“I Need a Boyfriend by Tomorrow.” She Whispered It Alone in the Dark — Then Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss Answered
Sadi’s mother had already seated her near the kitchen so she wouldn’t ruin the wedding rehearsal photos. Her ex-boyfriend would be sitting at the head table. All she wanted was someone to walk in beside her — someone who would make them regret looking down on her. She thought she was alone in the Rossi mansion when she whispered her desperate wish out loud. She wasn’t. Read every chapter to find out what happened when table 4 got a guest nobody at that dinner ever expected.
Table Four
“I need a boyfriend by tomorrow.” Sadi whispered those words alone in the Rossi mansion. Or at least, she thought she was alone.
A deep voice suddenly came from the darkness. “What time is the event?” Sadi froze. Roman Rossi — the most feared Mafia boss in Chicago — was sitting behind her. He had heard everything.
Sadi was supposed to attend her sister’s wedding rehearsal dinner. Her ex-boyfriend would be there. Her mother had already placed her at a table near the kitchen because she didn’t want Sadi ruining the family photos. Sadi only wanted one thing: someone to walk in beside her. Someone who would make them regret looking down on her.
Roman slowly stood. “I’ll go with you.” Sadi stared at him. “You?” “As your boyfriend.”
But Roman had another reason. He needed to attend a Mafia meeting that same night — and being seen at a family dinner would give him the perfect alibi.
Sadi agreed. But she had one condition: “No guns. No threats. And you have to pretend you actually like me.” Roman’s eyes darkened. “I know how to play a part.”
The next evening, Sadi stepped out wearing an emerald-green dress. For the first time in years, she didn’t try to hide her curves.
Then Roman arrived. A black SUV. A dark suit. And the presence of a man who made everyone around him nervous. He looked at Sadi for a long moment. Then he quietly said: “You’re not sitting near the kitchen tonight.” Sadi raised an eyebrow. Roman opened the car door. “We’re taking table 4.”
The table where her ex was sitting. The table where everyone had been waiting to humiliate her.
But they had no idea. The woman they thought was invisible had just arrived with Chicago’s most dangerous man on her arm.
And Roman Rossi was about to discover that pretending to be her boyfriend might become the one role he never wanted to stop playing.
The Rehearsal Dinner
The restaurant’s private dining room fell into an immediate, startled hush the moment Roman guided me through the doorway, his hand resting with easy confidence at the small of my back, exactly the way a genuine boyfriend’s touch might.
My mother, Diane, looked up from her seat at the head table, her carefully composed hostess smile faltering visibly as she registered exactly who had just walked in beside her supposedly forgettable younger daughter.
“Sadi,” she said, recovering her composure with visible effort. “You didn’t mention you were bringing a guest.”
“This is Roman,” I said, my voice carrying a confidence I’d genuinely never managed in my mother’s presence before. “My boyfriend.”
The word landed across the room with considerable weight, my sister Bianca’s own eyes widening from her seat beside her fiancé, while several relatives exchanged the particular meaningful glances that suggested considerable whispered conversation would follow once Roman and I were safely out of earshot.
“We were told you’d be seated near the kitchen,” Diane said carefully, clearly attempting to navigate this unexpected complication without fully revealing her original, humiliating seating intentions.
“We’ll be taking table four,” Roman said, his voice carrying the particular calm authority that apparently made grown men nervous, though it landed on my mother with a considerably different effect — polite, immovable certainty that brooked no further discussion.
As we settled into the seats specifically positioned closest to my ex-boyfriend Jason and his obvious discomfort at our unexpected arrival, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in longer than I wanted to properly examine — genuine, confident satisfaction, rather than the anxious, shrinking dread that had defined every previous family gathering since Jason’s departure and my mother’s subsequent, increasingly obvious preference for showcasing only my more conventionally successful sister.
Jason
Jason’s discomfort, visible from the moment we’d taken our seats, only deepened as dinner progressed, his own date — a considerably younger woman he’d apparently been seeing since our breakup eight months earlier — casting increasingly curious glances toward Roman’s obvious, magnetic presence.
“Sadi,” Jason said finally, unable to maintain his careful avoidance any longer, “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”
“Recently,” I said, keeping my voice light despite old, complicated hurt resurfacing at his direct attention. “Roman and I have been together for a little while now.”
Roman’s hand found mine beneath the table, a small, grounding gesture that carried considerably more genuine comfort than I’d expected from what was supposed to be simply a performed arrangement. “I’m considerably fortunate to have found her,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying an easy warmth I hadn’t anticipated he could produce so naturally.
