Enjoy! Don't forget to vote and comment 🩷

Question of the day:

How often do you wear high heels? 👠

"How long?"

"I just told you. Five minutes." I replied, carefully coating my lashes with mascara.

"You said that five minutes ago." He complained again from the bedroom in our villa.

"Well, add another ten minutes to that then." I muttered, looking into the mirror in the dressing room.

"We're getting late, Millie."

"You were the one who insisted I take a nap."

"Yeah, four fucking hours ago. I didn't think you'd sleep for that long."

"That's your fault then, isn't it?" I scoffed, adding my lip gloss as the finishing touch.

I heard him grumbling to himself in the bedroom while I spritzed on some perfume. I headed to the bedroom where Costa was sat at the edge of the bed, texting away.

I leaned against the doorway of the dressing room, slipping my Jimmy Choo heels on.

"Is my dress okay?" My question had Costa looking up from his phone.

He drank in my floor length champagne gown, his green eyes widening at my arrival. His lips parted but no words came out and he visibly swallowed.

Is it that bad?

"Is it bad? Shall I change? Do you think it's too much?"

"No." He quickly shook his head, slowly rising to his feet. "It's...you look..."

He stammered, searching for the right words. Then he cleared his throat, once again scanning my dress.

"You look beautiful, Millie."

A slow smile stretched across my lips at the raw honesty in his voice "Thank you."

"Are you ready?" He took a step towards the door, incidentally putting some distance between us.

"Just let me get my things." I quickly went back into the dressing room, hearing him groan out loud.

"I'm going to kill you and then myself." And that was the end of his niceness.

Once I got all my tissues, I forced Costa to fill his own suit pockets with my supplies too.

Tissues, throat lozenges, Advil, hand sanitizer and a ziplock bag.

He stupidly refused which added another three minutes to our lateness. Eventually he gave in and we headed to the hotel lobby where the cars were already waiting.

It wasn't a long drive to the hotel where Costa's business acquaintance was hosting this charity fundraiser.

"I know you already know the rules, but just remember, you don't talk to anyone who doesn't speak to you first." Costa spoke as we walked.

"If you know I already know, idiota, then why would you-"

"And for a couple hours, just pretend we're a couple who are happy and in love." He cut me off, sending me a pointed look as we headed into the ballroom.

"You want me to lie?" I gasped, placing a hand over my heart. Then I slid my hand into his palm. "Sure."

He didn't acknowledge my remark, instead choosing to squeeze my hand in his. We walked further into the ballroom and I quickly began to realise how underdressed I truly was.

"Damn." I muttered, eyeing the huge diamond necklace resting on some woman's chest. She could land a plane on that thing.

For once simplicity and elegance just didn't cut it. My champagne silk gown looked like a bath robe compared to her lavish frilly dress, glittering with diamonds.

"What?" Costa frowned, following my gaze. Then he immediately shook his head in distaste. "No."

"No?"

"It's tacky." He muttered, now studying the rest of the room again. "You look the best here."

He thinks I look the best?

I didn't know how to respond, but I guess the warm feeling that swelled in my chest said it all.

It also told me I was about to sneeze.

I quickly let go of his hand, struggling to unclip my beautiful Dior clutch bag. I just about managed to get a tissue out before I sneezed in the middle of the ballroom.

Costa barely even noticed while he was busy scanning the room.

"Do you think people are grossed out by my cold?" I sniffled into my tissue.

"No."

"But I just sneezed."

"So?"

"So, what if they think I'm contagious." I whispered, more aggressively than intended.

"No one cares about your cold."

"But-" My sentence was cut off by another sneeze which had Costa chuckling next to me. He patted my back in a weak show of support.

"You're a bitch." I muttered, sniffling into my tissue.

"Ah. Admit it, Millie. You like me." He flashed me a dazzling smile which had my heart fluttering involuntarily.

"Like you?" I scoffed mid-sniffle. "What makes you think I like you?"

"I can just tell. You don't want to admit it to yourself, but you do." He grinned.

