Chapter 32 Isabella
ISABELLA
I stand beside Roman in front of La Corona, a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach.
I’ve never been in the inner sanctum of a La Corona meeting and it’s a little overwhelming.
I’d rather be anywhere else this Christmas Eve, but this meeting is important.
Roman’s hand rests protectively against the small of my back, a gesture that calms me. I know I’m safe with him, even in a room filled with Dons.
The four Dons, Marco, Leonardo, Dominic, and Antonio, observe us with calculating eyes. They didn’t want me here, but Roman insisted, told them I deserved to be there.
Don Vitale breaks the silence, his voice slicing through the tension. "You've brought us here with claims of a conspiracy. We're listening."
Roman clears his throat. "Mrs. Ferraza's murder wasn't random, and it wasn't just about her. The evidence I've gathered suggests it was the first move in a long game against La Corona."
He slides a folder across the table.
It contains everything, the shell casings planted to implicate the Calabresi family, the FBI connections, Ernie's role as informant, and Salvatore's confession before Roman killed him.
"It's incomplete," he admits, "but the pattern is clear. Someone's been manipulating us against each other for years. Mrs. Ferraza discovered a part of it, and it got her killed."
His eyes drift to me. I give him an encouraging smile.
He winks back and then continues. "Based on everything we've uncovered, I believe Ernie Abruzzo killed Mrs. Ferraza on Salvatore's orders."
My father’s face hardens into stone, his eyes darkening with rage.
"Salvatore confessed this to Isabella," Roman continues.
"Mrs. Ferraza discovered their plans and they silenced her.
" Roman takes a breath. "They planted evidence pointing to the Calabresi family.
Shell casings from one of our operations, a car registered to one of our shell companies.
It was deliberate, designed to fracture La Corona from within. "
He meets each Don's gaze in turn. "The ultimate goal was to set us against each other. To make us destroy ourselves."
I try to keep my expression impassive, but inside I’m beaming at my husband, so proud of how he handles himself in front of these powerful men.
Don Monti shakes his head. "But why? What's the endgame in destabilizing La Corona? Who benefits from our destruction?"
"Power, most likely," Roman replies. “Salvatore said La Corona was weak. He suggested to Isabella that he wanted to consolidate all power under him.”
“Yeah, right.” Dominic rolls his eyes. “Sal couldn’t find his dick with a map.”
“With La Corona fractured, someone could move in and take control of our territories, our operations. But…" Roman hesitates. "I can't be sure that's all there is to it."
He glances at me again, and I nod. I’d give him a thumbs up except that’s probably not appropriate for a La Corona meeting.
"This Ernie Abruzzo, what exactly was his relationship with the FBI?" Vitale asks, his tone deceptively casual.
"Ernie was an informant," Roman responds. "But he was working both sides. He and Sal were working together.”
“No disrespect, Leo, but why was your wife talking to any of these men?” Antonio asks, glancing through Roman’s folder.
“She was trying to protect Isabella,” Roman says, placing his hand over mine.
"According to her notebook and what we've pieced together, Mrs. Ferraza hoped to avoid an arranged marriage for Isabella and wanted to help her live a life outside. But in the process, she discovered Ernie and Sal’s plans. She’d intended to bring it to Leo but was killed before she could. ”
My father’s face crumples slightly at this revelation. I feel bad for him and want to comfort him, but I know that would be worse.
No Don wants to appear weak.
So I stick with Roman.
"And Ernie's death?" Marco asks. "You've explained Mrs. Ferraza's murder, but what about his?”
This is the weak point in the theory Roman and I have pieced together. Sal thought it was my father, but it wasn’t.
"I can't say with certainty,” Roman admits. "The official report claims an overdose, but the timing is too convenient. Either Don Ferraza discovered Ernie's betrayal and ordered a hit…"
“I did not,” my father says indignantly. “Although it’d have been my right if I had.”
"Or the FBI cleaned up their own mess. If Ernie became unstable, he'd become a liability.”
The idea that the FBI is part of this is unsettling to me.
One idea Roman has floated with me, but hasn’t revealed here, is that I might have been a target of Sal or the FBI the night I was attacked trying to run away from my forced engagement.
Roman saved me that night, in more ways than one.
