Page 11 of Lord of Little Italy

"I was wrong." The words come out more forcefully than intended.

Something flickers in Dom's expression. He studies me over his glass, and I remember why he controls Queens. Nothing gets past him. "You know, Isabella has a way of surprising people. Takes after our mother that way."

"She's grown into the role," I say carefully. "You should be proud."

"I am. But something's different." He sets his glass down. "A month ago, you were skeptical about her running things. Now you're singing her praises. What changed?"

Before I can fabricate an answer, the door opens. Isabella walks in, stopping short when she sees me.

She's wearing a simple red dress, hair loose around her shoulders. Beautiful. Always so damn beautiful. A small gold cross hangs at her throat - I remember her touching it nervously during our first dinner, when she was trying to convince me she could handle her brother's business.

She sure convinced me.

"Tony." Her voice is cool, professional. Like we haven't tasted each other's skin. Like I don’t know what her face looks like when she-”

"Isabella." I keep my tone equally distant.

"Dinner's ready," she tells Dom, barely glancing my way. But I catch the slight tremor in her hands, the way her breath catches.“Gia wanted me to remind you we're expecting everyone in ten minutes."

"Family dinner," Dom explains. "Stay. There's plenty. Sophia made that veal you like."

"Can't." The word comes out too quick. The thought of sitting across from her, pretending we're nothing to each other... "Business to handle back home."

Isabella's shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. Her knuckles go white around the doorframe. Dom looks between us, frowning slightly.

"Everything okay between you two?" he asks. "No lingering issues I should know about?"

This is my chance. I could tell him everything. Could explain how in just six weeks, his sister has completely upended my world. Could tell him how she makes me want to be better, be more than just another mob boss with blood on his hands. Could beg him to understand that this isn't some game, some passing attraction.

Instead, I stand. "We're fine. Just busy. You know how it is."

"Tony..." There's something in Dom's voice - concern? Suspicion? But he doesn't push. That's one thing I've always respected about him.

"Thanks for the drink." I head for the door, not looking at Isabella. Can't look at her. If I do, I might break. Might tell her brother everything. Might grab her and kiss her right here, consequences be damned.

"Sure there's nothing else you need to tell me?" Dom calls after me.

Everything. Nothing. I'm in love with your sister. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. I don't know what to do. A few weeks shouldn't be enough time to fall this hard, but here we are.

"We're good." The lie tastes like ashes.

In the elevator, I loosen my tie, feeling like I'm suffocating. The drive home is a blur of city lights and regret. I run three red lights, nearly clip a bike messenger. Some part of me hopes a cop will pull me over. Give me something else to focus on besides the look in Isabella's eyes.

I should have told him. Should have been honest. Should have...

But I didn't. Because I'm a coward. Because I'm afraid of losing an alliance that keeps the peace between our territories. Because I'm terrified of admitting just how deep this thing with Isabella goes.

Back in Little Italy, I park outside my club but don't get out. Just sit there, remembering the look in Isabella's eyes when she saw me. The careful distance. The practiced indifference.

All an act. Like everything else in our lives now.

I close my eyes, rest my head against the steering wheel. Through the windshield, I can see Ferrara's across the street, where Isabella and I had coffee last week. Where she laughed at my terrible jokes and stole bites of my cannoli. Where I almost convinced myself this could work.

What a fucking mess.

Another text comes through. This one from Isabella:

"Coward."

---