Chapter 3
ROMAN
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?
I drag her to my car and push her in, waiting a beat after I shut the door to make sure she doesn’t try and bolt.
When I’m sure she’s staying, I open the back door and toss her bag in and then move to the driver’s side and get in.
Seconds later, I pull away from the curb.
"What the hell were you thinking?" My voice comes out low and dangerous, the kind of tone that makes grown men piss themselves.
Isabella sits rigidly in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around herself. She doesn't answer.
"You trying to get yourself killed?" I glance at her.
She still doesn’t answer.
"Who were you meeting?"
She turns her face toward the window. "No one."
"Bullshit." I take a corner too fast, the tires squealing. "You sneak out in the middle of the night to meet 'no one'?"
My mind races through possibilities. “It better have been a secret lover and not your Fed handler.” Although I’m betting on the latter.
Was it just a meeting to exchange information or was he going to move her into witness protection?
If that’s the case, she must have information he wants, which isn’t good for her prospects with La Corona.
I notice her trembling beside me.
From fear?
It’s freezing as fuck tonight, so maybe she’s cold.
Or maybe it's rage.
Hard to tell with her.
"You cold?" I ask.
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I said I'm fine."
I reach over and crank the heat anyway. She flinches when my hand moves near her, and something inside me twists.
I've spent years making people afraid of me. It's kept me alive, kept Marco alive, kept the family strong.
But seeing this woman shrink from me feels different. I just saved her.
Also, I don’t kill women.
And well, she’s got gumption, I have to hand it to her.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say, surprising myself with the gentleness in my voice. "Not unless you make me."
She laughs, but it holds no humor. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It's supposed to be the truth."
Isabella turns to me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How did you find me? Are you following me?"
I keep my eyes on the road. "Went to your house tonight. I figured if we’re to be married, we should talk. Imagine my surprise to see you scurrying down the street and getting into a rideshare.”
Her jaw tightens but she doesn't respond.
“I just followed the car here.” I shake my head. "You realize how stupid that was?"
"I can take care of myself."
I laugh. “Yeah, I saw that. You sure showed that guy and me.” Although I might have a bruise where she landed a few hits.
“What do you care?”
“You’re about to be my wife. It’s my job to protect you.”
“Oh, yeah, right. I’m not stupid, Roman. This marriage is all about watching me, keeping me in line. Killing me if necessary.”
She’s not wrong. I’m supposed to watch her.
Find out what she knows.
Kill her if necessary.
The thought sits heavily in my chest. I've never hesitated to eliminate threats to the family. It's my job.
But the idea of putting a bullet in Isabella's head makes something in me recoil.
"This marriage…" I start, then pause, searching for words. "It's not what either of us wanted. But it's happening."
"I know you killed my mother," Isabella spits out in rage. "And now you're supposed to kill me too."
I shake my head. “I didn’t kill your mother.”
“I have proof.” Her chin lifts defiantly, though I can see fear in her eyes.
I keep my voice flat, unimpressed. "I doubt that."
Her eyes flash. "Why? Because you think you're so good at murder, you can get away with it?"
The accusation stings more than it should. I've done plenty of terrible things in my life, but this isn't one of them.
"Because I didn't do it," I say simply.
Isabella stares at me, searching my face for deception. I let her look. I have nothing to hide on this count.
"You're lying.”
"I'm not." I pull the car over to the side of the road and shift to face her fully. "Listen to me. I never touched your mother. I actually liked her. Whatever 'proof' you think you have is bullshit."
Her hands tremble in her lap. "Then why did my father agree to this? Why would he hand me over to the family responsible for killing her?"
"Because your father knows the Calabresis had nothing to do with your mother's death." I study her face, seeing genuine confusion and pain there. I understand it. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. "Someone's been feeding you lies, Isabella. The question is who and why?"
She turns away from me, looking out her window.
I shrug and pull back into the street, taking her home. I pull into the garage below her father’s home.
His guards are surprised to see Isabella with me, but they let me in.
"Come on," I say, opening my door. "I'll walk you in."
She shoots me a look. "I don't need an escort to my own front door."
"Wasn't asking."
I round the car before she can argue further and open her door. She hesitates, then climbs out, keeping as much distance between us as possible. I grab her bag and then walk with her to the elevator.