Don Monti leans back in his chair. "So we have our answers. Salvatore and Ernie killed Mrs. Ferraza. Ernie is dead, no matter who killed him. Salvatore is dead. It seems the situation is resolved."
Roman shakes his head, and I know he’s worried the Dons won’t take our theory seriously.
"With respect, Don Monti, this is far from over.
Look at the pattern. Mrs. Ferraza's death turned Isabella against Marco and the Calabresi family.
Ernie's death implicated Don Ferraza, fueling Salvatore's quest for vengeance.
Each death, each accusation has been calculated to set us against each other.
I believe Sal and Ernie were pawns and that someone is still out there, pulling strings, waiting for us to destroy each other.
And we've been playing right into their hands. "
The room falls silent as Roman’s words hang in the air. I squeeze Roman’s hand to give him support.
“Any idea who?” Marco asks.
“I don’t. We need to be vigilant," Roman warns. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."
“Well, just business as usual, eh, boys?” Dominic shrugs. “Since when aren’t we looking over our shoulders?”
“Quite right,” Antonio says.
“I think Roman and Isabella’s point is that we need to be diligent about being played. How easy it would have been for us to order Isabella’s death over talking with the Feds,” Marco says. “Or you to order mine if you believed I killed your wife, Leo.”
My father nods. “Our bond must remain strong.”
Dominic holds up his whiskey. “To La Corona.”
“La Corona,” the men repeat.
Roman and I walk in the door, and I’ve never been happier to be home.
“They’re home, they’re home!” Angelica runs from the kitchen to greet us. “We need to put out cookies for Santa. He’s coming tonight, right?”
“He’s coming, Angel.” Roman picks her up and with his other hand, he takes mine and we head into the kitchen.
Mrs. Rossi is finishing up dishes.
“Thank you for staying on Christmas Eve,” I say to her. “I know you have plans with your sister.”
“It’s never a hardship. I’m off now.” She kisses Angelica. “Be good. Remember, Santa’s watching.”
“I’m good, aren’t I, Daddy?”
“The best.”
Angelica squirms out of Roman’s arms and rushes to the table where batches of cookies sit. "Santa's going to love these. Do you think he'll eat ALL of them?
Roman chuckles. "Maybe we should only put out a few. Save some for breakfast tomorrow."
I help Angelica plate a few cookies and we take them to the living room.
The mantel holds five stockings.
One for each of us, the family one Angelica and I finished sewing, and a fifth for Baby Ginetti that Roman surprised me with last week.
Angelica carefully arranges the cookies on a table near the tree. "Daddy says Santa likes milk, but I think hot chocolate would be better," she informs me seriously.
"An excellent point," I agree, catching Roman's eye over her head. His smile makes my heart soar.
"And we can't forget the reindeer!" Angelica declares, rushing to the refrigerator. She returns with carrots that she arranges on another plate. "They need energy for flying all night. Plus carrots help you see, right, Daddy?”
“Right, Angel.” He kneels in front of her. “If Santa’s going to come, you’re going to need to get to bed.”
“You'll wake me up as soon as it's morning?" Angelica asks, looking between us. "Promise?"
"We promise," I say, incredibly happy to be a part of their traditions, creating new ones together.
I follow Roman down the hallway to Angelica's bedroom.
"Can we have two stories tonight?" Angelica asks, snuggling under her princess comforter.
Roman raises an eyebrow. "It's already past bedtime."
"Please?" She looks at me with hopeful eyes. "Isabella can read one too."
I sit on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair. "How about I read one tomorrow night?"
Angelica considers this, then nods.
As Roman begins reading about a mouse's Christmas adventure, I watch them together, his deep voice softening for different characters, her eyes wide with wonder.
I never imagined finding this kind of peace in an arranged marriage, especially one that began as imprisonment.
When the story ends, Angelica looks up at me with serious eyes. "Isabella?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Since you're married to Daddy now…" She fidgets with her blanket. "Can you be my second mommy?"
My breath catches. The question pierces straight through to my heart.
I glance at Roman, uncertain how he'll react to Angelica connecting me to Emilia's memory this way.
His eyes meet mine, soft with emotion. There's no jealousy there, no pain, just warmth and love.
"I would be honored." I take her hand in mine. "More than you know."
She grins, revealing the gap where a tooth recently fell out. "What do you call second mommies?”
“Whatever you want, I suppose.”