"Just give me my bag." I muttered, ignoring his ridiculous remarks.

"You're so fucking weird." He sighed, reaching into his suit pocket to retrieve the little ziplock bag I gave him.

He wasn't happy that I made him carry it for me.

"It's better than mixing used tissues with clean tissues." I put my used tissue in the bag and then gave it back to him.

"Why can't you keep it in your bag?"

"Have you seen the size of it?" I held up my Dior clutch for emphasis. "Plus, it's full of clean tissues."

For once I didn't bring anything else but tissues. Not even my make up.

I needed all the tissues I could get.

"All my pockets are also full of your fucking tissues."

"You can never have too many." I shrugged, giving him a smile. He only rolled his eyes, pocketing my ziplock bag. Then he went back to analysing the rest of the guests again.

Only a few minutes after we arrived the fundraiser began. We had to take our seats at a table to listen to program of speeches.

"Are you going to donate?" I whispered, nudging Costa with my elbow. We were sitting with a few other couples at a round table, none of whom we knew.

"I don't want to but I have to." He muttered, leaning back in his seat.

"Why? To both of those things."

"I don't like giving to other charities, only our own. I don't trust them. But Omar will be checking to see if I donated and I need him to sign the fucking contract." He rolled his eyes, clearly becoming impatient while sitting through the event.

He definitely had more important things to be doing than sitting through a presentation.

"You have your own charity?" The utter shock on my face had my husband smiling.

"Yeah."

"You? But you're so-"

"Generous? Heroic? Handsome? Sexy?" He cut in, his smile easily morphing into a teasing smirk.

"Dickish." I snapped, still whispering since the event was going on. He didn't deny it, releasing a quiet laugh with a nod.

"Sì. But La Famiglia have given back to people in Sicily for a long time. It's just not something we're known for. The story is that we terrorise local people, but that's not always true. Only if they're on our bad side."

"How does it work?"

"Our goal is to recruit as many people as possible into La Famiglia. You can never have too many foot soldiers. But you can't do that if you're known as the bad guys so we make sure to take care of local people. We donate to hospitals and schools and orphanages in Sicily - that kind of thing."

It was a smart tactic for sure, and a proven one. The carrot and the stick. I'm not sure how much of it was done out of genuine kindness and generosity, but regardless, they still gave back.

"You don't get to be the strongest organisation by terrorising people into submission." I thought out loud earning a nod from Costa.

"Exactly."

"Who runs it?" I thought it was a good question considering I'd only ever met aggressive criminals in the Sicilian Mafia who could never run a charity. But Costa tensed up when I asked him.

He took a moment, staring straight ahead at the stage where someone was busy trying to convince all these rich people to part with their money.

"My mother used to run it." He swallowed, refusing to meet my gaze. "Now Nadia does."

"Is that a thing? The wife of the Don runs it?"

"Sort of." His eyes met mine and he knew exactly what I was thinking. "Only if you want to."

It's weird to even think about him one day eventually taking over the entire Sicilian Mafia from his father, let alone my role in all of that.

"We'll see." I brushed it off, turning my attention back to the fundraiser going on. We had time to think about that anyway.

We sat through the rest of the event, the starter and the main course before people got up to start mingling again.

"Let's go."

"I haven't finished." I replied.

"I don't care. He's over there. Let's go." Costa began to stand up, looking at me expectantly.

"But I want to finish my chicken." I pouted my lips, taking another bite of my food.

"You're so fucking slow, Millie. Other people have already finished." Costa sighed, getting comfortable on his chair again. He knew we weren't getting up any time soon.

"They're not sick like me. I have to take it slow or I'll throw up all over you and then he definitely won't sign any contracts with you." I grinned.

"Funny." He muttered, annoyance lighting up in his eyes.

We sat for another few minutes while Costa waited surprisingly patiently for me to eat. He didn't push me again or even comment when we became the last ones sitting down.

"Okay, let's go." I took my last bite, pushing my seat back.

