Since When Do You Date?” MAFIA BOSS Froze With Jealousy When Fat Assistant Showed Up With a Stranger
The crystal tumbler in Dominic's hand shattered. 30-year-old Macallen Bourbon dripping over his scarred knuckles. Across the crowded Plaza Hotel ballroom, his loyal, invisible, plus-sized assistant had just walked in. But she wasn't holding his encrypted phone. She was holding the arm of a striking stranger and smiling in a way Dominic had never allowed.
Dominic Costello did not share. He was the undisputed head of the Costello Syndicate, a multi-billion dollar empire built on underground casinos, high-end extortion, and a legitimate shipping front that controlled half the ports on the eastern seabboard. From his penthouse office overlooking Central Park on Fifth Avenue, Dominic ruled his world with cold, calculating precision.
He was a man composed of sharp edges, bespoke Tom Ford suits, and a terrifyingly calm demeanor. Women to him were currency, tall, willowy, size, zero socialites, and runway models who decorated his arm at charity gallas, and asked zero questions about why his private jet to Geneva carried untraceable bearer bonds. Then there was Khloe Bennett.
Khloe was Dominic's executive assistant. his confidant, his fixer, and the only person on earth who knew the exact combination to the biometric safe hidden behind the Basat painting in his office. She was also a woman who stood in stark contrast to the superficial world Dominic inhabited. Khloe was fat. She was a lush, soft size 18 woman with generous curves, a quick wit, and a brilliant mind that could launder $5 million through dummy corporations in the Cayman Islands.
Before her morning latte went cold. For 7 years, Khloe had been the invisible anchor, holding Dominic's chaotic life together. She managed his ruthless schedule, navigated his violent temper, and organized his life with military precision. She wore muted, oversized black blazers and sensible flats, deliberately blending into the background of his flashy, dangerous world.
To the capos and under bosses of the Costello family, Khloe was untouchable. Not because they respected her, but because Dominic would violently dismantle anyone who dared to disrespect his most valuable asset. Yet, for all his unspoken protectiveness, Dominic took her entirely for granted. He looked right through her.
In his mind, Khloe was a constant asexual entity, a brilliant machine that existed solely to serve him. He never noticed the way her chestnut hair caught the light, or how her deep brown eyes softened when she looked at him. He never knew that for 7 years Khloe harbored a quiet, agonizing love for her boss.
The breaking point arrived on a rainy Tuesday evening at Leernardin, a three Michelin star restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. Dominic was hosting a tense sitdown with Victor Romano, the volatile heir to the Romano crime family. Khloe had spent weeks preparing the dossier, ensuring Dominic had the leverage he needed to force Victor into conceding a lucrative union contract.
She stood discreetly in the corner of the private dining room, clutching her iPad to her chest, her sensible black dress blending into the shadows. Your operation is airtight, Costello. I'll give you that. Victor sneered, swirling his wine. His predatory gaze drifted to Khloe. And you trust your little secretary here with all these numbers? She looks like she eats the profits.
A few of Victor's men snickered. Khloe's face burned, her grip on the iPad tightening until her knuckles turned white. She waited for Dominic to say something, anything. To defend her, to shut Victor down with that terrifying icy glare he reserved for his enemies. Instead, Dominic didn't even look her way.
He kept his eyes locked on Victor, his voice entirely detached. She's just the help, Victor. Focus on the contract. She only processes what I tell her to process. Just the help. The words struck Khloe with the force of a physical blow. Seven years of unwavering loyalty, of cleaning up his messes, of prioritizing his life over her own, reduced to three dismissive words.
In that sterile, opulent room, something inside Khloe finally snapped. She wasn't angry. She was exhausted. The illusion was gone. Dominic would never see her as a woman. He would never see her as an equal. The next morning, Khloe walked into a high-end boutique in Soho during her lunch break. She stopped hiding. She traded her oversized, shapeless blazers for a wardrobe that hugged her lush figure.
But more importantly, she decided it was time to get a life outside the Costello syndicate. Enter Sebastian Hayes. Khloe met Sebastian entirely by accident two days later at Blue Bottle Coffee near Rockefeller Plaza. She had dropped her leather binder, scattering classified shipping manifests across the floor. Sebastian, a strikingly handsome man with sharp jaw lines, tailored navy slacks, and an air of relaxed confidence, had knelt to help her.
