The Mafia Boss Grinned When She Cursed Him in Sicilian and Then Told Her to Say It Again to His Face

Frankie stared up at him, her pulse racing wildly. The proximity was dangerous—intoxicating. She could smell the crisp cedar of his cologne mixed with the faint, metallic scent of the sea air clinging to his suit jacket.

"I don't need your charity," she whispered, her voice lacking its previous conviction.

"It's not charity," Gabriel replied, his thumb brushing lightly against the inside of her wrist, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "It's a business proposition."

"I'm listening," she said suspiciously, pulling her hand back from his grip and crossing her arms over her chest.

Gabriel turned back toward his desk, picking up a pristine, leather-bound folder. He opened it and slid a single sheet of paper across the mahogany surface.

Frankie stepped forward and looked down at the document. It wasn't a foreclosure notice. It wasn't a demand for three hundred thousand dollars.

It was a partnership contract.

"Costa Vanguard Logistics is acquiring a controlling stake in the old rail line running parallel to Bellini Auto," Gabriel explained smoothly, leaning against the edge of the desk. "I need a primary mechanical contractor for our entire East Coast fleet of heavy transport trucks. Someone with integrity. Someone who won't cut corners."

Frankie scanned the numbers on the page. The figures were staggering—enough to pay off Leo’s actual debts tenfold, upgrade every hydraulic lift in the garage, and secure the business for the next decade.

"And the catch?" Frankie asked, narrowing her eyes. "There’s always a catch with men like you."

"The catch," Gabriel said, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips, "is that you sign an exclusive five-year contract. You become my chief fleet consultant. And... you have to tolerate my company on a regular basis."

Frankie scoffed, looking up from the paper. "Tolate your company? Is that supposed to be a punishment or a threat?"

"That depends entirely on how stubborn you decide to be," Gabriel replied smoothly. "Sign the contract, Francesca, and your brother's slate is wiped clean. The garage stays yours. Sixty percent Bellini, zero percent Costa."

She stared at the document. It was a lifeline—an absolute miracle disguised as a corporate merger. It solved every problem she had in the world.

Yet, looking at Gabriel Costa—standing there looking like a magnificent, dangerous predator who always got what he wanted—she knew her life would never be the same again.

"And Leo?" Frankie asked quietly. "What happens to him?"

"Leo stays far away from my poker tables," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked no argument. "Or next time, I won't just take his money. I'll let him work off his debt changing tires in your garage sixteen hours a day."

Frankie let out a short, sharp breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "Honestly? That might actually teach him some work ethic."

She reached across the desk, grabbed the gold fountain pen Gabriel offered her, and signed her name with swift, decisive strokes: *Francesca Bellini.*

Gabriel watched her sign, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

"Welcome to the family business, Francesca," he murmured.

Before Frankie could process what he meant by 'family,' the heavy doors of the office burst open.

Leo stumbled into the room, flanked by two massive guards holding his arms behind his back. His face was pale as a ghost, and his eyes widened in sheer terror as he looked at Frankie standing next to the most feared mafia boss in Baltimore.

"Frankie!" Leo cried out. "I tried to stop them! I saw patrol cars outside, I thought—"

"Let him go," Gabriel commanded coldly.

The guards released Leo instantly. Leo scrambled across the floor, diving behind Frankie as if she were a bulletproof shield.

"What is going on?" Leo stammered, pointing a shaking finger at Gabriel. "Who is this guy?!"

Frankie looked down at the signed contract in her hand, then looked across the desk at Gabriel Costa, who was watching her with an expression that was half-amused, half-possessive.