The Don Bows Only To His Curvy Crush Chapter 01
The Wrong Room, The Right Ghost
Six years ago, I accidentally slept with the future Don Moretti, only to wake up to his guards laughing in the next room.
“Heard Dante slipped Annabella a room key last night?”
“She’s a heiress. She fits right next to Dante. Not like that whale Isabella—rolls of fat, makes me sick just looking at her.”
Turns out the key wasn’t for me. And to think I actually believed Dante had finally returned my feelings.
I grabbed my clothes and disappeared.
Six years later, my debut film gets frozen in distribution. My manager drags me to a private lounge downtown.
“The man sitting at the center of that booth,” She whispers, gripping my elbow. “You sweet-talk him, your movie has a chance. You don’t, it’s dead in the water.”
I nod and push the door open.
The next second, my eyes lock with the man in the middle of the booth.
Dante Moretti, the man I’d been running from.
While I’m still lost in shock, the men around him shoot up from the couches.
“Who the hell are you? Who let you in?”
“You don’t know Don Moretti hates women who come sniffing around like this? Get lost.”
“Some manager’s little girl trying to crawl into his bed, huh? Damn, Dante — even the D-listers think they’ve got a shot now.”
Through all of it, Dante slowly rolls the end of a cigarette between his fingers, lifts his lashes, and looks at me like I’m a stranger.
Cold. Bored. Not a flicker of recognition.
And that’s when it hits me — I’m not the 165-pound girl anymore.
My face has changed. My whole body has changed.
He doesn’t know it’s me.
I exhale, force a smile, and raise my glass.
“Sorry for barging in. Don Moretti, forgive the intrusion — allow me to punish myself first.”
I tip the wine back and drain it in one swallow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his brow twitch.
He says nothing.
“My name is Lena Rose. I’m new to the industry. I just wrapped my first film — One Night in Rome—”
Someone cuts me off, already bored.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever your name is. The last three girls stripped down to nothing and the boss didn’t even glance up. Save your breath.”
“Sweetheart, take some brotherly advice — walk out now. You do not want to see this man angry. You and your little studio won’t survive it.”
I expected this. Doesn’t make my stomach drop any less.
I look one more time at Dante in the middle of the room. He hasn’t said a word.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I turn to leave.
Then, behind me — that voice.
Low. Lazy. Familiar in a way that guts me.
“One Night in Rome?”
“I’ve heard of it.”