When his hand brushed hers, he hadn't looked at her with the pity or invisibility she was used to from Manhattan's elite. He looked at her with genuine, unbridled interest. "You look like you're carrying the weight of Wall Street in this binder." Sebastian had joked, handing it back, his eyes, a piercing shade of hazel, swept over her soft curves with blatant appreciation.
For the first time in years, Khloe flirted back. Sebastian was charming, intelligent, and entirely outside the mafia ecosystem. He told her he was a corporate consultant who had just moved to the city from London. By the time their coffees were ready, he had asked her to accompany him to the annual Saint, Jude's masquerade gala at the Plaza Hotel, the very same gala Dominic was attending to secure political favors.
I'd love to, Kloe had said, surprising herself. For the rest of the week, Khloe was a ghost in Dominic's office. She did her job flawlessly, but the warmth was gone. She stopped bringing him his favorite espresso without being asked. She stopped lingering in his doorway. To banter about his terrible taste in neckties, Dominic felt the shift.
A cold, nagging irritation settled in his chest, a sensation he couldn't identify and vehemently hated. He was the boss. He dictated the temperature of every room he walked into. But suddenly, his own assistant was freezing him out, and it made him deeply, dangerously restless. The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of glittering chandeliers, gold leaf architecture, and Manhattan's most dangerous predators wearing thousand tuxedos.
Dominic Costello stood near the opulent champagne tower, looking utterly bored. Clinging to his arm was Valentina, a Russian runway model, whose waist was narrower than his thigh. She was currently prattling on about a yacht trip to Myonos, completely oblivious to the fact that Dominic wasn't listening to a single word she said.
Dominic's sharp eyes were scanning the room, his jaw clenched tightly. He was irritated. Khloe was supposed to be here an hour ago to hand off a decrypted flash drive containing the offshore accounts of a corrupt state senator, but she was late. Khloe Bennett was never late. He pulled out his phone, ready to dial her number and demand her immediate presence.
When the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open, the murmurss started first, a low ripple of whispers that swept through the high society crowd like wildfire. Dominic looked up, annoyed by the distraction, and felt his breath violently catch in his throat. Standing at the top of the grand staircase was Khloe. But it wasn't the Khloe he knew.
She wasn't wearing a shapeless black blazer or sensible flats. She was poured into a custom-made emerald green silk gown that clung to every lush curve of her body. The fabric draped magnificently over her wide hips and cinched tightly at her waist, highlighting an hourglass figure Dominic had never allowed himself to realize existed.
The deep V-neckline left a generous amount of creamy skin exposed, and a delicate diamond choker rested against her collarbone. Her chestnut hair, usually pulled back in a severe bun, cascaded down her shoulders in thick, glamorous waves. She looked like a Renaissance painting brought to vivid, breathtaking life. She looked beautiful.
She looked untouchable, and she wasn't alone. Resting her hand confidently on the crook of a man's arm, Khloe descended the stairs. The man was tall, impeccably dressed in a midnight blue velvet tuxedo, and possessed an easy, commanding smile. He leaned in, whispering something into Khloe's ear that made her throw her head back and laugh.
A bright, genuine sound Dominic realized he hadn't heard in years. The crystal tumbler in Dominic's hand shattered. Bourbon and blood dripped over his knuckles, soaking into the pristine white cuff of his shirt. Valentina gasped, stepping back in horror, but Dominic didn't even notice her. The world around him had narrowed down to a tunnel, the end of which was focused entirely on the man whose hand was resting possessively on Khloe's waist.
A primal, suffocating wave of jealousy slammed into Dominic's chest. It was a violent, ugly emotion that completely bypassed his legendary self-control. His anchor, his loyal assistant, his Chloe, was standing in a room full of sharks, glowing under the attention of another man. Dominic didn't think. He moved. He crossed the ballroom with predatory strides, his capos immediately sensing the shift in the atmosphere and falling into step behind him.
The crowd naturally parted for the Costello boss, sensing the lethal tension radiating from his large frame. Khloe was by the bar, accepting a glass of champagne from Sebastian when the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. She turned, her breath hitching as she found Dominic standing inches away. His dark eyes were burning with a dark, chaotic fire, tracing the deep neckline of her dress before snapping up to her face. "Mr.
Costello," Khloe said, her voice admirably steady despite the sudden racing of her heart. She reached into her silver clutch. "I have the drive you asked for. Keep it," Dominic interrupted, his voice a low, grally rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. He didn't look at the flash drive. He looked at Sebastian. The man had positioned himself slightly in front of Khloe.
