Page 27 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of my words hangs between us.
"I don't expect you to care about me," I finally say. "I don't even expect you to care about La Corona. But Angelica has nothing to do with any of this. She's just a little girl. I won’t let you endanger her."
I suck in another breath. “Marco picked me to marry you because he knew I’d resist killing you. But if it comes to you or my daughter… she’ll win every time.”
The phone in her hand suddenly chimes with an incoming message. She looks down and then up at me, her eyes filled with fear.
I extend my hand. "Last chance to give it willingly."
I stare at Isabella, a cold calculation replacing my initial rage.
Her defiance might be admirable in another context, but right now, it's a liability I can't afford.
"You don't understand. I need this. I need to find out what happened to my mother."
"By talking to the FBI? Knowing they’re betraying your family?”
"They're helping me find the truth!" Her voice rises with emotion. "Something no one in your precious organization has bothered to do, because you’re—” She stops herself.
“Because you think we did it.” I cross my arms and study her. "Show me."
She blinks, clearly not expecting this response. "What?"
"This proof. Show me." I gesture toward the phone still clutched in her hand. "If you're so certain, let me see what convinced you."
Her hesitation tells me everything. "I… I can't just?—"
"Can't or won't?" I press. "Because if you have actual evidence that Marco or anyone in our family murdered your mother, I'd want to know. I've been with the Calabresis since I was seventeen years old. I know every operation, every hit, every decision. No one has ever talked badly about your mother, much less ordered a hit."
"You'd just deny it," she counters.
"Think logically, Isabella. If what you believe is true, why would your father arrange for you to marry into the family that killed his wife?"
Doubt flickers across her face, and I see my opening.
"Show me what you have," I say, softening my tone slightly. "If there's truth to find, let's find it together."
I take the phone from her trembling hand, surprised she doesn't fight harder. Something in my words must have reached her.
I pocket it and study her face—the fear, the determination, the confusion.
I've interrogated enough people to recognize when someone truly believes what they're saying, even if they're wrong.
"Let's talk about this logically," I say, gesturing to the bed. "Sit."
Isabella hesitates but complies, perching on the edge like she might bolt any second. I remain standing, needing the physical advantage.
"You believe the Calabresi family killed your mother." I state it flatly, no question in my voice. "Why would we do that?"
"Because she discovered something about your operations," Isabella answers immediately. "Something that threatened you."
I almost smile at the predictability. "What operations, specifically? What could your mother possibly have known that would warrant assassination? How would she know it and not your father?"
She opens her mouth, then closes it. "I… the details aren't clear yet."
"Of course they aren't." I pace slowly before her. "Isabella, think about what you're suggesting. If Marco or anyone in our family murdered a council member's wife, why would we let you live? Especially after you started digging?"
She blinks rapidly, processing.
