Page 135 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
My gut clenches. "What?"
"He thinks she's a liability we can't afford. Says the FBI meeting was the last straw." Marco watches me carefully. "He's not alone in that opinion."
My hands curl into fists. "She's my wife."
"Only because I arranged it in deference to Don Ferraza." Marco's eyes soften slightly. "I've been holding them off, but I can't forever. Not if she gives them reason."
"If Vitale or anyone else comes near her?—"
"Then what?" Marco cuts me off. "You'd go against La Corona? Against me?"
Would I? For a woman who might still be playing me?
"She's more than just your wife, Roman," Marco continues, his voice quiet but firm. "She's Leonardo's daughter. She's an FBI informant. Maybe she’s a chess piece in a game we don't fully understand yet."
I hate that he's right.
Hate that despite everything, despite the nights in my bed and the moments of vulnerability, Isabella remains a question mark.
I nod stiffly, swallowing the rage building in my throat. "I understand."
"Do you?" Marco studies me, his eyes searching mine for reassurance I'm not sure I can give. "Because this isn't just about Isabella anymore. It's about your place in this family."
What the fuck?I’ve given my life to the Calabresi family. My blood, my loyalty, everything.
“It’s good to know where I stand.” I rise from the chair. I’ve always known there was a limit to Marco’s loyalty.
Yes, he says I’m his brother, but he can’t have me around if I go against him, just like I can’t have Isabella if she goes against La Corona.
No one is safe from La Corona.
“Roman. It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” I grab my coat. "I need to check on a shipment.”
Marco sighs but nods. "Fine. But Roman…" He grips my shoulder, his voice dropping. "Tread carefully.”
“Always.”
The cold air on the docks knocks some alertness into me, but it doesn’t quell the anger.
Don Vitale's threat echoes in my mind. He wants Isabella dead. My wife dead. And he's not alone.
I've killed for the family without hesitation. Men who betrayed us, threatened us, challenged us. It was always clear, black and white.
But Isabella, she exists in shades of gray that I can't seem to navigate.
The thought of her cold and still, those fierce eyes empty, isn’t something I can handle.
I won't let it happen. Not to her. Not while there's breath in my body.
But what does that mean for me? For my position? For Angelica?
Christ, Angelica. My daughter who's already lost one mother. The thought of her growing attached to Isabella only to lose her, or worse, to lose me because I chose Isabella over the family, is unbearable.
“Fuck!” How did everything get so fucking complicated?
A month ago, my life made sense. Now I'm caught between duty and whatever this is I feel for Isabella.
