Page 79 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
I've never given him reason to doubt me before. Never had reason to doubt myself. “My judgment is fine.” God, I hope to hell that’s true.
He studies me for a long moment. “You know what will happen if she betrays us.”
I nod once, unable to imagine carrying out that sentence now.
“And you'll do what needs to be done?” he presses.
The question unsettles me. A week ago, I'd have answered without hesitation. I’d have questioned killing a woman, a daughter of a Don, but I’d never refused Marco before. Now, I'm not sure I could harm her even to save myself.
I've spent twenty years as Marco's enforcer, his shadow, his executioner. I’ve been his brother for longer. I’ve never questioned him. Never hesitated. My loyalty to the family is absolute.
Until now.
“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” I say.
Marco leans back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the rim of his glass, and I realize it was probably the wrong answer.
“You know, if Isabella really is an innocent pawn and we resolve this situation, find who's really behind the murder and neutralize this FBI agent, there might be no need to continue this arrangement with her.”
My body tenses before my mind even processes his words. “What do you mean?”
“The marriage.” He shrugs. “It was a solution to an immediate problem. If the problem's resolved, perhaps Leonardo would prefer that his daughter return home. Start fresh.”
I stare at Marco, his words hitting me like a two-by-four in the chest. Isabella returning to her father's house. Starting fresh.
Free from this arrangement. Free from me.
“It's an option,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like.
Marco’s lips curve into a smirk that tells me he’s on to me. “Just an option.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak further. The whiskey turns sour in my stomach as I remember Isabella's words from our first night together.
I don't want to die, but what is there to live for? My life isn't my own. I'm trapped.
She'd told me about her dreams of design, of creating something beautiful with her own hands. Of stepping out from under the shadow of La Corona.
I'd dismissed it then as naive fantasy. There is no escape from this life once you're born into it except through death.
But now, with Marco suggesting we could release her from our arrangement, I'm forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. Isabella could have the freedom she wants.
I could help her walk away from all of this. From the surveillance, from the danger, from me.
The thought should bring relief. This marriage was forced on both of us, a business arrangement to solve a problem. So why does the idea of letting her go feel like someone's carved a hollow space in my chest?
“Roman?” Marco's voice pulls me back.
“I hear you,” I say, gathering myself. “We'll see how things develop.”
“Good. Now I’ve got something I need you to do. We’ve got a few Russians encroaching on our area.” Marco becomes all business.
“Whose? Petrov’s?”
“He says no and gave us the go ahead to eliminate them. Salvatore seems to think they’ll be here tonight. I want you to get rid of them… for good.”
I take the paper with the address on it. A wave of normalcy radiates through me. This is what I need. With Isabella, I feel off my game.
Like a fucking putz sometimes.