We ride up in silence. The chill emanating off her is colder than the frozen air outside.
When we reach the main floor, the doors slide open and Don Ferraza stands waiting. His eyes widen at the sight of his daughter. He takes me in… and the bag.
"Isabella?" His gaze shifts from her to me, confusion evident on his face. "I thought you were in your room."
Panic flashes across Isabella's face as she searches for an explanation.
"My fault, Don Ferraza," I interject smoothly. "I wanted to talk to her before the wedding." I place a hand lightly on the small of Isabella's back, feeling her stiffen at my touch. "I should have called first."
Leonardo's eyes narrow, clearly skeptical as he eyes the bag again. I’ll let her explain that one.
"It's late," he says. "Isabella should get some rest."
"Of course." I nod respectfully. "I'll say goodnight, then."
As Isabella slips past her father into the house, I make a mental note to station men around the property tonight.
If she tried to run once, she'll try again.
Walking back to my car, I wonder whether I'm protecting a victim or guarding a threat.
The woman who fought me in the park wasn't some innocent pawn.
She was determined, resourceful. Dangerous, even.
The pain in her eyes when she spoke of her mother was real and likely what is fueling her risky behavior.
The question is, who was she meeting?
And the man who attacked her, did he just happen to be a mugger seeing an opportunity, or was he sent there to kill her?
I didn’t recognize him as working for any of La Corona families, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hired by one.
I steer my car through the streets of Manhattan, my mind replaying the night's events.
Isabella's accusations echo in my head. The woman thinks I killed her mother.
She's willing to risk her life meeting FBI agents rather than marry me.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Twenty minutes later, I'm unlocking the door to my condo. It's not a mansion like the Dons have, but it's comfortable.
Three bedrooms, office, modern kitchen, and the crown jewel, a sprawling terrace overlooking the city.
Perfect for a single father and his daughter.
"Mr. Ginetti, you're back." Mrs. Rossi appears from the hallway, her gray hair pulled into its usual neat bun. "Angelica went to bed about an hour ago. She tried to wait up for you."
"Thanks, Mrs. Rossi." I shrug off my coat. "Everything go okay?"
"Perfect, as always. She's excited about Christmas and decorating the tree."
Guilt pinches at me. We bought the tree, but work pulled me away from decorating it with her.
Work and then curiosity about Isabella. "We'll decorate tomorrow."
Mrs. Rossi nods. “I’m heading to my room.” She’s been with me since Angelica was born.
She was a widow who needed work. My wife, Emilia, and I were in need of a nanny and housekeeper. Mrs. Rossi became even more important when Emilia first got sick, and she stayed when she passed.
"Actually…" I realize I haven’t told her about my impending marriage. "Got time for a nightcap? I have some news.”
I pour two fingers of whiskey for myself, a small glass of red wine for her, and step into the living area overlooking the terrace and the city.
Mrs. Rossi joins me. "Something's troubling you."
I take a long sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. "I'm getting married."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "That's… unexpected."
"Yeah." I laugh without humor. "For me too."
"Does Angelica know?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. It's complicated."
Her eyes narrow as she studies me. She knows the world I live in.
Her husband was an associate of the Calabresi family. We laundered a great deal of money through his restaurant.
When he died, Marco bought the place, which gave her a nice nest egg.
A need for family and connection brought her to work for me.
"I don't know how to tell Angelica," I admit, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "How do you explain to a seven-year-old that she's getting a stepmother she's never met?"
Mrs. Rossi sips her wine thoughtfully. "Children are more adaptable than we give them credit for." She shifts uncomfortably. “Do you have concerns about how I care for her? Is that why you think she needs a mother?”
Her question takes me off guard. “Fuck no. This isn’t a real marriage. It’s business.” I drain my glass, welcoming the burn. "It's business. Your position is secure. More than ever, actually." I turn to face her. "Angelica will need stability. Familiar faces."
Relief softens her features. "I appreciate that, Mr. Ginetti."
I refill my glass, hesitating before speaking again. "The woman, Isabella… I’m not sure what to expect. She’s complicated."
"Aren't we all?"
I snort. "She hates me. Or what she thinks I am."
"And what is that?"
I stare into my whiskey. "A monster."
Mrs. Rossi doesn't contradict me. She's too smart for empty reassurances.