Chapter 5
ROMAN
I can’t fucking believe it. I’ve caught my bride of less than twenty-four hours hunched over a burner phone like a guilty teenager.
My vision narrows, a familiar darkness creeping in at the edges. The rage builds instantly, hot, visceral, dangerous. I've killed men for less than this betrayal.
"Give me the phone." My voice comes out eerily calm, at odds with the storm brewing inside me.
Isabella's eyes widen. She clutches the device to her chest. She’s backed up against the bed and has nowhere to run. "Roman, I—"
"The phone. Now."
She hesitates, and I feel something snap. My hand closes around her wrist, not crushing but firm enough that she can't pull away.
"You don't understand," she whispers.
But I understand perfectly.
This woman, this liability I've been forced to marry, is still actively communicating with federal agents.
The very thing that nearly got her killed by La Corona is happening under my roof.
I’m as pissed as I’ve ever been, but I’m nothing if not controlled.
My pulse still hammers in my temples, but I force myself to breathe evenly. This isn't some street thug I can simply eliminate.
This is my wife.
“I only asked one thing from you. Just one!” I take in another calming breath. “And you couldn’t do that.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Her voice is remarkably strong considering the question she just asked.
“I’d be within my rights. I saved your life by marrying you—”
“I never asked you to!”
Anger flares again. “How about I call La Corona together again and they can find another solution? Let me see…” I feign thinking about it. “I think the other option was death. Is that what you want?”
“All I want is to know who killed my mother.”
“And you think the FBI is going to help you with that?”
“They’ve given me evidence—”
“False evidence, apparently, if you think I or anyone from La Corona killed her.” I shake my head. “They don’t give a fuck about you or your mother. They’re using you to get to your father, to La Corona.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not true.”
I lean forward, my eyes boring into hers. “So they haven’t asked anything about your father’s business? About La Corona? When I take that phone from you, I won’t find any messages indicating you could give them information about me?”
The surprise in her eyes tells me I’m right.
"You have no idea what you're doing," I say, keeping my voice low so it doesn't carry to Angelica's room. "No idea what's at stake."
Isabella lifts her chin, shockingly defiant, all things considered. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Seeking justice."
I step closer, not touching her but making sure she feels my presence. "Know that your actions don't just endanger La Corona. They endanger my daughter."
Something flickers in her eyes, doubt, perhaps.
"Did that ever cross your mind?" I continue, my voice dropping even lower. "That there's a seven-year-old girl sleeping down the hall who could lose everything because of your idiotic crusade?"
"I would never hurt a child," she whispers.
"You think intent matters? When the FBI kicks down my door, do you think they'll politely ask Angelica to step aside? When they take me away in handcuffs or shoot me, who will she have left?"
Isabella's eyes glisten with unshed tears, but I press on.
"Whatever you think you know about your mother's death, whatever evidence you think you have, it's not worth destroying an innocent child's life."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of my words hangs between us.
"I don't expect you to care about me," I finally say. "I don't even expect you to care about La Corona. But Angelica has nothing to do with any of this. She's just a little girl. I won’t let you endanger her."
I suck in another breath. “Marco picked me to marry you because he knew I’d resist killing you. But if it comes to you or my daughter… she’ll win every time.”
The phone in her hand suddenly chimes with an incoming message. She looks down and then up at me, her eyes filled with fear.
I extend my hand. "Last chance to give it willingly."
I stare at Isabella, a cold calculation replacing my initial rage.
Her defiance might be admirable in another context, but right now, it's a liability I can't afford.
"You don't understand. I need this. I need to find out what happened to my mother."
"By talking to the FBI? Knowing they’re betraying your family?”
"They're helping me find the truth!" Her voice rises with emotion. "Something no one in your precious organization has bothered to do, because you’re—” She stops herself.
“Because you think we did it.” I cross my arms and study her. "Show me."
She blinks, clearly not expecting this response. "What?"
"This proof. Show me." I gesture toward the phone still clutched in her hand. "If you're so certain, let me see what convinced you."
Her hesitation tells me everything. "I… I can't just—"
"Can't or won't?" I press. "Because if you have actual evidence that Marco or anyone in our family murdered your mother, I'd want to know.
