My Cheating Ex Had No Idea Who I Texted—Until the City’s Biggest Crime Boss Showed Up
Part 1
Have you ever hit send and felt your soul immediately leave your body?
I thought I was finally cursing out my cheating ex.
Instead, my angry message went directly to Dante Marino, the most ruthless crime boss in the city.
Let me set the record straight right now.
I am not the kind of woman who takes risks.
My name is Megan Parker, a junior property manager at a luxury real estate firm in Chicago, and I thought my life was perfectly mapped out.
I had the steady job, the cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend named Brian.
We were supposed to go ring shopping that weekend.
Instead, I came home early with a migraine and found him on our velvet sofa with a twenty-year-old barista.
The ensuing fight was a blur of shattered glass, screaming, and me throwing his golf clubs out the second-story window.
By the time I kicked him out, I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
Two hours later, the grief morphed into a blistering, white-hot rage.
I grabbed my phone, needing him to hurt.
My thumbs flew across the screen as I typed out a venomous paragraph calling him a lying piece of garbage and promising to ruin his life.
Just as my finger hovered over the send button, a new text notification dropped down from the top of my screen.
It was from an unsaved number reminding me of an 8:00 p.m. penthouse viewing for a secretive VIP client.
I blindly swiped away the notification to get back to my message thread.
I hit send.
The green bubble popped up, delivered.
I took a shuddering breath, waiting for the satisfaction to wash over me.
Instead, my eyes locked onto the top of the screen where the contact name didn’t say Brian.
It said 312-555-0198.
In my blind rage, I had clicked the drop-down notification instead of closing it.
I had just sent a psychotic threat to the mysterious client buying a five-million-dollar property.
My boss was going to crucify me.
I immediately started typing a frantic apology, explaining it was a terrible mistake meant for my ex.
Before I could hit send, three gray typing dots appeared.
“Excuse me?”
My hands were sweating so badly I almost dropped the phone.
“That is an incredibly bold statement to make to someone you haven’t even met.
I assume you have the wrong number or a very sudden death wish.”
I swallowed hard, terrified by the cold tone.
I sent my panicked apology, begging for forgiveness and promising to be at the penthouse with the keys.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
“Disrespect has a price, Ms. Parker.
We will not be meeting at the penthouse.
Bring the keys to the back entrance of the Continental Lounge at 9:00 p.m.
Tell the man at the door you are there for Dante Marino.
Do not be late.”
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Dante Marino.
Everyone in Chicago knew that name from the police reports regarding underground casinos and shipping docks.
Dante was the eldest son, the heir apparent, known for being merciless and utterly terrifying.
He was the devil in a tailored suit.
By 8:45 p.m., the Chicago rain was coming down in icy sheets.
I stood across the street from the notoriously private Continental Lounge, shivering inside my trench coat.
I crossed the wet asphalt to the dimly lit back alley.
Standing by a heavy steel door was a man who looked carved out of granite.
“Megan Parker,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.
“I’m here for Dante Marino.”
He pulled the door open, directing me down the mahogany-lined hall to a sprawling, low-lit office.
Sitting behind a massive desk was Dante Marino, looking breathtakingly handsome in a sharp, predatory way.
“Ms. Parker,” he said, his voice a low baritone that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
“You look remarkably pale for someone who was so fiercely brave over text message.”
I placed the heavy brass keys on his desk, my hands shaking visibly.
“I brought the keys.
I cannot apologize enough for the message.”
Dante slowly stood up, looming over me as he walked around the desk.
“Brian Jenkins,” Dante said softly.
My heart stalled in my chest.
“Your ex-boyfriend, financial analyst.
Drives a silver sedan he can barely afford.”
A cruel smirk played on his lips.
“When a woman texts me telling me I am a lying piece of garbage, I do a thorough background check before deciding whether or not to put a bullet in her head.
Your pathetic ex-boyfriend has a gambling problem.”
Dante stated that Brian owed his family two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
“He promised my men he would have a sizable payment by midnight tonight.
I’m guessing he was hoping to leverage your combined assets before you kicked him out.”
The missing funds from our joint savings account suddenly made sickening sense.
“My enforcer, Rocco, is currently waiting for the order to pay Mr. Jenkins a visit,” Dante continued.
“A visit Brian will not walk away from.”
I stared at him, realizing the man who had broken my heart was on the chopping block.
“Please,” I whispered.
“Don’t kill him.
I don’t want him dead.
I just want him gone.”
Dante walked closer, his long, calloused finger tracing the line of my jaw.
“You walk into a shark tank with a bleeding heart.
I could wipe Brian’s debt tonight.
I could let the pathetic worm live.”
“What’s the catch?”
I asked, trembling against his hand.
Dante’s eyes darkened with a calculated smile.
“My father is stepping down and demanding I marry the daughter of the Romano family to cement an alliance.
I have absolutely no intention of doing so.”
He pointed a finger directly at my chest.
“I need someone respectable with a spotless background to present as my fiancée to convince him I am moving the family into legitimate corporate territory.”
He leaned across the heavy oak desk, his dark eyes unreadable, and told me that if I wanted my cheating ex to live to see tomorrow, I had to wear his ring and pretend to be his future wife.
