8. Isabella
8
Isabella
T he early morning sun hits my eyes as I drive through the less savory part of town. I'm running late for work, having spent too long going over security reports with Nico, when a flash of familiar honey-blonde hair catches my eye. Diana?
My hand instinctively reaches for my phone, ready to call out to my best friend, when something in her demeanor makes me pause. Furtive glances and nervous energy replaced her usual confident stride. She looks... suspicious.
Maybe the recent events have gotten to me, making me suspicious of everyone, including my fucking best friend. But I can't ignore the deep feeling within me that's telling me something isn't right.
Instead of calling out to Diana, I slow my car and pull over, watching as she disappears down a narrow alley.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I decide. Following her is an invasion of privacy, but something isn't right.
Diana hasn’t been herself lately.
Her laughter seems forced these days, her eyes are constantly darting away mid-conversation and her phone is always face-down whenever we’re together.
She almost never replies to texts or returns a call when we’re together.
I park my car and follow on foot, keeping to the shadows like Matteo taught me. The alley opens into a small courtyard behind an abandoned warehouse.
That’s when I see them–Diana and my mother, heads bent close together in intense discussion.
My blood runs cold as I watch my mother accept a thick manila envelope from Diana’s steady hands. Diana opens it briefly, pointing to specific papers inside. I inch closer.
“Everything’s here?” My mother’s voice is cold and detached. “The new security rotations, the safe house locations?”
Diana nods, pulling out a document. “Complete intelligence. See here–the Bellanti compound’s north entrance is least guarded between 2 and 4 AM, with only two men stationed. The security codes change weekly, but we have next month’s rotation.” She flips to another page. “And these are coordinates for all three Bellanti safe houses–the one in Naples, the villa in Sicily, and that mountain retreat they think is so secret.”
My mother’s eyes scan the pages. “And this list of names?”
“Family loyalists. The ones marked in red can’t be trusted—they’re reporting directly to Matteo.”
“Good.” My mother carefully returns the papers to the envelope. “It’s time they paid for their crimes. All of them.”
"What about Isabella?" Diana asks, and my heart stops. "She trusts me completely. It almost makes this too easy."
My mother's laugh is sharp and bitter. "Isabella is just a pawn."
The world tilts on its axis. My lungs forget how to work as pieces slot into place with devastating clarity. My mother—the woman who raised me, who taught me to be strong, to let no one see my tears—is the mole.
She's been orchestrating everything, using my best friend to gather intelligence, all while plotting our destruction.
Bile rises in my throat. I press my hand against the rough brick wall, needing something solid to ground me as my reality crumbles.
Every Sunday dinner, every loving embrace, every proud smile—were they all part of her machinations?
I wait until they leave separately before stumbling back to my car.
The drive home passes in a blur of rage and betrayal.
Nico is in his office when I arrive, and one look at my face has him crossing the room in quick strides.
"Isabella?" His hands cup my face, concern etched in his features. "What happened?"
The words taste like poison on my tongue. "It's my mother. She's the mole. I saw her meeting with Diana—they’ve been working together, gathering information." My voice cracks. "They want to destroy us. All of us. And Diana... she's been pretending to be my friend, using me to get information."
Nico goes still, his expression hardening into something dangerous. But he speaks in a measured voice. "What do you want to do?"
The question throws me off guard. In my old life, before Nico, there would have been no choice. Family loyalty above all else. But now... "We need to keep this quiet for now. If my brothers find out..." I shudder at the thought. "I need to talk to her first. Understand why."
"It's dangerous," he says, but doesn't stop me. He understands the need for answers, for closure.
I spend the rest of the day trying to reach Diana, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. When I drive by her house, it's dark and empty, mail piling up on the doorstep.
She's vanished, leaving me alone with this crushing weight of betrayal.
That night, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, studying my reflection until it blurs. I have my mother’s eyes, her nose, the same proud tilt to the chin.
How much of me is really me, and how much is her careful molding? Were the bedtime stories and life lessons just careful manipulation, shaping me into whatever she needed me to be?
The thought sends me retching into the toilet, feeling disgusted by my mere existence.
Nico holds my hair back, his presence calming me. When I'm done, he hands me a glass of water and sits with me on the cold tile floor.
"I don't know who I am anymore," I whisper into the darkness. "Everything I thought I knew about my life, my family–it feels like a lie."
"You're Isabella," he says firmly. "You're the woman who faces down threats without flinching. Who shows mercy when it's deserved and strength when it's needed. Who fights for what she believes in." His fingers thread through mine. "Your mother's choices don't define you."
I lean into him, drawing strength from his solid presence. Soon, I'll have to face my mother, have to look into eyes so like my own and demand answers. Soon, I'll have to decide what to do with those answers, how to protect my new family while dealing with the betrayal of my old one.
But tonight, I let myself break apart in the safety of Nico's arms, knowing he'll help me put the pieces back together, even if they form a different picture than before.