She presses her finger at the corner of her chin as she thinks. “Mama-Isabella?”
“It’s a mouthful,” Roman remarks.
“Mama-Bella?” Angelica suggests.
“I love them both. You choose.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mama-Bella.”
Roman's hand finds my shoulder, a gentle squeeze that says everything words cannot.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
After Angelica finally drifts off to sleep, Roman and I tiptoe back to the living room.
“I think Santa is here,” he says, dragging out the ginormous bag of presents.
"I hope she likes this play sewing machine," I whisper, placing a large box beneath the lowest branches.
Roman nods. “She’s going to go nuts over it.”
For a moment, I watch him, the careful way he handles the presents with the same hands he used to kill Sal.
These contradictions still surprise me.
The fierce protector who reads bedtime stories.
The ruthless enforcer who bakes Christmas cookies.
"What?" Roman catches me staring.
"Nothing." I smile, arranging a smaller package beside his. "Just… this feels nice. Normal. I never thought I’d have something like this." Emotion wells, catching me off guard.
He reaches for my hand, his wedding band catching the light. "I never thought I'd have this again."
I feel so blessed that this man who’d lost a wonderful love would be able to open his heart again for me. For us.
We work in silence to fit all the packages under the tree.
When we’re done, he stands behind me, his arms pulling me close as we admire our work. “Listen, Isabella. I… ah… I’ve been thinking that maybe you might adopt Angelica.”
My eyes widen in shock and I turn in his arms.
“I don’t ever want Angelica to forget Emilia—”
“Of course, not. She’s her mother.”
“But I feel like she’d want Angelica to have you as her second mother, not just in love but legally. If something happens to me, she needs to be with you.”
“Absolutely, Roman. I’ll protect her with my life.”
“You already have.” His eyes fill with gratitude. “I've also been thinking. This place is getting cramped."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we should move. Get a house. Something with a yard for Angelica and Baby Ginetti." He pauses, his eyes finding mine. "And a proper studio for you."
My heart skips. "A studio?"
"For your designs." He gestures toward our bedroom where my sewing table sits. "You need real space to work, especially if you’re going to start your own line."
"You'd want that?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise.
"Isabella." He takes my hands in his. "I want you to have everything you couldn't before. Your designs. More children, if you want them. A real life. I mean, of course, there are limitations for safety reasons, but you can pursue your dreams."
The future stretches before me, suddenly vast with possibility. It terrifies and thrills me.
"There's one more present I'd like to unwrap tonight." The playful hunger in his gaze sends heat rushing through me.
"Is that so, Mr. Ginetti?"
He pulls me toward him until we’re sitting at the base of the Christmas tree. A few ornaments jingle softly with the movement.
"Careful," I whisper, laughing quietly. "You'll wake Angelica."
"Then you'll have to be very quiet, won't you?" His lips find my neck, trailing kisses up to my ear.
I bite my lip as his hands slide beneath my sweater, warm against my skin. "Here?" I breathe, half-scandalized, half-thrilled by his boldness.
“Here." He tugs at the button of my pants. "Under our first Christmas tree."
His emphasis on "our" makes my heart sing.
"What if Angelica gets up for water?" I tease, even as I help him remove my sweater.
"She won’t." Roman's smile turns wicked as he lowers me to the plush rug beneath the tree. "Trust me."
Trust. Once so impossible between us. Now as natural as breathing.
The Christmas lights twinkle above us, red and green and gold reflecting in his eyes as he moves over me. His touch is reverent, unhurried, as though we have all the time in the world.
I gasp as Roman's fingers leave trails of heat across my skin.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, lowering himself until our bodies press together beneath the tree.
I reach up to touch his face, still amazed that this man, feared by so many, can be so gentle with me.
His lips move from my mouth to my neck, down to the hollow of my throat. When he enters me, it’s sweet yet intense.
Roman moves slowly, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling.
"Isabella," he murmurs, my name a prayer on his lips. His hands find mine, fingers intertwining as he holds them gently above my head.
I arch against him, drawing him deeper, wanting to be as close as possible.
"I love you," I whisper, the words flowing freely now. "I love you, Roman."
His eyes, dark with desire, soften at my words. He kisses me deeply as our bodies move in perfect rhythm, each thrust bringing us closer to completion and to each other.
“Merry Christmas, Isabella, my love.”