My Boss Fired Me to Appease a Billionaire — He Didn’t Know the Mafia King Was Watching\n

Part 1

I spent my entire life apologizing for taking up space.

At twenty-eight, I was a senior event coordinator for the city’s most exclusive agency, which meant I was paid to be invisible.

I adjusted the dark, sensible blazer over my size twenty frame, shifting my weight in my practical black flats.

Navigating my heavy body through a sea of glittering diamonds and tailored tuxedos, I knew exactly how these people saw me.

To the billionaires and socialites sipping vintage champagne at the charity gala, my fat body was just a boundary line.

I was a marker of the working class that they simply looked through as if I were made of glass.

I didn’t mind the invisibility, treating it as a thick layer of armor against a world obsessed with hollow perfection.

“Megan, we have a situation at table four,” my assistant whispered frantically through my earpiece.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, mapping out the fastest route across the crowded ballroom.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as the heavy gilded doors at the far end swung open.

The temperature in the ballroom seemed to plummet ten degrees.

Dan Russo had arrived.

Dan was the undisputed head of the city’s most lethal syndicate, a man whose legitimate empire was just a shell.

He was flanked by four massive men who looked like they wore custom suits solely to hide their concealed weapons.

Radiating an almost predatory stillness, his cold, calculating eyes made people look away.

Paralyzed by the sheer undeniable power he wielded, I watched him bypass the receiving line and head straight for the VIP alcove.

By eleven o’clock, the gala was operating at a fever pitch.

“Megan, the VIP booth requested a specific bottle of vintage scotch, and none of the servers want to go near them,” my assistant panicked.

I grabbed the heavy crystal tray bearing the amber bottle and approached the velvet-roped alcove with deliberate, measured steps.

Dan Russo was leaning back into the tufted leather of the booth, radiating a palpable aura of violence.

Sitting uninvited on the edge of the booth’s adjacent armchair was Heather Davis, a spoiled, rail-thin heiress.

“The scotch, as requested,” I murmured, leaning over slightly to set the heavy tray on the mahogany table.

Heather, visibly frustrated by Dan’s icy indifference, turned her venom toward the easiest target.

As I shifted my weight, Heather casually extended her stiletto-clad foot directly into my path.

My practical flat caught the sharp heel, and my ankle twisted violently.

With a gasp, the heavy crystal tray slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the mahogany table.

Glasses shattered, sending amber liquid splashing across the polished wood.

I was falling forward, bracing myself for the humiliating impact of hitting the floor.

The impact never came.

A large, incredibly strong hand shot out, wrapping around my waist with crushing, possessive force.

Dan Russo used the momentum of my fall to pull me directly toward him.

The air was knocked from my lungs as I landed squarely on his lap.

His left arm banded around my waist like a steel vise, locking me against his solid chest.

His right hand settled firmly on my thick, curved thigh to stabilize me.

Conversations died mid-sentence, and politicians froze with cigars halfway to their mouths.

Heather’s jaw unhinged, all the color draining from her face as she stared at the unbelievable scene.

The untouchable, merciless king of the city had a plus-size catering coordinator sitting on his lap.

My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it against his chest.

Instead of shoving me away, Dan slowly tilted his head down, locking entirely on my panicked face.

“You didn’t fall,” he whispered, his thumb brushing slowly against my thigh.

“You were tripped.”

Before anyone could process his words, Brian Miller, my regional director, sprinted toward us, his face purple with rage.

“Mr. Russo, I am so profoundly sorry for this incompetence,” Brian sputtered.

“Megan, get off Mr. Russo this instant, you are fired!”

The floor dropped out from under me as absolute defeat washed over me.

Dan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath me with raw, coiled violence.

“She was assaulted by a guest at an event you are paid to secure,” Dan stated, his tone laced with razor-sharp ice.

Dan signaled his bodyguards, who immediately formed an impenetrable wall around the booth.

“She doesn’t work for you anymore,” Dan declared with ringing finality.

“Because if she did, I would have to burn your entire agency to the ground for failing to ensure her safety.”

Brian stumbled backward, nodding frantically before disappearing into the crowd.

Dan finally released his crushing grip on my waist, stepping into my space and sliding one massive arm under my knees.

With a smooth, effortless exertion of power, he lifted my heavy frame entirely off the ground.

I threw my arms around his thick neck, my face burning hot with embarrassment as the entire ballroom stared.

He turned and walked toward the exit, carving a path through the sea of stunned socialites.

I thought the most dangerous man in the city was saving me from humiliation, but as the heavy doors of his armored car sealed us in, I realized the terrifying truth—he was taking me straight into a war.