A subtle protective gesture that made Dominic want to rip his throat out right there on the marble floor. Dominic Costello, Sebastian said smoothly, extending a hand. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Sebastian Hayes. Dominic didn't take the hand. He stared at it as if it were a venomous snake, then shifted his lethal gaze back to his assistant.
Since when do you date? Dominic demanded completely ignoring basic etiquette. His voice was thick with accusation as if she had committed high treason. Khloe's spine stiffened. The memory of his dismissive words at Leernadan flashed in her mind, hardening her resolve. I have a personal life outside the office, Mr.
Costello. Or did you assume I power down in a charging station under my desk when the clock strikes 6? A muscle feathered in Dominic's jaw. You don't have a personal life that I don't know about. You're my executive assistant. You hold state secrets in your head. You don't just pick up random men at coffee shops.
He's not a random man. Khloe shot back, her brown eyes flashing with defiance. And who I spend my evening with is none of your concern. Now, if you'll excuse us. Sebastian was just getting me a drink. Dominic took a step closer, crowding her space, his imposing frame forcing Sebastian to shift his stance. Dominic leaned down, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper meant only for her.
He doesn't know you, Chloe. He doesn't know what you do for me. The blood on your hands, the ledgers you clean. You think a guy in a velvet suit can handle the reality of your life? Before Khloe could answer, Sebastian smoothly intervened, stepping directly between them. The easy smile was gone from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating mask that sent warning bells ringing in Dominic's head.
I think the lady asked for some space. Costello," Sebastian said, his voice stripped of its prior warmth. Dominic let out a dark, humilous chuckle. "You have no idea who you're talking to, Hayes. Walk away from her now. I know exactly who I'm talking to," Sebastian replied smoothly, leaning in just a fraction. And I think Victor Romano would be highly entertained to see the great Dominic Costello throwing a public tantrum over his secretary.
Dominic froze. The air in his lungs vanished. Hayes, Sebastian Hayes. The pieces violently clicked together in Dominic's brain. This wasn't some random corporate consultant from London. Sebastian Hayes was the ruthless, ghostlike legal counsel and fixer for the Romano family. He was Victor Romano's right-hand man, the one who orchestrated the disappearance of federal witnesses, and he had his hands all over the woman who held the keys to Dominic's entire empire.
Dominic looked at Khloe, who appeared utterly confused by the exchange, clearly unaware of Sebastian's true identity. Panic and a terrifying possessiveness collided inside Dominic. He grabbed Khloe's wrist, his grip ironclad, but careful not to bruise. "We are leaving," Dominic ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "Now the heavy brass doors of the Plaza Hotel shut behind them with a resounding thud, cutting off the orchestral music and the murmurss of Manhattan's elite.
Outside, a sudden torrential downpour was washing the neon lit streets of Fifth Avenue, matching the dark, chaotic storm raging in Dominic's chest. He did not release Khloe's wrist until they reached the curb where his armored marred midnight black Maybach was already waiting, the engine purring like a caged beast.
His loyal driver, Arthur, immediately opened the rear door, his eyes wide at the sight of his boss, practically dragging the impeccably dressed assistant through the rain. "Get in," Dominic barked, his voice leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Don't you dare command me like one of your foot soldiers." Khloe fired back, planting her silver stilettos firmly onto the wet pavement.
Raindrops began to kiss her bare shoulders, ruining the perfect waves of her chestnut hair, but she didn't care. Her chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and fury. You humiliated me in there. You treated me like property. Dominic stepped into her space, his towering frame shielding her from the brunt of the storm.
The street lights caught the jagged edge of his jaw and the terrifying intensity in his dark eyes. You have absolutely no idea what you just walked into, Chloe. Get in the car before I throw you over my shoulder and put you in there myself. Realizing he was genuinely operating on the edge of violence, Khloe snatched her wrist away, hiked up the heavy emerald silk of her gown, and slid into the opulent leather interior of the Maybach.
Dominic slid in immediately beside her, slamming the door shut with enough force to shake the heavy vehicle. Drive the penthouse now. Dominic ordered through the privacy partition. The car surged forward, tires slicing through the rainsicked asphalt. For three blocks, the only sound was the rhythmic thumping of the windshield whippers and the heavy, ragged breathing of the two passengers.
