The Mafia's bride

The Proposal That Wasn’t a Choice The rain began just as Isabella stepped out of the café. Not the gentle kind that felt romantic in movies, but the cold, impatient kind that soaked through clothes and made the city look darker than it already was. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and hurried down the narrow sidewalk, her heels clicking against the pavement. It had been a long shift. The café had been packed all afternoon—students hunched over laptops, couples whispering over pastries, and businessmen who spoke too loudly on their phones. Isabella had smiled through all of it, refilling cups and pretending she didn’t notice the exhaustion creeping into her bones. She checked her phone. 8:47 PM. Her bus would arrive in ten minutes if the schedule hadn’t changed again. The city had a habit of making promises it couldn’t keep. The street was unusually quiet tonight. Shops had already pulled down their metal shutters, and the streetlights flickered lazily above her. Isabella tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and walked faster. Then she noticed the car. A sleek black vehicle parked across the street. Its windows were tinted so dark they looked like mirrors. She slowed. Cars like that didn’t belong on this street. Before she could dismiss the thought, the driver’s door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black suit that looked expensive enough to pay her rent for months. He closed the door gently and began walking toward her. Isabella’s stomach tightened. “Miss Moretti,” he said. Her name. The sound of it on a stranger’s lips sent a chill down her spine. “Yes?” she asked cautiously. The man stopped a few feet away. “My employer would like to speak with you.” Isabella crossed her arms. “Your employer could come speak to me himself.” The man’s expression didn’t change. “He is inside the car.” That made her even more suspicious. “I don’t get into cars with strangers.” “Understood,” the man replied calmly. “But this is important.” Isabella shook her head. “No offense to your mysterious boss, but I’m going home.” She turned to leave. “Miss Moretti.” She stopped again, irritation rising. “What?” “If you walk away,” the man said quietly, “things will become… complicated.” The way he said it made the rain feel colder. Isabella turned back slowly. “Is that a threat?” “No.” A pause. “A warning.” Before she could respond, the back door of the car opened. Another man stepped out. And suddenly the street felt smaller. He wasn’t like the first man. This one didn’t look like an assistant or a bodyguard. He looked like someone who owned the world around him. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to absorb everything they looked at. He wore a charcoal suit and no umbrella, yet the rain didn’t seem to bother him. Isabella knew that face. Not personally. But she’d seen it before in whispers, in news articles, in the kind of rumors people lowered their voices to tell. Vincenzo Romano. The name alone was enough to make people nervous. Head of the Romano family. One of the most powerful crime organizations in the city. And right now, he was walking toward her. Her heart began to pound. He stopped just a few feet away, studying her with calm curiosity. “Isabella,” he said. His voice was smooth. Controlled. “You know who I am,” he added. It wasn’t a question. “Yes,” she admitted. “And yet you still haven’t run away.” “Should I?” A faint smile touched his lips. “Most people do.” The rain continued to fall around them, tapping softly against the pavement. Isabella folded her arms again. “What do you want from me?” Vincenzo glanced briefly at the man beside him. “Marco.” The bodyguard nodded and stepped back toward the car, giving them space. Now it was just the two of them standing under the streetlight. “You work at the café on Delaney Street,” Vincenzo said. “Yes.” “You live in the apartment building three blocks away.” Isabella’s stomach tightened. “You’ve been watching me.” “Observing,” he corrected calmly. “That’s creepy.” “Perhaps.” His expression remained unreadable. “But necessary.” “Necessary for what?” He studied her for another long moment before speaking. “For what comes next.” The words made no sense. “Look,” Isabella said, exasperated, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m tired, it’s raining, and I have work tomorrow. So if you’re done being mysterious—” “I want to marry you.” The sentence landed like thunder. Isabella blinked. “What?” “You heard me.” “I definitely did,” she said slowly, “but I’m pretty sure you didn’t think that through.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I did.” “Because I’m fairly certain we’ve never even met.” “We haven’t.” “And you’re proposing marriage?” “Yes.” She stared at him. For a moment she wondered if this was some kind of elaborate joke. But Vincenzo Romano didn’t look like a man who made jokes. “Okay,” Isabella said finally. “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen.” She turned again to leave. “Your father owes my family two million dollars.” The words stopped her instantly. Slowly, she looked back at him. “What did you say?” “Your father,” Vincenzo repeated calmly, “borrowed money from people he shouldn’t have.” Isabella’s chest tightened. Her father had always been reckless. But two million? “That’s impossible.” “It isn’t.” She shook her head. “You’re lying.” “I don’t lie about business.” Her heart began racing again. “What does that have to do with me?” “Everything.” He stepped closer. Not threateningly. Just enough to make his presence overwhelming. “He can’t repay the debt,” Vincenzo continued. “Not now. Not ever.” “So you’re threatening my family?” “No.” His dark eyes held hers steadily. “I’m offering a solution.” “And that solution is… marriage?” “Yes.” Isabella laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “You expect me to marry you to pay off my father’s debt?” “Correct.” “That’s insane.” “Perhaps.” “But it’s also effective.” She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Why me?” “Because marriage creates an alliance.” “That doesn’t answer the question.” His gaze softened slightly. “Because you interest me.” That somehow made it worse. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough.” “And what exactly do you think you know?” “That you’re loyal,” he said. “Strong.” “And far braver than you should be.” She scoffed. “You’ve been spying on me for what—two days?” “Six weeks.” Isabella’s jaw dropped. “Six—” “Yes.” “That’s creepy,” she repeated. “Probably.” “Definitely.” The rain began to slow, leaving the street quiet again. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Isabella shook her head. “No.” His eyebrow lifted slightly. “No?” “I’m not marrying you.” “You haven’t heard the rest of the offer.” “I don’t need to.” “You might.” She crossed her arms stubbornly. “Why?” “Because if you refuse,” Vincenzo said calmly, “my enemies will eventually collect your father’s debt.” “And?” “And they are far less patient than I am.” The implication hung heavy in the air. Isabella felt a chill crawl up her spine. “What happens to my father?” “That depends on them.” “And my family?” Another pause. “Debts have consequences.” Her stomach twisted. She hated that he was right. Her father’s mistakes had always followed them. But this was different. This was bigger. Dangerous. “You’re manipulating me,” she said quietly. “Yes.” At least he was honest. “And if I say yes?” “Your father’s debt disappears.” “And?” “You become my wife.” The word echoed in her mind. Wife. “You would live in my home.” “Under my protection.” “And in return?” “You stand beside me,” he said simply. “As my bride.” The absurdity of the situation made her dizzy. “This is crazy.” “Most people would call it that.” She looked at him again. Really looked. Vincenzo Romano was dangerous. That much was obvious. But there was something else there too. Something controlled. Calculated. He wasn’t forcing her. He was cornering her. “I need time to think,” she said finally. “You have twenty-four hours.” “That’s not enough.” “It’s generous.” Her jaw tightened. “You really believe I’ll say yes.” “I believe you love your family,” he replied. And that, she realized, was the trap. Because he was right.