Jason’s expression carried visible surprise, old assumptions about my supposed undesirability clearly warring against the evidence directly in front of him — a man whose reputation preceded him considerably, treating me with genuine, attentive warmth throughout the entire dinner’s unfolding.
“How did you two meet?” Jason’s date asked, genuine curiosity replacing her earlier careful assessment.
Roman answered before I could formulate my own careful response. “Through mutual circumstances,” he said smoothly. “I recognized something remarkable in her almost immediately.”
The evening continued with a considerably different energy than I’d originally braced myself for, my mother’s careful attempts to redirect conversation away from our unexpected presence repeatedly failing as other relatives, genuinely curious about the dangerous, magnetic man now seated prominently at table four, continued directing questions our way despite her obvious discomfort. Then, midway through the main course, Roman’s phone buzzed with a message that made his easy, relaxed posture shift immediately into something considerably more focused and alert.
The Phone Call
“I need to step outside for a moment,” Roman said quietly, his earlier easy warmth replaced by careful, controlled focus. “A business matter requires my immediate attention.”
“Is everything all right?” I asked, genuine concern mixing with my awareness of exactly what kind of business Roman actually conducted beyond our carefully staged evening.
“Nothing that requires your worry,” he said, though his expression carried a tension that suggested otherwise. “I’ll return within a few minutes.”
He excused himself smoothly, his absence drawing curious glances from several relatives who clearly wondered whether our relationship’s convincing performance had somehow already encountered its first crack. I maintained careful composure throughout his absence, uncertain exactly what genuine danger he might be navigating beyond the restaurant’s walls.
When Roman returned nearly ten minutes later, his expression had settled back into careful, practiced calm, though something in his posture suggested the phone call had required considerably more than a simple, routine business matter.
“Everything’s handled,” he said quietly, once he’d resettled beside me, his hand finding mine again with a gesture that felt, unexpectedly, considerably more genuine than performative.
“What actually happened?” I asked quietly, curiosity finally overcoming my earlier careful restraint about probing into whatever dangerous world Roman actually occupied beyond tonight’s convenient arrangement. His expression carried careful consideration before he finally, quietly answered. “A situation requiring my attention resolved itself favorably,” he said. “Though I’ll admit, Sadi, I found myself considerably more focused on returning to this table than the urgency of that call typically would have allowed. That’s not something I’m entirely accustomed to feeling.”
What Diane Never Said
As dinner concluded and guests began their gradual departures, my mother finally approached our table directly, her earlier careful composure giving way to something considerably more genuine, though I couldn’t yet determine whether it carried apology or continued discomfort.
“Sadi, might I speak with you privately?” she asked, her eyes flickering uncertainly toward Roman.
Roman rose smoothly. “I’ll wait by the car,” he said, his hand brushing my shoulder with a gentleness that felt considerably more genuine than our arrangement technically required.
Once we were alone, my mother’s composure finally, fully cracked. “I owe you an apology,” she said quietly. “The seating arrangement, tonight’s original plan — I handled this entire wedding process with a callousness toward you that I’m genuinely ashamed of now that I’ve watched you tonight.”
“Why did you do it?” I asked, old hurt finally given voice after years of careful, swallowed resentment. “Why have you always treated Bianca as though she’s the only daughter worth genuinely celebrating?”
My mother’s expression carried complicated, difficult honesty. “I don’t have a good answer,” she admitted. “I think, somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that Bianca’s more conventional path — her career, her relationship, her general ease at fitting whatever mold I’d unconsciously decided mattered most — made her simpler to celebrate than your own considerably more complicated, independent path.”
“That’s not a good enough explanation for years of feeling invisible in my own family,” I said, my voice carrying old grief and fresh, hard-won resolve. “I don’t know if tonight changes anything permanently, Mom. But I need you to understand, going forward, that I’m done accepting a seat near the kitchen, literally or otherwise, simply because acknowledging me properly requires more effort than you’ve apparently been willing to give.”
Not Playing a Part
The ride home, Roman driving personally rather than relying on the driver who’d delivered us to the restaurant, carried a comfortable, unexpected quiet that felt considerably different from the careful performance we’d maintained throughout dinner.
“Thank you,” I said finally, breaking the silence as city lights passed outside the window. “For tonight. I don’t think I properly understood, walking into your mansion so desperately last night, exactly how significant tonight’s small act of kindness would actually become.”
“I didn’t do it entirely out of kindness,” Roman admitted, his voice carrying genuine, careful honesty. “I needed the alibi, exactly as I explained. But somewhere during tonight’s dinner, Sadi, I found myself considerably less focused on maintaining our convenient arrangement’s performance, and considerably more genuinely invested in actually being there beside you.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, my heart rate quickening despite my effort to maintain careful composure.