Chloe pressed herself against the passenger door, wrapping her arms around her generous curves in a defensive posture. She felt entirely out of her element. The thrill of dressing up, of finally feeling beautiful and desired, had been completely hijacked by the tyrannical man sitting inches away from her. "Are you going to explain why you just initiated a potential gang war in the middle of a charity gala?" Khloe demanded, her voice trembling but surprisingly cold.
Or should I just draft an apology letter to the board of directors first thing tomorrow morning? Dominic unbuttoned his ruined suit jacket, his knuckles still smeared with dried blood from the shattered glass. He turned to look at her, the dim ambient lighting of the car, casting harsh shadows across his face. That man, Dominic, growled, pointing a bloodstained finger toward the window.
Is Sebastian Hayes. He isn't a corporate consultant from London. He is Victor Romano's chief legal counsel and lead fixer. He makes witnesses disappear, Chloe. He buries bodies in legal paperwork and concrete. Khloe's heart stopped. The breath vanished from her lungs, leaving a cold, hollow void. Sebastian Hayes, the charming, handsome man who had picked up her shipping manifests at the coffee shop.
The manifests. Oh my god, Kloe whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. The coffee shop. It wasn't an accident. He bumped into me. He saw the files. He was targeting me. Of course, he was targeting you. Dominic roared, hitting the partition with the flat of his hand. You are the vault, Chloe. You know every shell corporation, every offshore account, every bribe we've paid to the port authorities for the last 7 years.
You are the singing's most valuable piece on my board, and you let a Romano operative buy you a martini. I didn't know, Khloe yelled back, tears of frustration prickling the corners of her eyes. Because to me, he was just a man who actually looked at me. For seven years, Dominic, I have been a piece of furniture in your life.
I sit in the corner. I clean up your messes. I make sure you don't go to federal prison. And how do you repay me? You sit in a room with Victor Romano and tell him I'm just the help. You told him I eat the prophets. You sat there and let them humiliate me. The silence that followed her outburst was deafening. The anger instantly drained from Dominic's face, replaced by a stunned, hollow expression.
He stared at her, truly looking at her, perhaps for the very first time. Hea saw the tears glistening on her eyelasses, the flush of genuine heartbreak on her cheeks, and the incredible lush womanly figure that was trembling beneath the expensive silk. Chloe. Dominic started, his voice suddenly stripped of its commanding timber.
Don't, she interrupted, turning her face toward the window, watching the blurred city lights. Sebastian might be a monster, but for an hour tonight, he made me feel like a woman, not a calculator, not an invisible assistant, a woman. I wore this dress. I spent two hours on my hair because I wanted to remember what it felt like to be seen.
A brutal wave of self-loathing crashed over Dominic. He had been so entirely consumed by his empire, so obsessed with maintaining his ironclad rule that he had fundamentally neglected the one person who kept him anchored to the earth. He looked at her generous curves, the soft, beautiful expanse of her skin, and realized with sickening clarity that his jealousy in the ballroom hadn't been about business. It had been primal.
It was the terrifying realization that another man was touching what was his, except she wasn't his. He had never claimed her. He had only used her. Before Dominic could speak, before he could articulate the sudden violent realization of his own feelings, the Maybach violently swerved. A deafening crack echoed through the night.
The bulletproof glass on Khloe's side spiderwebed perfectly. A highcaliber sniper round, stopping mere millimeters from penetrating the cabin. "Get down!" Dominic roared. He lunged across the leather seats, his massive, heavy frame crushing Khloe down into the floorboards as a black SUV violently rammed into the side of their Maybach, sending them spinning, spinning into the intersection of Fifth Avenue and 59th Street.
The trap hadn't just been Sebastian at the gala. The trap was right now. The world spun in a chaotic blur of screeching tires, shattering glass, and the smell of burning rubber. The heavy Maybach slammed into a concrete barrier, the advanced airbags deploying with a concussive blast. For a moment, there was nothing but the ringing in Khloe's ears, and the heavy crushing weight of Dominic Costello shielding her body with his own. Chloe, Chloe, look at me.
Dominic's voice broke through the haze, urgent and rough. His hands were quickly mapping her body, checking for injuries, his dark eyes frantically scanning her face. "Are you hit? Are you bleeding?" "I'm okay," Khloe gasped, coughing through the acrid smoke filling the cabin.