"Finish chewing and drink some water first." He handed me my glass, grabbing my hand to stop me getting up.

"Aw. Do you care about me, idiota?" I smirked, taking the glass from him.

"I don't need you to embarrass me when you start choking." He snapped, standing to his feet. He held out a hand for me, helping me up from my chair.

"Would you leave me if I started choking?" I questioned him as we headed over to the centre of the ballroom where Omar was standing with a woman and his son.

"Probably."

"Cagna." (Bitch) I muttered, earning a throaty chuckle from my husband. He slipped an arm around my waist just as we reached the host of the evening, Omar Rashid.

"Ah. Costa, you finally made it. I was wondering if the dessert would come out before you ever got up." The older man joked, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled.

So I guess people really did notice I was the last person to finish eating. Costa only smiled at the joke, choosing to introduce me instead.

"Omar, this is my wife, Millie."

"It's nice to meet you." I gave him a smile which he returned kindly.

"You too. I'd like you to meet my son Khalid and my wife, Sara."

"You're not Italian?" His wife, Sara, looked between Costa and I curiously.

"No. I'm Greek." I answered with a polite smile.

"You're Nicholas Darmos's daughter?" Khalid questioned, his eyes lingering on Costa's arm around my waist.

"Yes." I stepped a little closer to Costa under his intense stare.

"Ah, that's right. I heard about the marriage alliance between the Sicilians and the Greeks." Omar nodded. "How has that been?"

"The alliance?" Costa asked.

"No, your marriage." Omar clarified with a smile. "I can't imagine it's easy marrying a stranger for business."

The short pause that followed was because neither Costa or I knew how to respond to that.

Costa said this guy wanted to see how he behaved around his family before he signed the deal. Now he's calling us out by addressing the most chaotic part of our relationship - the beginning.

"Well, we actually met first before the alliance was formed." I found myself speaking when Costa still remained quiet. "It was just a coincidence when we met in New York. We didn't know who each other was at the time."

"Oh?" Sara smiled. "How did you meet?"

"On a sidewalk in Manhattan. She was being a difficult drunk while I was late for a meeting." Costa added with a ghost of a smirk.

"That's not what happened." I nudged him with my elbow, keeping my eyes on the three people across from us.

"It was."

"No. It was my birthday and he was being impatient." I clarified, causing Omar and his wife to smile in amusement.

"Sure."

"It was." I turned to narrow my eyes at my husband who was now smiling at me.

"Okay." He shrugged casually.

"Costa." I wasn't playing around and my tone made that clear. He's not changing the events now.

"Millie." He flashed me a teasing smile.

He was doing it on purpose. He knew the truth. He knew he was the one who caused our friction the day we met. But he was pretending.

What a lying little-

"So, Millie, what do you do?" Omar's wife jumped in to save Costa from my wrath, her amused gaze looking between Costa and I.

He got lucky.

"I run my own publishing company in New York." I smiled, going along with her change in topic.

"Oh, wow." Her eyes widened in surprise, glancing over at Costa for a fraction of a second. "How does that work? Balancing work and your responsibilities, I mean."

She means my responsibilities to the world's most sexist crime organisation.

"We're still working that out. I either work remotely or from the office whenever we're in New York." I chose not to mention my future plans of spending 3 weeks of the month in New York. No one outside of our closest people needed to know about that.

"Well, it's impressive. I hope you manage to keep it going." She smiled. "It's good to see a woman in this industry have her own goals and life."

The smile I gave in return was wiped away when her son decided to speak up.

"It's definitely good for a wife to have her own hobbies. Right, Costa?" Khalid shifted his attention towards Costa, the two of them having some kind of stare down.

"Hobbies?" Millie's bitchy tone would usually make me smile, but not now.

Because I knew exactly what was coming and the only way I could stop it in time was with my gun.

But killing Omar Rashid's son right in front of him wasn't an option, unfortunately.

"I think we're done he-" The fucker cut me off to continue speaking directly to my wife.

