Page 15 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
Her hands tremble in her lap. "Then why did my father agree to this? Why would he hand me over to the family responsible for killing her?"
"Because your father knows the Calabresis had nothing to do with your mother's death." I study her face, seeing genuine confusion and pain there. I understand it. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. "Someone's been feeding you lies, Isabella. The question is who and why?"
She turns away from me, looking out her window.
I shrug and pull back into the street, taking her home. I pull into the garage below her father’s home.
His guards are surprised to see Isabella with me, but they let me in.
"Come on," I say, opening my door. "I'll walk you in."
She shoots me a look. "I don't need an escort to my own front door."
"Wasn't asking."
I round the car before she can argue further and open her door. She hesitates, then climbs out, keeping as much distance between us as possible. I grab her bag and then walk with her to the elevator.
We ride up in silence. The chill emanating off her is colder than the frozen air outside.
When we reach the main floor, the doors slide open and Don Ferraza stands waiting. His eyes widen at the sight of his daughter. He takes me in… and the bag.
"Isabella?" His gaze shifts from her to me, confusion evident on his face. "I thought you were in your room."
Panic flashes across Isabella's face as she searches for an explanation.
"My fault, Don Ferraza," I interject smoothly. "I wanted to talk to her before the wedding." I place a hand lightly on the small of Isabella's back, feeling her stiffen at my touch. "I should have called first."
Leonardo's eyes narrow, clearly skeptical as he eyes the bag again. I’ll let her explain that one.
"It's late," he says. "Isabella should get some rest."
"Of course." I nod respectfully. "I'll say goodnight, then."
As Isabella slips past her father into the house, I make a mental note to station men around the property tonight.
If she tried to run once, she'll try again.
Walking back to my car, I wonder whether I'm protecting a victim or guarding a threat.
The woman who fought me in the park wasn't some innocent pawn.
She was determined, resourceful. Dangerous, even.
The pain in her eyes when she spoke of her mother was real and likely what is fueling her risky behavior.
The question is, who was she meeting?
And the man who attacked her, did he just happen to be a mugger seeing an opportunity, or was he sent there to kill her?
I didn’t recognize him as working for any of La Corona families, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hired by one.
I steer my car through the streets of Manhattan, my mind replaying the night's events.
Isabella's accusations echo in my head. The woman thinks I killed her mother.
She's willing to risk her life meeting FBI agents rather than marry me.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