“I’m saying,” Roman said, pulling the car to the side of the quiet street rather than continuing directly toward my apartment, “that pretending to care about you tonight required considerably less pretending than I originally expected. I find myself genuinely curious what might develop between us, beyond simply tonight’s convenient arrangement, if you’re interested in exploring that possibility.”
I studied him carefully, old caution about his dangerous reputation warring against the genuine warmth he’d shown throughout our entire, unexpected evening together. “I don’t know much about your actual world,” I said honestly. “The danger, the business you needed that alibi for tonight. I’m not certain I’m prepared for whatever complexity that might introduce into my life.”
“I don’t expect you to make that decision tonight,” Roman said gently. “I simply wanted you to understand, clearly, that whatever happens next isn’t obligation born from tonight’s convenient arrangement. It’s genuine interest, Sadi, in continuing to know the woman who walked into that dinner tonight and refused to accept being treated as invisible, regardless of how her own family had spent years training her to expect exactly that treatment.”
The Toast
The following weeks brought a careful, gradual courtship that neither Roman nor I had fully anticipated when our arrangement first began as simple, mutual convenience — genuine dinners rather than performed dates, careful conversations that revealed considerably more about both our actual lives than our original transactional agreement had ever required.
“I want to understand your world properly,” I told him, several weeks into our genuine, developing relationship, “if this is actually going to become something real between us. I can’t simply ignore the reality of what you actually do, Roman, regardless of how genuinely I’ve come to care about you these past weeks.”
Roman’s explanation, delivered with a careful honesty that reflected genuine respect for my request rather than continued careful evasion, painted a considerably more complicated picture than simple criminal enterprise — an inherited position he’d never fully chosen, careful efforts toward legitimizing considerable portions of his organization’s business interests, and genuine, ongoing tension between the dangerous world he’d inherited and the more legitimate future he privately hoped to eventually build.
“I won’t pretend the danger isn’t real,” he said honestly. “But I also want you to understand, Sadi, that I’m actively working toward something considerably safer and more legitimate than the world I was born into. I don’t know exactly how long that transition will take, or whether it’s entirely possible. But I’m genuinely trying.”
My sister’s actual wedding, arriving three weeks after that transformative rehearsal dinner, brought fresh opportunity for Roman’s genuine presence in my life to develop further, our relationship’s authenticity considerably more evident to my family than the original arrangement’s carefully staged performance had ever managed.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Bianca said, unexpectedly, during the wedding reception’s traditional speeches, her attention turning directly toward our table rather than remaining focused entirely on her own celebration. “To my sister, Sadi, who taught me something important these past few weeks about refusing to accept being treated as less than she actually deserves. And to Roman, for apparently recognizing what our family should have celebrated in her all along.”
The Role He Didn’t Want to Stop Playing
The year following that extraordinary rehearsal dinner brought a genuine, complete transformation to both my family relationships and my own understanding of exactly what I deserved from the people meant to love me unconditionally.
My mother’s efforts toward genuine reconciliation, though imperfect and occasionally still carrying old, unconscious patterns of favoritism, gradually improved through consistent, deliberate effort on her part — family gatherings that finally, properly included me rather than relegating me toward convenient invisibility.
Roman’s own transition toward increasingly legitimate business interests continued steadily throughout our year together, his careful efforts toward transforming his inherited organization into something considerably safer reflecting genuine, ongoing commitment rather than empty promises made simply to ease my own concerns.
“I never expected any of this,” I told him one evening, nearly a year after that desperate, whispered wish in his mansion’s darkness had unexpectedly transformed my entire life. “I walked into your home planning to hire an actor for one uncomfortable dinner. I never imagined it might lead to genuinely falling in love.”
“Neither did I,” Roman admitted, reaching for my hand with a warmth that had grown steadily throughout our entire, unexpected year together. “I’ve played considerable roles throughout my life, Sadi — dangerous roles, careful roles, roles my family and organization demanded of me long before I had any say in the matter. This is the first role I’ve ever genuinely wanted to keep playing indefinitely.”
His proposal, delivered on the anniversary of that transformative rehearsal dinner, carried none of our original arrangement’s careful performance, simply genuine, complete devotion built through an entire year of authentic partnership.
“Say yes,” he said simply, watching me with the same focused, genuine attention he’d shown from that very first unexpected evening at table four.
“Yes,” I said, laughing through genuine, overwhelming happiness. “Though I should warn you, Roman — I fully intend to insist on considerably better seating arrangements at our own wedding than my family ever managed to provide me.”