"I mean when your husband is busy. Take the other night for instance, he spent hours with us at the bar."

"Khalid." My warning tone did nothing but have everyone spare me a short glance.

"We worked him so hard he needed to work off the tension with one of our dancers." He laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

Son of a bitch.

I saw it coming from a mile away, but the rage I felt towards him surprised me. It only got worse when I saw Millie's face fall as realisation dawned on her.

"Costa..." Omar quickly launched into a discussion about the fundraising event with me while his wife stepped aside with Millie.

They understood exactly what their son had just done so they split the group up before anything further could be said. Or before I could throttle him to death for attempting to cause problems between Millie and I.

Throughout our conversation, I could hear the two of them nattering away. But I could also sense the change in the mood.

All I could think about was getting Millie away so I could explain to her that nothing happened. I never did anything with that dancer. I came home to her instead.

It didn't even matter that Omar was now being unusually nice knowing what his son had just done. It was only to avoid an all out confrontation, that was for sure.

The only reason I didn't cause a scene was my father. If I didn't get this contract signed I'd be hearing about it.

"Ah, it looks like the dessert is coming out." Omar pointed out after another ten minutes discussing our work. "You'll have that contract signed on your desk by tomorrow."

Fucking finally.

"Thank you." I nodded, finally allowing my attention to drift fully back to my wife.

She was avoiding my gaze completely. Her walls had already gone up, hiding whatever she was feeling.

I had no idea how I was supposed to clean up the mess that son of a bitch made, but I knew it wasn't going to be done in that hall.

"You want to stay for dessert?" The two of us were finally alone when I asked her that question. She thought about it for a second and I'm sure that stubborn streak of hers was waiting to show itself. "I can get you a milkshake if you want instead? We can leave now."

"I'm okay. Let's just go." She spoke softly with a shake of her head, heading off towards the exit of the ballroom.

That was the biggest tell she wasn't happy - she'd never turn down a milkshake.

After quickly handing a cheque in to donate to the stupid charity, I followed Millie out to the lobby where we had to wait for the car.

"Millie, what he said was-"

"I don't want to talk about it." She cut me off, watching the traffic in the distance. We were on one of the main roads in Dubai, surrounded by tall skyscrapers and an endless stream of traffic under the bright streetlights.

"Let me just-"

"I don't care." She finally snapped, narrowing her eyes in my direction. "I don't care what you do. The only thing I care about is my reputation. I've asked you before to make sure I don't need to hear about it, especially in public, and yet-"

"Nothing happened." I grabbed her hand, pulling her into me before she could start ranting at me. "I didn't do anything with her."

A strange emotion flickered in her eyes before being replaced with annoyance. "I just told you, Costa. I don't c-"

"Well, I'm telling you anyway. I was waiting for my car when a dancer came over to me. I was worked up about the meeting and I let her take me into a private room. But I changed my mind and left before anything happened. Khalid saw me leaving, that's why he said it." My words lingered between us for a moment, her expression seeming to soften as the seconds passed.

She was still angry and I understood why. The way he said it in front of everyone wouldn't have been pleasant to say the least.

"Why did you change your mind?"

Because of you.

Of course I wasn't going to actually tell her that though. I'm too much of a pussy. Instead I was blessed with a perfectly timed distraction when our security cars arrived. The valet also pulled in with my Lamborghini at the same time.

"Sir." He handed me the keys before heading to open the passenger door for Millie.

She spared one last glance in my direction before begrudgingly following him to the car without the answers she was looking for.

She was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive, thankfully choosing not to bring it up again.

But it was just her stubbornness. She was cracking slowly but surely. It just took a little time and she lost the fight.

"So, about that milkshake?" Millie sent me a shy smile, sniffling into her tissue.

All I can say is the pure relief that she wasn't upset anymore surprised me. I can't remember the last time I cared about how anyone else felt. It was strange to me to feel relief, worry or anger because of someone else's emotions.

When Millie got upset I was angry.

