbing the only thing within reach.

Enzo's belt.