My Driver Pretended to Be the Don,and His Girlfriend Humiliated Me

Every time my wheelman drove me through the district, he brought his girl along for the ride.

Since her stop was on the way, I never said a word about it.

Until one morning I opened the door of the armored car and found a note pressed to the leather of my seat in the back:

Freeloaders not allowed in this car.

I peeled the note off and turned to the driver. "What is this?"

His girlfriend sat up front, twisting to glare at me with open contempt. "Can't you read? Every single day you mooch a ride off my man. Have you no shame? If you can't afford a cab, stay home. God, I can't stand leeches like you."

I stared at her, completely baffled. The driver hurried around to my side and dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Ms. Falcone, my girl doesn't know I'm just the driver. She's the jealous type. The note is just... her way of showing she cares about me."

He paused, wiped his palms once against his trouser legs, then added, "Also, she's not comfortable sharing a car with you. Let me drop her off first, and I'll come back for you."

Before I could answer, he slid behind the wheel of my car and pulled off into traffic.

I stood at the curb, watching the taillights vanish between the row of shopfronts the Family owned on that street. Then I calmly took out my phone and dialed the precinct.

"Hello. A man and a woman just took my car without permission. I'd like to report a theft."

Never once in my life had I imagined that the Donna of the Falcone Family would be looked in the eye and called a freeloader.

And that the car they drove off in was mine.

Twenty minutes after the call, a squad car eased to the curb in front of me.

Two officers had barely stepped out when Marco Rizzo came tearing around the corner in my black armored sedan. He stamped the brakes, lurching to a stop a few feet short of me, and threw the door open. His face was chalk-white.

"Ms. Falcone, what happened? Why did you call the cops?"

I looked at him. Said nothing.

One of the officers sized him up. "You the individual Ms. Falcone says took her vehicle without authorization?"

The last of the color drained from Marco's face. "No, no, officers, this is all a misunderstanding." His hands went up, palms out. "I'm Ms. Falcone's driver. I drive her every day. I just dropped someone off on the way. Took a few extra minutes, that's all. Nobody stole anything."

He gestured wildly at the sedan behind him, forcing a grin, palms scrubbing at his thighs again. "See? I brought the car right back. First thing."

The officers looked at me, then back at him. "Ms. Falcone, you want to press charges?"

I was about to answer when Marco leaned in close, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

"Ms. Falcone, please. For my father's sake. He drove for you all those years. Just let this one go."

He swallowed hard. "You know my pop's health isn't good. I finally found a girl, and it's the one thing he wanted for me. What I did back there was just to keep the peace between her and me. I had no choice."

The mention of his father softened something in me.

Salvatore Rizzo had been my driver for six years. Honest, dependable, steady behind the wheel, and never once a source of trouble. In all those years he'd never been late, never picked up a single mark against him. Every holiday, when I handed him his envelope, he'd try to wave it off for a solid five minutes before finally taking it, cap in one hand.

Three months ago, Salvatore's lungs gave out on him. The doctors said long rest, no more work. He had no choice but to step down.

On his last day, he stood in my study, cap pressed to his chest with both rough hands, clearly wanting to say something and unable to get the words out. Finally, face flushed with shame, he told me his son Marco had just lost his work. If the Family had a place for him, could I find it in me to give the boy a chance.

Salvatore had been an honest man his whole life. He had never once asked anyone for a favor. That was the first time.

Out of respect for him, I said yes.

For the first two months, Marco did fine.

He was never the kind of wheelman who let you sleep easy, but he did what the Family asked of him. Pickups and drop-offs ran on schedule, and the armored car always gleamed like it had come straight off the lot.

But starting last month, things changed.

The day it began, Marco came to collect me, and there was suddenly a woman caked in heavy makeup sitting in the passenger seat.

I stared, confused. Marco hurried out to open my door and explained in a low voice:

"Donna Falcone, this is my girlfriend, Bianca Volpe. Her work is on the way to the office, so I figured I'd give her a ride."