When she was happy again I was relieved.

When I made her upset I felt guilty.

She had me wrapped around her finger and being away in Dubai alone with her was making it worse.

I was doting on her in our villa, constantly making sure she was taken care of. I should have been working but instead my focus was on her.

And the worrying part was the fact I didn't hate it as much I thought I would have. I had this strange sense of satisfaction when she smiled or seemed content.

As the days passed by she started to feel much better. That also meant we did a lot more together.

We only had five days left in Dubai before had to fly to Riyadh, and Millie was determined to make the most of them. She wanted to get out and see the entire city. She dragged me around to different sights and all the best places to eat and drink.

Even when I was adamant I had work to do she'd give me an hour in the morning at the villa before she started hounding me.

She also decided to get drunk on our last night which didn't go down well.

"Millie." She's going to be the death of me.

"Hm?" She giggled, wrapping her arms around my waist.

We were currently at some random beach club she'd read about on Instagram and forced me to attend. It was full of morons, but apparently Millie wanted to see what the classless people were like on vacation.

"You know we have a flight in ten hours, right?"

"Sì." She laughed, hanging off me like a fucking koala bear. At that same moment a guy in a weird floral shirt shoved past us to get to the bar.

"Watch it, idiota." My irritation spiked just looking at his ugly ass shirt. Why does the beach encourage men to wear flowery shirts?

"Yeah, idiota." Millie supported me, glaring ferociously at the man in the ugly shirt.

"Chill, bro." He shook his head, scurrying off the bar before I could take my gun out to shoot him in the kneecap.

I hate people calling me bro.

"Come on." I sighed, attempting to unclasp her arms from around my waist. She tightened them instead.

"No."

"Millie." I warned.

"Costa." She replied in that annoying tone, a stupid little grin on her face.

"What will it take to get you to leave this cess pit?"

"Anything?" Her grin widened, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Sì, anything."

She didn't even skip a fucking beat.

"I want new shoes."

Fucking shoes.

"Fine. I'll buy you some new shoes when we get to Riyadh."

"No. Now."

This bitch was actually being serious. "It's almost 11pm. The stores will be closing soon."

"You said anything." She shrugged, tightening her hold on me. Her Greek accent thickened thanks to her inebriated state. "I can either go to the b-bar or we can go to Jimmy's Shoes."

"And what if Jimmy's Shoes is closed?" I drawled sarcastically. My question had the Greek brunette giggling carelessly in my arms.

"You can pay to open it. You're a filthy criminal." Her laugh was cut off and she pouted her lips, now with a soft frown. "No, you're filthy rich. That's what I meant. You take a lot of showers so you're not filthy. But you are a criminal too, just don't tell anyone." She whispered the last part, looking around cautiously before she giggled.

"You're being ridiculous. Come on. It's getting late." And I was afraid we'd catch something from the imbeciles partying around us.

"No. It's the bar or the Choo's. Your choice." I half expected her to stomp her foot like a child when she said that.

"Fuck. Fine. You want new fucking shoes? I'll get you your fucking shoes. Now, come on." With that I wrapped my arm around her waist, hoisting her up over my shoulder.

She was having the time of her fucking life, giggling as I trudged through the crowd, heading to the exit.

Our chauffeur driven car was waiting outside at the entrance along with my security convoy. The driver gave me a curious look but didn't dare question me when I returned with my wife over my shoulder.

I made a couple of calls in the car while she sat muttering random things to herself. I think she was talking about shoes, but I couldn't be sure. By the time we reached the mall, the rest of the stores were closing.

It was only Jimmy Choo that was still open - thanks to Millie.

Then she took her fucking time picking out a new pair of heels. Despite the fact the store manager so obviously wanted to leave, he waited patiently for my wife to decide.

Not like he had much choice with me sitting there.

"Costa?"

"What?" I muttered, busy typing a text to Luca - my Enforcer.

"White or red?" I didn't look up straight away so she decided to shove the shoes in front of me, blocking my view of my phone.

