Page 89 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
She looks around my office, at the expensive furniture, the security monitors, the locked cabinets that hold weapons she doesn't know about. The cage I've trapped her in.
"I've lost everything," she says with almost no affect. "My freedom. My dreams. My mother. Even the truth about her death feels further away now." She meets my eyes. "So yes, I'm choosing you because there's literally nothing else left for me to choose."
Something in her despair makes me deeply uncomfortable. I've seen people break before. Seen them beg, cry, bargain. But Isabella's quiet resignation is somehow worse. She's not fighting anymore. She's surrendering.
And for some reason, that pisses me off.
"Don't try to guilt me, Isabella." I step closer, my jaw tight. "I didn't create this situation. You did. The moment you decided to work with the Feds, the moment you accused my family of murder without proof, you set all of this in motion. Don’t fucking blame me for your stupid choices."
"I know," she says simply.
Her easy agreement only fuels my anger. "Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you've been playing games since day one. The innocent act. The virginal bride. All while you've been lying to my face, manipulating me, putting my daughter at risk."
"I don’t want to hurt Angelica.”
"But you did!" My voice rises. "Every secret you kept, every lie you told, it all put her in danger. Put me in danger. And for what? So you could play detective? So you could avenge your mother based on evidence that doesn't add up?"
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something more but can't find the words.
“When does it end for you? When I’m dead and Angelica is an orphan, or worse, she’s killed in the crossfire?”
Horror flashes in Isabella’s eyes, and I’m glad for it. Glad she might finally see the destruction she’s hellbent on creating.
“When you’re dead? Then will you stop?”
“Can’t you tell Roman? I’m already dead.”
Heat surges through me, not just anger anymore. Something primal. Something I've been fighting since she first stepped into my home.
I want to grab her. Push her against the wall. Show her exactly what she's been playing with.
Make her understand the fire she's been stoking with her lies, her secrets, her goddamn innocence that I'm no longer sure is real.
My body moves before my mind can stop it. One step closer. Close enough to smell her perfume, to see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
But I catch myself.
This isn't about what I want. It's about what needs to be done.
About protecting my family, my daughter, the life I've built.
I can't afford to be weak right now, especially not for a woman who's been lying to my face.
I step back, putting distance between us. The wanting doesn't subside, but I force it down, lock it away.
"Get out," I say, my voice low and controlled. "We're done here."
Her eyes widen slightly. She didn't expect this, the dismissal, the coldness.
Good. Let her wonder. Let her see that whatever game she thought she was playing, I'm not a willing participant anymore.
"Roman—"
"Now, Isabella."
She flinches at my tone but doesn't argue. Turning, she walks to the door, hesitating for just a moment before stepping through it. The soft click as it closes behind her feels like the end of something.
I exhale slowly, tension draining from my shoulders. Pouring another drink, I down it in one swallow, welcoming the burn.