She looked up and saw Arthur, the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious, but breathing. Outside, the heavy boots of Romano hitmen splashed against the wet pavement. Sebastian hadn't just wanted information. Victor Romano had orchestrated a full decapitation strike against the Costello family while Dominic was distracted. "Stay perfectly still," Dominic whispered, drawing a sleek, suppressed Glock 19 from the holster hidden beneath his ruined tuxedo jacket.
The boss of the Costello family was not just a man in a suit. He had built his empire with his bare hands. But Khloe Bennett was not just a secretary. As Dominic prepared to kick the jammed door open and face the hitman, Khloe reached into the deep neckline of her emerald gown. From her velvet clutch, which had spilled onto the floorboards, she pulled out a matte black emergency transponder.
She pressed her thumb to the biometric scanner and entered a rapid sequence of commands. "What are you doing?" Dominic demanded, his eyes widening. "I didn't just organize your calendar, Dominic," Khloe said, her voice dropping an octave, finding a spine of pure steel. "I designed your counter surveillance grid. She pressed the final button.
Instantly, the street lights above the intersection exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging the entire block into pitch black darkness. Simultaneously, a piercing highfrequency acoustic alarm designed to disorient attackers blared from the Maybach's concealed exterior speakers. The Romano hitmen outside screamed, dropping their weapons to clutch their ears. "Go!" Khloe shouted.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He kicked the door open, moving with lethal, terrifying speed. In the cover of complete darkness and deafening noise, he systematically neutralized the four armed men with ruthless precision. By the time the acoustic alarm cycled down, the street was entirely silent, save for the pouring rain and the groans of the incapacitated hitmen.
Dominic stood in the rain, his chest heaving, the suppressed piss pistol still gripped tightly in his hand. He turned around to see Chloe climbing out of the wrecked Maybach. Her beautiful green dress was torn at the hem. Her hair was a wild wet mess, and she was barefoot, having abandoned her stilettos. To Dominic, she had never looked more magnificent.
She wasn't a fragile size zero socialite who would scream and faint at the sight of blood. She was a lush, brilliant, fierce survivor. Sirens began to whail in the distance. Dominic's backup, triggered automatically by Khloe's transponder, was seconds away. Dominic holstered his weapon and walked slowly toward her, ignoring the rain, ignoring the destruction around them.
He stopped inches from her, reaching out a large bloodstained hand to gently cup her jaw. His thumb traced the soft curve of her cheek, smudging rainwater and ash. I am a fool, Dominic said, his voice roar stripped of all its usual arrogance. A blind, arrogant fool. Kloe looked up at him, her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. Dominic, no.
Let me speak, he commanded softly, stepping closer until her lush curves pressed against his solid frame. You are not the help, Chloe. You have never been the help. You are the only thing keeping me breathing. You are the only person I trust. And tonight, watching that bastard put his hands on you, it made me realize that I would gladly burn this entire city to ash before I let another man touch what is mine.
Khloe's breath hitched. Yours. Mine, Dominic affirmed, his gaze dropping to her lips. I see you, Chloe. I see your brilliant mind. I see your loyalty. And I see a woman whose body drives me to absolute madness. I was just too terrified to admit that the most powerful man in New York is entirely at the mercy of his assistant.
He didn't wait for her permission. Dominic leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss that was desperate, hungry, and completely consuming. It tasted of rain, bourbon, and seven years of repressed longing. Kloe melted into him, her soft, generous body aligning perfectly with his hard edges. She wrapped her arms around his neck, finally stepping out of the shadows and claiming the space she had always deserved.
By the time the sleek black SUVs of the Costello syndicate screeched to a halt, forming a protective perimeter around them, Dominic and Khloe were still holding each other. The next morning, the underworld of New York shifted. Victor Romano's offshore accounts were completely drained. The funds anonymously donated to scent Jude's a final brilliant yarnstroke of digital warfare executed by Khloe from the comfort of Dominic's penthouse bed.
Sebastian Hayes was found tied to a chair in a federal prosecutor's office surrounded by the exact shipping manifests he had tried to steal, ensuring he would never see the outside of a prison cell. And as for Khloe Bennett, she never wore a shapeless black blazer again. She walked into the Castello boardroom that afternoon wearing a tailored crimson dress that hugged every glorious soft curve of her body.
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She didn't sit in the corner taking notes. She sat at the head of the table directly beside Dominic Costello, not as his invisible assistant, but as his equal, his partner, and the undisputed queen of his empire. Did you love this thrilling mafia romance? The drama, the betrayal, and Dominic finally waking up to the gorgeous, brilliant woman right in front of him.
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