Page 85 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"I don't understand."
"It's simple, Isabella. You can't have it both ways. You can't play both sides and expect to survive. Not in this world."
I wrap my arms around myself, as if that will protect me from him, from his world.
His eyes lock with mine. "It's me or Blackwood. La Corona or the FBI. There's no middle ground here."
"And if I choose wrong?"
Roman's expression doesn't change. "Then I can't protect you anymore."
The threat is clear, even if unspoken. I'm still a liability. Still expendable if I make the wrong move.
"I need your trust," he continues. "But more importantly, you need to decide where your loyalties lie. Not just for show, but for real."
He steps out the door, then stops. “Oh, and until you decide, you stay the fuck away from my daughter.”
15
ROMAN
I slam the bedroom door behind me, fury still coursing through my veins. Christ. The look on Isabella's face—pure terror. Like I was about to put a bullet in her head.
I rub my hand over my face. I scared her. Badly.Good, says the cold, calculating part of me. Let her be afraid. Let her understand what's at stake.
But something else gnaws at me. Something that feels uncomfortably like guilt.
At forty-five years old, I should know better than to let emotions cloud my judgment. I've survived this long by keeping my head clear, by making rational decisions.
And yet here I am, caught between wanting to protect this woman and wanting to shake her until she understands the danger she's in, the danger she's putting us all in.
How easily I've been swayed by her wide eyes, her apparent innocence.
Her body against mine.
Pathetic.
I've become a fucking teenager, thinking with my dick instead of my brain.
I head to my office. This isn't about Isabella anymore.
This is about Angelica.
About Marco.
About my responsibilities.
I can't afford to be soft because a beautiful woman made me feel something I haven't felt in years.
The evidence against her is there. The phone, her connection to Blackwood, her refusal to come clean until I forced her hand.
And yet her confusion about Ernie seemed genuine. The fear in her eyes when I confronted her wasn't an act.
Is she playing me? Or is she being played?
Either way, I've been a fool. I've let my guard down, allowed myself to hope that maybe she could be something more than an assignment. Something more than a potential threat to eliminate.
I need to remember who I am. What I am. The enforcer. The man who does what needs to be done, no matter the cost.