I nodded and said nothing.

Carrying someone along the way wasn't a big deal.

But gradually, something started to feel off.

What was supposed to be "on the way" turned into a fixed, daily routine that never varied.

Every morning, Marco picked up Bianca first, then came for me.

At the start, Bianca just liked snapping photos in the passenger seat and posting videos, showing off to people that she was riding in a family car built like a vault.

I could understand that. She was young. A little vanity was normal.

What I couldn't understand was the look she gave me every single time. It was pure disgust, as though I owed her a million dollars.

A few times, after I got into the car, she sprayed perfume in my direction and complained loudly:

"God, this is so annoying. How does a car this expensive always reek of something cheap?"

I thought she'd actually smelled something off, so I specifically told Marco to take the car in for a thorough deep clean and disinfection.

But she only got worse. Sometimes, after I stepped out, she'd spray disinfectant on the seat where I'd been sitting.

Other times, she'd lay a disposable seat cover over my spot before I even got in.

When I confronted Marco about it, he always offered the same sheepish excuse in private:

"Donna Falcone, Bianca's just worried the car isn't clean enough and might stain your clothes. She's particular about hygiene, that's all."

I didn't think much of it.

After all, I had too much on my plate every day. With shipments and tribute worth hundreds of millions passing through my hands, I simply didn't have the energy to squabble with some young girl over petty nonsense.

Until this morning.

When I saw the note stuck to my usual seat, it all clicked.

Bianca thought I was a freeloader living off the Family.

I'd been planning to teach both Marco and Bianca a lesson.

But now Marco was on his knees in front of me, begging relentlessly, his palms dragging down the legs of his trousers:

"Donna Falcone, I swear, it'll never happen again."

"I'll set Bianca straight today. I'll never give her rides again."

"Please, my father's lungs are failing him. For Salvatore's sake, forgive me this once."

The thought of Salvatore made me sigh. My hand rose to the jade pendant at my throat and held it. "Forget it."

"I'm dropping it."

After the officer we kept on the payroll left, Marco let out a long, heavy breath of relief, thanking me over and over, his manner suddenly flawless.

I said nothing more. I got in the car and told him to take me to the office.

For a while after that, Marco actually behaved.

Every time he came to pick me up, the passenger seat was empty. No sign of Bianca.

The car had been cleaned, too. Every trace of that note had been scrubbed away.

His driving was still smooth. No issues there.

The only problem was that he kept showing up late.

And every time, he had an excuse:

"Sorry, Donna Falcone. There was an accident on the road. Traffic was backed up for a while."

"I'm really sorry, Donna Falcone. My alarm didn't go off. I overslept."

"Donna Falcone, a pipe burst in my apartment. I was dealing with the neighbors downstairs about the water damage, so I ran a little behind."

The excuses always sounded flimsy, but since his manner was decent enough, I let it slide.

I thought that was the end of it.

Then one weekend, on a whim, I decided to spend a couple of days at the estate on the outskirts of the city, a quiet retreat away from the eyes of the Family.

I made the call to Marco. "Where are you right now? I need to go somewhere. Come pick me up."

He hemmed and hawed for a long time before finally answering, his voice careful and measured:

"Signorina Falcone, I woke up this morning and found the car had a flat tire. I'm at the shop right now getting it seen to. The man says it won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Where are you headed? I can send another car for you, if you'd like?"

I frowned, not wanting the hassle.

"Forget it. I'll arrange my own ride."

After hanging up, I had a low-level associate bring a plain car around and drove out to the estate myself.

But when I arrived at the front gate, I froze.

My armored family car was parked right outside the compound. Completely intact.

I stared at it for several seconds. Once I confirmed it was definitely my car, I quickened my pace toward the front door.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open, and the sight inside knocked the air out of me.

The great room was destroyed.

The low table and the floor were littered with empty bottles, fruit peels, sunflower seed shells, and cigarette butts. The leather sofa and the imported carpet, each worth more than most men earn in a decade, were tracked with dirty footprints. In several spots, cigarette burns had eaten black holes straight through the fabric.

