Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask

Chapter 112: Chapter 112 Chocolate and Thorns

Ivy’s POV

The weekend dragged by in a suffocating haze of well-meaning friends and endless conversations about my impossible situation. Everyone tried their best to convince me to fight for Caleb, to stay and weather the storm that Yara Rossi would unleash. But they couldn’t grasp the deadly reality I was living in. I refused to become the catalyst for a war between a Don and his potential heir through marriage. Yara would turn my existence into a living hell, using her father Roman’s influence and her own vicious cunning, and I knew I wasn’t ruthless enough to survive that kind of systematic destruction.

Monday morning arrived like an execution date. I steeled myself for another day of pretending normalcy while everything inside me felt shattered by the weight of leaving the only man I’d ever truly loved. As I approached the Thorne Group building, a familiar figure blocked my path like a predator stalking wounded prey. Roman Rossi stood there with the cold calculation of a man who’d built his power on others’ misery.

”What the hell are you still doing here, you worthless little whore?” His voice sliced through the morning air like a switchblade. He positioned himself directly in my path, making escape impossible. When I attempted to sidestep him, his fingers clamped around my arm like a steel trap. ”I’m talking to you, you pathetic street trash.”

”Get your hands off me.” I wrenched my arm free, my skin burning where his manicured fingers had dug in. ”I have every right to be here. I work for this organization.”

”Not for long, you don’t.” His eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction, the look of a man who enjoyed watching others squirm. ”I’m going straight to Caleb to demand he throws you back into whatever gutter he dragged you from.”

”Go right ahead.” I turned my back on him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his threats affected me.

Roman lunged forward to grab me again, but Fisher, our head of security, materialized between us like an avenging angel. His hand rested casually on the concealed weapon beneath his suit jacket.

”Step away from the lady, sir. You’ve been explicitly instructed to keep your distance from her.” Fisher’s voice carried the quiet authority of a man who’d seen combat in darker places than corporate lobbies.

”Thank you, Fisher.” My voice barely rose above a whisper as we stepped into the elevator together.

”No need to thank me, miss. It’s what Mr. Thorne pays me for.” Fisher’s expression softened slightly, though his vigilance never wavered. ”But even if it wasn’t my job, I can’t stomach that snake or the way he treats you. That’s no way to handle a lady.” He paused, studying my face with the keen eyes of someone trained to read danger. ”I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance every morning from now on, and I’ll escort you out every evening. He won’t get near you again.”

His protection nearly broke through the walls I’d built around my heart. I managed a grateful smile, overwhelmed by this unexpected shield when I felt so vulnerable in the crossfire of mafia politics.

The executive floor hummed with a different energy, charged with the tension that always surrounded high-stakes power plays. Gemma rushed toward me the moment the elevator doors opened, wrapping me in a warm embrace before guiding me toward my new workspace under Xavier’s protection. She’d worked miracles over the weekend, transforming the space and even relocating my familiar furniture from Caleb’s office to ease the transition.

A stunning bouquet of blood-red roses sat on the small table near the armchairs, their dark beauty a stark reminder of the dangerous world we inhabited. The card tucked between the thorny stems made my hands tremble as I read:

”You will always be my only love. My perfect love. I cannot accept losing you.”

The tears came without warning, and Gemma held me as I crumbled under the weight of loving a man whose world could destroy me.

”Ivy, I understand why you think you have to do this. But he’s destroying himself.” Her voice carried gentle urgency. ”Dominic told me Caleb refused the arranged marriage with Yara. His consigliere is working on alternative arrangements for securing the alliance.” She pulled back to meet my eyes directly. ”Maybe there’s still hope.”

”There isn’t, Gemma.” The words tasted like ashes and blood. ”She’ll never let us be happy. She’ll use that potential alliance as a weapon for the rest of our lives, and Roman will back her every move.” I wiped my eyes, forcing myself to focus on survival. ”Is Xavier ready for me?”

”Yes, he’s waiting. He said to come in whenever you’re ready, no ceremony required.” Gemma’s smile carried warmth, but I could see the worry in her eyes.

I thanked her for everything she’d done to make this transition possible, then gathered my files and headed toward Xavier’s office, leaving my broken heart behind as best I could manage.

”Good morning, Xavier.”

”Ivy, my dear, good morning.” Xavier’s warm greeting felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. As Caleb’s most trusted consigliere, he possessed the rare gift of making even enemies feel at ease. ”Please, sit down. How are you holding up under the circumstances?”

”I’m devastated, Xavier. But life doesn’t pause for heartbreak in our world.” I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. ”Shall we discuss our working arrangement? I hope you won’t miss Jude’s assistance too much.”

”Miss Jude? Hardly. You’re much easier on the eyes, and far more intelligent.” Xavier’s charming grin was infectious, and I found myself smiling genuinely for the first time in days. ”Let me have Katelyn bring us some espresso.”

The morning disappeared in strategic planning and intelligence briefings. Xavier had an incredible talent for reading people and situations, and he used it masterfully to keep my mind occupied with complex money laundering operations and territorial negotiations that required my full attention.

Lunch with Jude and Gemma was carefully orchestrated to avoid any encounters with Caleb. Gemma had been strategically helping me navigate the building’s maze of power dynamics, and I was grateful for her protection. When we returned from the restaurant, I found a slice of chocolate torte waiting on my desk - the same dessert from our first dinner together. My heart clenched painfully. Even when I couldn’t see him, Caleb made sure I knew he was thinking of me, fighting for us in his own way.

The afternoon flew by as quickly as the morning, buried under intelligence reports and financial projections. When I finally shut down my computer, Gemma appeared in my doorway like clockwork.

”Ready to go?”

I nodded, grabbing my purse and following her to the elevator. Fisher was waiting for us in the lobby, and he summoned one of our secured vehicles while keeping a watchful eye on Roman, who lurked nearby like a vulture waiting to feast on carrion. True to his word, Fisher was shielding me from harassment I wasn’t equipped to handle while navigating this dangerous transition.

Several days passed in this carefully constructed routine. I still hadn’t seen Caleb, but every afternoon brought another slice of chocolate torte to my desk - his way of reminding me he was still there, still fighting for us, even when I couldn’t bear to see him.

Thursday arrived with the same relentless schedule. Xavier kept me buried in territorial disputes and money laundering operations, and I was grateful for the distraction from my shattered heart. Jude wouldn’t be joining us for lunch since he was in a strategy meeting with Caleb about the escalating situation with the Rossi faction, so it would just be Gemma and me.

We settled into our usual restaurant and placed our orders. Gemma was excitedly telling me about Heidi’s upcoming visit the following week, and for the first time in days, I felt genuinely happy about something. Heidi had been my lifeline during our secure video calls, offering wisdom and support from her years as a mafia wife, but I missed her physical presence desperately.

I was just responding to Gemma’s plans when an unpleasantly familiar voice cut through our conversation like nails scraping against concrete.