I've been with the Calabresis since I was seventeen years old.
I know every operation, every hit, every decision.
No one has ever talked badly about your mother, much less ordered a hit. "
"You'd just deny it," she counters.
"Think logically, Isabella. If what you believe is true, why would your father arrange for you to marry into the family that killed his wife?"
Doubt flickers across her face, and I see my opening.
"Show me what you have," I say, softening my tone slightly. "If there's truth to find, let's find it together."
I take the phone from her trembling hand, surprised she doesn't fight harder. Something in my words must have reached her.
I pocket it and study her face—the fear, the determination, the confusion.
I've interrogated enough people to recognize when someone truly believes what they're saying, even if they're wrong.
"Let's talk about this logically," I say, gesturing to the bed. "Sit."
Isabella hesitates but complies, perching on the edge like she might bolt any second. I remain standing, needing the physical advantage.
"You believe the Calabresi family killed your mother." I state it flatly, no question in my voice. "Why would we do that?"
"Because she discovered something about your operations," Isabella answers immediately. "Something that threatened you."
I almost smile at the predictability. "What operations, specifically? What could your mother possibly have known that would warrant assassination? How would she know it and not your father?"
She opens her mouth, then closes it. "I… the details aren't clear yet."
"Of course they aren't." I pace slowly before her. "Isabella, think about what you're suggesting. If Marco or anyone in our family murdered a council member's wife, why would we let you live? Especially after you started digging?"
She blinks rapidly, processing.
"More importantly," I continue, "why would Marco agree to this marriage? If we killed your mother and knew you were investigating us, the last thing we'd do is bring you closer. We'd eliminate the threat."
I stand in front of her, her dark eyes looking up at me.
"I'm not a good man by society's standards. I've done things that would horrify you. But I've never killed without purpose, and neither has Marco. Murdering the wife of a La Corona member would be business suicide. It would have started a war that benefited no one."
Her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for deception.
"If we were guilty," I say softly, "you wouldn't be sitting in my bedroom right now. You'd be in the ground next to your mother."
The tension in the room is thick, but something's shifted. I see uncertainty in her eyes now, a crack in her conviction.
"Look," I say, softening my tone. "I understand wanting justice for your mother. If someone hurt Angelica's mother and got away with it, I'd tear the world apart to find them."
Isabella looks up, surprised by my admission. It bothers me a little bit, which is strange.
Normally, I like that people think I’m a monster, that they fear me.
"What if I helped you find the truth?"
"You?" Disbelief colors her voice.
"Yes, me." I set my hands on my hips and stare down at her. "I want to know who is trying to set me up, set Marco up. You want to know who really killed your mother.”
“What if it’s someone in the Calabresi family?”
"If someone in the Calabresi family did kill your mother, which I don't believe, then they betrayed Marco too." I let that sink in. "Marco would want to know."
I can see her processing this, weighing my words against her preconceptions.
"Besides," I continue, "wouldn't it be better to work with me than against me? If I'm innocent, I can help you find who's really responsible. If I'm guilty…" I spread my hands. "You'll have your proof."
Her eyes narrow. "And I'm supposed to trust you?"
"No. You're supposed to be smart. Use me." I lean against the wall. "You think I'm a monster? Fine. But I'm a monster who knows where all the bodies are buried, figuratively speaking."
A ghost of a smile touches her lips despite herself.
"We're stuck with each other, Isabella. This marriage isn't going anywhere. We can spend it as enemies or we can find common ground. Your mother deserves justice, and if someone's using her death to manipulate you against La Corona, they deserve what's coming to them."
She studies me for a long moment, and I see the war playing out behind her eyes, suspicion fighting against hope, hatred against pragmatism.
"How would this work?" she finally asks.
It's not trust. Not yet. But it's a start.
I lean forward, making sure Isabella understands the gravity of the situation. "Let me be crystal clear about how this works. You don't leave this apartment without my knowing where you're going. You don't make calls to anyone, especially not the FBI, without my knowledge. Those aren't requests."
She flinches at my tone but quickly recovers, fire returning to her eyes. "So I'm a prisoner."