My fists clenched at my sides.

I had taken this estate for myself, a place no soldier and no capo set foot in without my word. Every detail of it, every piece of furniture, had been chosen with care. I kept it like sacred ground. And now these people had turned it into a dump.

My gaze swept the room and landed on the couch directly facing the door.

Bianca was sitting there, a crowd gathered around her like courtiers.

"Bianca, you're so lucky to have landed a man with that kind of power."

"Right? Not just rich, but so good to you. You said you wanted roasted chestnuts and he ran out to buy them like a puppy."

"When you're living high off a big man like that, don't forget about us little people, okay?"

Bianca's lips curled into a smug grin. She was about to answer when she glanced up and spotted me standing in the doorway.

Her smile vanished. She stood, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode toward me, chin raised.

Crack.

Without a word, she slapped me hard across the face.

"You shameless tramp. You followed my man all the way out here?"

The blow came out of nowhere. I stood rooted to the spot, my cheek burning.

Everyone in the room stared, wide-eyed. In that room full of people, not a single glass moved.

"Bianca, what's going on?"

Bianca jabbed a finger at me, her face twisted with disgust.

"This is the freeloader I was just telling you all about."

"Mooching rides off my man wasn't enough. Now she's shown up to mooch off his house."

I looked at her in disbelief.

"Who told you this is Marco's house?"

Bianca let out a sharp, mocking laugh, and it ran a beat too long.

"He did. Told me himself."

"You pathetic little gold-digger. You found out my man runs the whole outfit, so now you're pulling every trick in the book to get close to him."

"Bumming rides every day, cooking up excuses to be alone with him, that wasn't enough? Now you've come crawling out to his estate to throw yourself at him?"

"Let me make one thing crystal clear. Marco told me he only drives you back and forth because you work under him. He's being generous. Don't mistake his kindness for an invitation."

So that was the story Marco had fed her.

No wonder Bianca had always treated me like dirt.

In her mind, Marco was the one who owned the armored car and the estate. He was the Boss, the man who gave the orders.

And I was just some associate who took them.

So all this time, Bianca had believed I was the one begging rides in Marco's armored family car, shamelessly throwing myself at her man.

What a joke.

Bianca turned to the friends draped across my ruined furniture and announced at the top of her lungs:

"You want to know how shameless this tramp really is?"

"She plants herself in my boyfriend's car every single day. You literally can't shake her loose!"

"I even left a note telling her to keep her hands off him, and she threw a fit and threatened to bring the Feds down on him, screaming he was harassing one of his own associates."

"So my boyfriend had to start dropping me at the club first, then double back just to play wheelman for her, all to keep the Family's name clean."

"I have never in my life seen a more shameless piece of trash!"

My eyes went wide.

So that was why Marco had been late collecting me every day.

He'd been slipping off to drive Bianca around first, then circling back for me.

Well played, Marco. Well played.

You want to treat me like a fool? Then don't blame me for what comes next.

I pulled out my phone on the spot and dialed the Consigliere.

"Send men to my estate at Peach Blossom. Now."

Before I could finish, Bianca snatched the phone from my hand and hurled it against the floor.

"God, you are unbelievable! How can one person be this full of it?"

"Your estate? This is my boyfriend's house!"

Her friends piled on, sneering and spitting venom from the couches like they owned them:

"Classic gold-digger. Hasn't even landed the rich guy yet and she's already claiming his property."

"Some women are just born desperate. The second they smell money, they're on their knees begging like dogs. Disgusting."

"Bianca, you're way too soft. If I ran into trash like her, I'd rip her lying mouth right off her face!"

Their words pumped Bianca full of confidence. She grabbed my collar and yanked me close.

"Hear that? Everyone here agrees. You're nothing but trash."

Then her gaze dropped to my neck, and her eyes lit up.

"That jade doesn't look cheap. Let me guess. You spread your legs for some sugar daddy to buy it?"

