Chapter 11 Roman
ROMAN
Once again, I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing. I’m fucking Isabella.
Sure, she’s my wife, but that’s just an arrangement.
This isn’t love.
It’s just a base attraction.
I have no qualms about fucking women for simple physical need, but Isabella isn’t any woman.
She’s a Mafia princess. Daughter of Don Ferraza.
She’s saved herself for a real husband this long.
Who am I to take this from her?
Except… I am her husband. Thinking she should save herself suggests that this marriage will end one day. But will it?
She won’t be safe until she’s satisfied that her mother’s death is solved. The more she pursues answers, the more she’s in danger, and only I can protect her.
“Roman!” Her body tightens around my cock like a fucking vise, and holy hell, it feels beyond good.
Something about hearing my name on her lips ignites something primal in me. I pick up the pace, one hand supporting her lower back, the other tangled in her hair.
Everything flies out the window except a driving physical need to come.
Her tightness grips me like nothing I've experienced before.
The tension builds at the base of my spine.
I'm close. Too close.
I try to hold back, wanting to make this last, but she's writhing beneath me, her body clenching around mine.
She cries out again, her back arching as comes again. I let go. I drive in hard, deep, my orgasm slamming through me as I empty inside her.
I withdraw and thrust again, and again, the intensity catching me off guard as pleasure washes through me.
I collapse beside her, both of us breathing hard. Isabella curls against me, her head on my chest, and I automatically wrap my arm around her.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Fuck.
As our breathing steadies and she drifts to sleep, I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess.
She deserves something more than just sex, and yet that’s all this should be. I've had plenty of it since Emilia died, meaningless encounters that satisfied a physical need without touching anything deeper.
This was different.
I glance down at Isabella's sleeping form, her dark hair spilling across my chest. She trusted me with something precious, and I took it.
Not just her virginity, but her trust.
What the hell am I doing?
This woman is my assignment. She's potentially working with the Feds. She could be the downfall of everything I've built.
Yet here I am, holding her like she belongs in my arms. Like I want to protect her from the very people I've sworn loyalty to.
What the hell is happening to me? I'm supposed to be investigating this woman, not falling into bed with her. Not feeling this… whatever this is.
Part of me wants to believe she's innocent, just a daughter seeking justice for her mother.
The way she hesitated on that call with Blackwood, how she told him she'd find another way… it felt genuine.
But I've been in this business too long to trust feelings. How many men have I watched fall for a pretty face, only to end up with a knife in their back?
Isabella could be playing me, drawing me in so I lower my guard. She's still hiding that phone, after all. Still keeping secrets.
And then there's Angelica.
She's everything to me, the only pure thing in my life. What if Isabella is playing me? What if she's gathering intel by using me? I've brought a potential threat into our home. Into our lives.
I glance down at Isabella's sleeping form. She looks peaceful, vulnerable. Not like someone plotting destruction.
But appearances can be deceiving. I should know. I've cultivated my own for decades.
If Isabella betrays us, if she puts Angelica in danger…
I don't finish the thought. I know what I'll have to do. It's my job. It's who I am.
But for the first time in years, the thought of killing someone turns my stomach. Not because I've gone soft, but because I'm afraid I might actually care about her.
And that makes me more dangerous than I've ever been—to myself, to my family, and to everything I've sworn to protect.
I ease myself from beneath Isabella, careful not to wake her. Her dark hair spills across my pillow, and for a moment, I allow myself to stare.
She looks peaceful, innocent, even.
Nothing like the threat she could represent.
I shake my head, disgusted with myself. This wasn't part of the plan. Sex complicates things, especially with someone I'm supposed to be investigating. I need to get my head straight.
I dress quickly, pulling on sweatpants and a T-shirt. My gun goes into the waistband at my back, a habit I can't break, even in my own home. Especially now.
In my office, I pour a whiskey and sit at my desk.
The evidence Isabella provided sits in a folder before me, shell casings matching Calabresi hits, witness statements about cars registered to our shell companies.
It's compelling stuff, but it’s off. Wrong caliber. Wrong gun. Plus, it’s all too neat. Too convenient.
I pull up my own files, cross-referencing dates and operations. I add in the police records obtained through one of my contacts.
Something isn't adding up.
I pull out a sheet of paper and begin trying to organize the information in front of me.
Mrs. Ferraza was shopping, an outing she’d scheduled the week before.
Her driver was Tony Carlotta. I make a note to ask Vincenzo about this. He managed drivers for La Corona until six months ago when he retired.
She was barely out of the car when she was gunned down from a car, apparently a Cadillac owned by one of Marco’s companies, leaving shell casings the FBI reports are from the Calabresi family.
I sit back, stumped at why anyone would kill Don Ferraza’s wife. The Mafia I know has some basic standards, and one is not killing women.
Other organized crime doesn’t necessarily hold to that ideal, so maybe it was another family.
But we’ve got solid truces with the Russians, Irish, and Chinese.
Unless Ferraza did something to piss them off that La Corona doesn’t know about.
I think about Salvatore and his hate of Isabella. Like his brother, he’s one who’s willing to break rules and push the limits.
Did he kill Mrs. Ferraza? It would be gutsy. And his death sentence if Marco found out.
I pull up information about Salvatore’s brother, Ernesto.
What a dipshit he was. He walked around like he was smarter than the rest of us, which is what got him killed, I’m sure. I don’t actually know who killed him. It wasn’t me, but there were rumors Don Ferraza ordered it.
Since Ernie wasn’t actually a made man, Leonardo didn’t need to come to La Corona to seek permission for the hit.