"White or red?" She asked again, this time more impatiently.

"Do I look like I give a shit?" I snapped, narrowing my eyes at my still tipsy wife.

"Yes?" She grinned, but it quickly faltered. "No? I don't know."

"Millie. Just choose the shoes already." I was ready to kill someone. If she wasn't careful it would be her. Then I'd make sure to throw the fucking shoes in her coffin with her.

"Help me. I like both of them. The white ones are so pretty and they have the cute buckle on. But the red are sexy boss bitch shoes. Plus, they'll go so well with black." She was mesmerised by the shoes, holding them up like they were the most precious things ever.

How the hell do I even respond to that? "I don't know, Millie. I don't care which pair you get."

"Just pick one." She snapped like a ferocious bunny.

"Fuck. White? I don't know."

"But I like the red." She frowned, looking at the red Jimmy Choo stiletto longingly.

"Then get the fucking red."

"But the white is-"

"Fuck this. We'll take both." I turned to the store manager who also look relieved by my decision. He quickly took the shoes from Millie, rushing off to get the fresh pairs from the back and then package them up.

In the end, I got her both pairs because she was pissing me off but she was smirking victoriously like she'd won that little game.

She knew what she was doing the entire fucking time.

She makes me want to kill myself.

I got her back to the villa in one piece and she was quick to jump face first on the bed with no care about her outfit or her make up.

She just slipped off her heels and went straight to sleep. And I was the idiota left to pack all our shit up in the villa because this bitch wouldn't be doing it with her hangover in the morning.

I'm the heir to the most powerful crime organisation in the world and I spent half an hour packing her shit up.

It's all fucked up.

By the time I went to sleep I was exhausted. And we absolutely missed our slot on the runway the next morning. All because of Millie and her drunken antics.

"Stop giving me that look."

"It's all your fucking fault." I snapped at my wife who sat across from me on the jet. She was smart this time not to sit next to me. Unfortunately, she was now at the mercy of my furious glares for the two hour flight.

We were currently on the tarmac waiting an extra half an hour for a free slot to use the runway. Apparently even the private airport here was busy as fuck.

I hate this fucking city. First the hotel and now this.

"We're not even that late." She huffed.

We were already an hour late and we still had another 30 minutes to wait for the runway. So yes, we were that fucking late.

"I have a meeting soon, Millie. There was a schedule which has gone out the window now because you couldn't stop drinking."

"I was having fun. I'm sorry you've never tried it." She snapped back, narrowing her eyes at me. She was hungover and way more bitchy than normal.

"Fun." I scoffed. "Fun? You were wasted. I don't even care you were drinking so much to have fun. It's the fact you become so difficult to handle when you're drunk."

"I'm not difficult. I-" Her next stupid sentence was cut off by my phone ringing. Rocco's name flashed across the screen causing my anger to spike.

"You haven't even taken off yet?" He immediately snapped when I answered the call.

"There was an...issue." I ground out, my eyes snapping towards my hungover wife. "I'll be late but you and Tristano can start the meeting."

"Costa-"

"Just do it. I'll be there for the rest of them." We had three days of meetings planned in Riyadh. Unfortunately, I'd have to miss the first one because of Millie.

"Whatever. Get your fucking prioritise straight, Costa. This is going to backfire on all of us, not just you." I knew he was referring to my father and his punishments. My father doesn't waste a single chance to teach us a lesson if we don't meet his standards in business.

I'd already missed meetings in Dubai and now I was missing the most important meeting in Riyadh.

Rocco hung up before I could say another word which just let me simmering away for the entire flight. Millie got the hint not to say another word which was better for both of us.

I didn't want to snap at her - not with the way my feelings were changing towards her recently. But with the mood I was in, I'd bite the head off anyone who even breathed too close to me.

So we flew to Riyadh in silence and as soon as we landed, Millie got in a car to the hotel and I went straight to the meeting I'd completely missed.

Drunk Millie will always be iconic 🥹

What did you guys think of this chapter?