She grabbed the chain and ripped it off my neck.

The motion was so fast, so violent, I didn't even have time to react before the relic was in her hand.

The blood drained from my face. "Give it back!"

My sudden panic only made her smile sharpen. She dangled the pendant just out of reach, and for a breath the whole room seemed to hold still. "This nervous? Must be worth a fortune."

"It's worthless," I blurted, lunging for it. "But it means everything to me. Give it back. Now."

I grabbed for it, desperate. My hand found the empty place at my throat where it had always rested.

That jade pendant was a protective charm my mother had given her life to obtain.

I'd been sickly since birth. When I was four, I was carried into a hospital half gone, unconscious and fading. The doctors told my parents to start making arrangements.

My mother refused to accept it. She went to the shrine to pray for me.

To prove the sincerity of her devotion, she set out in the scorching heat of a hundred-degree summer and prostrated herself the entire way, one bow for every step, from the base of the mountain to its peak.

By the time she reached the top, her knees were torn to raw flesh, white bone visible beneath the blood. Her forehead was split open, her consciousness flickering. Only then was she granted the jade pendant.

Perhaps heaven itself was moved by what she'd done.

Against all odds, I woke up.

But my mother never recovered.

On her deathbed, she pressed the necklace into my palm and made me swear to keep it safe.

I had treasured it beyond measure ever since, carrying it with me every single day of my life.

It was the thing my mother traded her life for. It was sacred. Untouchable. An insult to it was an insult to the whole bloodline.

I would never let anyone destroy it.

"The more you want it back," Bianca said, a cruel grin spreading across her face, "the more I want to smash it to pieces."

Before I could reach it, Bianca hurled the relic at the ground with all her strength.

A sharp crack split the air. The sacred pendant shattered into pieces, fragments of jade scattering across the marble like teeth knocked loose.

"No!"

My mother's relic. The one she'd bought with her own blood, dragging herself up that mountain on her knees. Gone. Just like that.

The pain in my chest was so sharp I couldn't breathe.

"You're an animal!"

Something inside me snapped. I swung my hand and slapped Bianca across the face as hard as I could.

"You bitch!" Bianca shrieked, clutching her cheek. "Beat this slut within an inch of her life!"

Her voice pitched higher, eyes wild with fury. "Whoever does the best job gets a million dollars!"

The words hit like a starting pistol. Bianca's hangers-on lit up at the sound of that kind of tribute, and they descended on me in a frenzy of fists and kicks.

"You actually laid a hand on Bianca? She's about to be the wife of the Don who runs this whole territory. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Seriously, it was just an old trinket. You probably earned it on your back anyway. Go service a few more men and buy another one. What's the big deal?"

"Shameless whore. You seduce another woman's man and then have the nerve to hit her? You must have a death wish."

They beat me to the ground. My whole body shook with rage. I gritted my teeth and forced out the words:

"You're going to regret this."

The room erupted in laughter, every one of them throwing their heads back like I'd told the funniest joke they'd ever heard.

"Oh, that's rich! Bianca's man runs the Falcone name in this district. What are you? Nobody. You think you can make us regret anything?"

"You're nothing but some bottom-feeder who threw herself at a boss. You already sell your body for cash, and now you're threatening us?"

"A whore should know her place. You take your beating and stand there and take it."

They pinned me to the marble, mocking and humiliating me without a shred of restraint.

Surrounded by her cheering entourage, Bianca grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head up. She tossed it back with a laugh that ran a beat too long, her face twisted with vicious triumph.

"Regret? I've never regretted a single thing in my entire life." She leaned closer. "Go ahead. Show me what a worthless piece of trash like you can do to make me regret."

My fingers had already found the empty place at my throat where the pendant should have been. There was nothing left there to hold me back.

The words had barely left her mouth when the roar of engines filled the air. One armored family car after another came tearing up the drive, pulling to a stop in front of the estate, and the laughter in the room died all at once.