I imagine Salvatore asked Marco to avenge him, but again, since Ernie wasn’t a part of the family, Marco had no reason to seek revenge.
I check the date of Ernie’s demise. Ernie’s actual cause of death was a drug overdose, a not uncommon death for people who cross Leonardo.
It happened two days before Leonardo’s wife was killed. Could be coincidence. Or not.
But would Salvatori seek revenge on his own? Based on what Isabella said about her encounter, that answer could be yes.
But he’d be risking a lot for that fuck-up brother of his. Salvatore is a hothead and savage, but he’s not stupid.
I sit back in my chair again knowing I can’t tell Isabella this. She’d be spilling her guts to that agent about Salvatori and bringing the Feds down on Marco and all of us.
Keeping this from her not only protects us, but it protects her from Marco’s order to kill her. Especially since there is a chance that all this is a coincidence.
I down the rest of my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. She would see this information as a confirmation of everything she believes about us.
I need to be careful with this information. Isabella trusts me now—at least enough to let me into her body, if not fully into her confidence.
If she learns about this connection, her fragile trust will shatter.
And then I'll have no choice but to kill her.
I hear soft footsteps approaching my office. Isabella appears in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep, wearing one of my T-shirts that hangs to mid-thigh. My dick goes full mast at the sight.
“Hey,” she says softly, hovering at the threshold like she's unsure whether she's welcome.
“Hey.” I gesture for her to come in, casually moving some papers to cover the notes I've been making. “Everything okay?”
She steps into the room but keeps her distance. “I woke up and you weren't there.”
There's vulnerability in her voice that makes me want to pull her close and push her away at the same time.
I can't afford to get attached, not with what I've just discovered.
Not when I know she’d turn on me and my family in an instant.
“Just had some work to finish up,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Isabella shifts her weight, not quite meeting my eyes. “I just wanted to make sure… that what happened wasn't…” She trails off, a flush creeping up her neck. “I mean, I practically threw myself at you—”
“You did throw yourself at me.” I say it with a smirk, hoping to ease her concern.
“I… I just don't want things to be weird between us now.”
I stand and move around the desk, closing some of the distance between us. “Isabella, trust me when I say that being with you wasn't exactly a hardship. You have nothing to worry about.”
She looks up at me, searching my face. “Are you sure? Because you disappeared pretty quickly.”
“I'm sure.” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should be asking you if you’re okay.”
She nods. “Yes.”
I watch Isabella closely, noting how she fidgets with the hem of my T-shirt. There's something unsaid hanging between us, something more than just post-sex awkwardness.
As much as I want to touch her again, my duty is to Marco, to the family, to La Corona.
I don’t give a shit about Salvatore, but I can’t let Isabella learn about him, his brother, the close proximity in time of her mother’s death to Ernie’s.
I need to get her off the idea that the Calabresi family had anything to do with her mother’s death. “You know, a few hours ago, you let me touch you in ways no one else ever has. Yet you still believe I might have killed your mother.”
Her eyes snap to mine, startled by my directness.
“I didn't say—”
“You did.” I lean against my desk, keeping some distance between us. “I’m not sure I fucked you well enough to change your mind.”
Her eyes flash with shock and maybe humiliation. I hate to do that to her, especially when I worked so hard a moment ago to put her at ease.
“Can you blame me? The evidence—”
“The evidence is bullshit?” I shake my head. “Trust me when I say that I and my family know how to kill someone and not leave a trail.”
Fucking hell, the fear in her eyes guts me.
“I didn’t kill your mother. Marco didn’t order her death.”
That’s not a lie. I’m just leaving out the part where a Calabresi family member might have taken justice into his own hands.
“And maybe you should consider that you’re being used to infiltrate the Calabresi family and La Corona. I mean, you’re being fed bogus evidence while you’ve given the FBI what?”
She bites her lip, considering my words. I can see her struggling with what she wants to believe versus what she's been told.
The best way to keep us all safe and guide her to another suspect is to continue to offer help. “I want to help you find the truth. But I need you to be honest with me. About everything.”
And by everything, I mean the phone she’s hiding. This is her chance to tell me about it. To show she trusts me with more than her body.
“All I want is the truth about what happened to my mother,” she whispers, eyes glistening. “That's all I've ever wanted.”
She holds my gaze but says nothing more. No mention of the phone. No full disclosure.
Disappointment washes over me. I'd hoped, foolishly, perhaps, that what we'd shared would have broken through that final barrier. That she might see me as someone she could truly trust.
I nod slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “Then that's what we'll find.”
She nods and turns to leave. I watch her walk back to the bedroom, her slender figure disappearing into the hallway.
Despite the shit show going on between us, the sight of her in my T-shirt stirs something inside me that I thought had died with Emilia.
I pour another finger of whiskey and down it in one swallow, willing it to burn away whatever this feeling is.
Isabella seems innocent. Her search for her mother's killer feels genuine. The way she looked at me tonight, with trust in her eyes despite everything she's been told about me and my family… it felt real.
But men in my position can't afford to trust easily.
She's still hiding that phone. Still keeping secrets. And she's smart, smarter than most people give her credit for. If she wanted to play me, she could.
But no matter how Isabella makes me feel when she's in my arms, no matter how much I want to believe she's being manipulated rather than manipulating me, I can't let my guard down..
I'll help her find the truth about her mother, but I'll do it my way—cautious, controlled, and always ready for betrayal.
Because in this world, feelings get you killed. And I have too much to protect to die for something as foolish as desire.