Page 125 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
I take the empty chair next to him, scanning the room. Don Vitale looks like a pressure cooker about to explode. Don Monti's face is impassive, but his eyes track me like a hawk. Don Ferraza won't meet my gaze at all, staring instead at the amber liquid in his glass.
Immediately, I’m on guard. "Gentlemen." I nod respectfully.
No one responds. The silence stretches uncomfortably.
Don Ferraza shifts in his seat, still avoiding eye contact. The ice in his glass clinks as his hand trembles slightly.
I shift in my chair, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Something's very wrong.
"Show him," Marco orders, nodding to one of his soldiers.
The soldier hands me a phone. My blood runs cold when Isabella's face appears. She's sitting in what looks like a café.
My daughter is visible in the background, playing with toys while Isabella sits with… fuck. That’s the woman from the fabric store.
I listen but don’t hear any audio. There’s just video.
“You’re following my wife?” It’s not the response I should have, but it’s already said.
“You’re supposed to contain her,” Don Vitale growls.
I continue to watch the video. The woman is talking. Isabella looks uncomfortable but doesn't immediately shut her down.
Eventually, the woman stands and sets an envelope on the table, then leaves. The video stops.
I keep my face carefully blank, but inside I'm seething.
After everything, after I trusted her, after I fucking promised to help her, she's still playing both sides.
"That woman," Don Vitale says, "is FBI Agent Olivia Ricci. She's been trying to build a case against my family for three years." No wonder he’s pissed.
"She approached my wife at the bakery," I say, my voice even. "That doesn't mean Isabella is cooperating."
"The fact that your wife didn't immediately tell you suggests otherwise," Don Monti says coldly.
"This was taken today. I haven't been home."
"She didn't call right after?" Marco asks. His tone is hopeful.
Almost like he wants Isabella to have understood the gravity of the situation and called me ASAP.
"Maybe. I've been busy." But I know I don't have any texts or messages from her.
I stare at the frozen image of Isabella and that FBI agent, my own anger growing.
Angelica is right there in the background, playing with toys, completely oblivious that her safety is being compromised.
My little girl, my everything, dragged into this mess.
The room closes in around me. Four of the most powerful men in New York are watching me, waiting for my reaction. I can't show weakness. Not now.
"I'll handle this," I say, my voice steady despite the rage and fear churning inside me. "Today."
"This goes beyond handling, Roman," Don Vitale says, leaning forward. "Your wife is compromising all of us—with your daughter present."
The mention of Angelica makes something primal rise in my chest. I stand abruptly. “I’ll take care of Isabella.”
Don Ferraza's head snaps up, his eyes finally meeting mine. The fear there is unmistakable. "My daughter's life was spared once. Are you telling me you intend to?—"
