Page 54 of The Grumpy Billionaire's Mafia Princess

When I wake up the next morning, it’s with an inordinate amount of confidence. Isabella might have said it to my face that we didn’t share a connection, but I know without a doubt that it’s bullshit. My mother was right.

One thing about me is that I never fucking give up when I want something.

CHAPTER 14

Isabella

My default mode whenever I’m having a hard time with something is to just simply ignore whatever it is. Ignore it, don’t think about it—it’s how I’ve gotten through life so far.

The wedding was two days ago and I’ve resolved not to think about Graham. But it’s not easy when, for some reason, everything seems to remind me of him. When I walk into Maria’s room, she’s blasting his favorite Taylor Swift song. I made pasta the other night and all I could think about was the fact that I made the same thing for him once, too.

It was easier during those three months. At least I had something to look forward to. Now I have nothing.

My laptop is on my lap and I’m working on a job when I get a text.

Unknown Number: Guess who?

My heart clenches because I don’t even have to think about it. I reply immediately.

Me: Graham.

Graham: Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin.

I stare at my phone screen for a couple of seconds. The Harry Potter reference is oddly endearing. I shouldn’t be replying to him right now, but it’s hard not to, especially after what I put him through. At the end of the day, he has no idea that I heard what he said in that hallway. So to him, my actions were completely unfounded.

Graham: Aren’t you going to ask how I got your number?

Me: You’re Graham Steele. I’m not surprised you got my number.

Graham: Smart girl. We need to talk, Isabella.

I sigh softly. I knew this was coming. He was never going to accept what happened at the wedding. He’s too stubborn to back down so easily.

Me: I’ve said all I needed to say.

Graham: What you said made no sense. If you’re going to cut all ties, the least you can do is provide an explanation as to why it’s happening. Don’t you think so, Isabella?

I don’t reply because I know he’s right. It doesn’t make it easier to accept, though, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to agree. I’m not going to see him.

A few minutes go by before he texts again.

Graham: 6 p.m. tomorrow at Café Briol. It’s quiet there in the evenings. I’ll send you the directions. And Sunshine? If you don’t show up, I’ll come find you. I know where you live.

That makes me laugh.

Me: You’re going to walk into a house filled with armed men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you?

Graham: Exactly my point. Sounds like too much of a bother. So don’t make me do it.

Me: I’m not going to come, Graham.

Graham: You will.

He doesn’t send anything else and I’m left staring at my blank screen for the longest time. I let out a soft groan and lie down on my bed. Things are already complicated enough and he’s only making it worse. I know he understands the consequences, but it seems like he’s intent on not even considering them.

Which means I have to be the one to remind him what’s at stake.

I spend the next morning debating if I should meet with Graham. I don’t believe that he’ll barge into the house. That’s probably a bluff; I know he’s not stupid. But he’s liable to take drastic measures if I don’t do what he wants.

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