The Mafia Boss' Betrayal

Isabella

Dante POV

"I know we’re not supposed to be doing things this way. I know it’s fast. And crazy. But when I look at you, I don’t want logic. I don’t want safe." He looked up into her stunned face. "I want you. For real. On our terms."

Her mouth parted slightly.

"I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Gia Moretti. You drive me insane, and I’m starting to think I need that kind of chaos in my life forever." He gave a crooked smile. "So marry me. Not for business. Not because our fathers hope it works out. Marry me because you want to ruin me as much as I want to be ruined by you."

She just stared.

Then—she laughed. A full, surprised, delighted laugh. "We’re not even having s*x yet."

"Exactly," he grinned. "Imagine how whipped I’ll be after that."

She stared at him for one more beat. And then she held out her hand.

"Get up, you i***t," she whispered. "Of course I’ll marry you."

He stood, slid the ring onto her finger, and kissed her hard—like he’d won something he never thought he deserved….

Dante jolted awake—his heart pounding, coated in sweat.

For a moment he swore he could still feel her—warm, laughing, his.

Then the cold reality crashed down—like it always did after one of those dreams.

“What’s wrong?” Isabella groaned next to him.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Dante whispered, getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. He splashed cold water in his face and stared at his reflection for a moment. He wasn’t the carefree young man he’d been five years ago.

After Gia had walked out on him, he never fully recovered.

Dante thought back to the moment right before he promised Isabella forever, five years ago.

“I know you don’t love me…and that’s okay. I—I’m sorry, about what happened, I—” Isabella said softly. Dante stood with his back to her, clinging to the sink of the little dressing room of the chapel.

He wanted to hate her, to tell her to go f**k herself. To tell her…that he didn’t want her, that she had trapped him and ruined his life…

But that would make him a monster. He was even more to blame than her. He had been the one who had gotten engaged. He’d been the one to come back from that weekend with Gia—where she’d given him the most precious gift of all—and had decided to have a little boys night celebration.

And he’d been the one to…wake up next to Isabella after he’d blacked out.

“This isn’t your fault,” he had said, turning around. “It’s mine.” He took her hands in his.

“It may seem bad at the moment, but…maybe things will work out for us and the love will grow. I promise to always be there for you, and our child,”

And he had. He’d never broken his promise. But the memories of Gia had haunted him ever since.

Dante raked a hand through his hair, still trying to wipe the last traces of the dream from his mind.

The memory of Gia’s smile, her voice saying yes—it was like a knife twisting deeper every time he woke up without her.

He pulled the bedroom door open quietly, stepping into the dim hallway.

A tiny figure stood there, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest.

"Aria," he said softly, his voice catching a little.

She was barefoot, wearing her favorite pajama set covered in little moons and stars. Her dark hair—the same as his—was tangled from sleep. Big brown eyes blinked up at him, shimmering with tears.

"I had a bad dream," she whispered.

Dante’s heart cracked clean in two.

Without hesitation, he crouched down and scooped her up into his arms. She wrapped herself around him like she always did—tight, trusting, like he was the safest place in the world.

"It’s okay, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair. "Daddy’s got you. You’re safe."

Aria buried her face in his neck, clutching her rabbit even tighter. He could feel her small body trembling slightly, her fear not fully shaken off yet.

"You wanna help me make breakfast?" he asked after a moment, swaying her gently like he used to when she was a baby.

She pulled back just enough to nod.

"Okay." Dante kissed her forehead, holding her close as he headed for the kitchen.

The staff wouldn’t be arriving for another hour—Isabella insisted they maintain "proper appearances," even inside the house—but he didn’t mind mornings like this.

Mornings where it was just him and Aria. Where no one was watching.

Where he could pretend—just for a little while—that he hadn't ruined everything.

He set her gently on the counter, ruffling her hair, and started pulling down the pancake mix. Aria swung her legs and smiled at him, a little sleepy but full of pure, unconditional love.

For the first time since waking up, Dante smiled back. A real one. Small. Crooked. But real. She was the only thing that still made sense in his broken, twisted world.

Aria giggled when a puff of pancake mix exploded across the counter.

"You’re supposed to pour it in the bowl, Daddy," she said with a mock-serious frown.

Dante chuckled, wiping the flour off her nose with the side of his thumb. "Bossy, just like your Nonna," he teased.

She beamed proudly, completely missing the sadness that tugged at his heart. Gia would have laughed too. Probably would’ve scolded him for trying to make pancakes without reading the instructions first.

"Okay, little chef," he said, handing her a spoon. "You stir. I’ll supervise."

She took the job seriously, tongue poking out a little in concentration as she mixed. Dante leaned against the counter, watching her.

He could've stayed like that forever. Just the two of them, making a mess, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He was flipping the first pancake when the sound of heels clicking across the marble floors made him stiffen slightly.

Dante glanced up from the stove to see Isabella step into the kitchen, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair perfectly tousled like she'd stepped out of a salon.

She smiled — too wide, too bright for the early hour.

“There’s my little princess,” she cooed, gliding across the room.

Aria stiffened slightly in Dante’s arms but didn’t let go of his neck.

Isabella paused, just for a beat, before smoothing her expression and reaching out to brush Aria’s hair off her forehead.

“You’re up so early, darling. Did you have a bad dream?”

Aria nodded against Dante’s chest but didn’t say anything. Isabella’s smile faltered for half a second before she caught herself.

“Well, Daddy’s taking good care of you,” she said sweetly, pressing a kiss to Aria’s hair. Her eyes flicked up to Dante’s, a quick flash of something tight crossing her face.

“I was going to let you sleep in,” Dante said neutrally, setting a plate of pancakes down on the island. “We’re good here.”

Isabella moved to pour herself a coffee, her back rigidly straight. “You know she needs her schedule, Dante. Breakfast at 8:00. Lessons at 9:00.” She glanced back over her shoulder with a strained laugh. “She gets fussy when she’s overtired.”

Dante didn't miss the way Aria hugged him tighter at that.

“She’s fine,” he said quietly. “She just needed a little extra time with her father.”

Isabella sipped her coffee, her gaze unreadable.

“Well,” she said, her voice light, “you’re the hero this morning.”

Aria finally wriggled down from his arms to climb onto one of the stools, tiny legs kicking. She still clutched her stuffed animal tightly, glancing suspiciously at her mother over the rim of her plate.

Isabella knelt beside her, smoothing Aria’s hair again — too carefully, like arranging a doll for a photograph.

“Eat up, tesoro,” she said softly. “We have a busy day ahead.”

Then she glanced at Dante, her smile a touch brittle. “And you too. Big meetings. Big responsibilities.”

Her meaning wasn't lost on him. Don’t forget what you owe us.

Dante just nodded, sliding another pancake onto Aria’s plate and ruffling her hair, earning a rare sleepy giggle from his daughter. At least with her, he could still be real.

At least with her, he could still feel... something.