The Mafia King's Widow

The rain began before dawn. By noon, it was pouring so heavily that the black umbrellas surrounding the cemetery looked like a sea of shadows. Isabella Moretti stood motionless beside her husband's coffin. She felt nothing. Not sadness. Not anger. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Three days ago, her husband had been alive. Three days ago, Marco Moretti had been one of the most feared mafia bosses in Italy. Three days ago, men would have dropped to their knees at the sound of his name. Now he was lying in an expensive wooden box while priests prayed over him. Funny how quickly power disappeared. The priest continued speaking. Isabella wasn't listening. She was too busy counting how many people were pretending to cry. The answer was most of them. Especially the bald man in the second row. The man had dramatically wiped his eyes seven times already. Seven. She had counted. Marco had hated that man. If Marco could see him now, he would probably climb out of the coffin just to punch him. The thought almost made her smile. Almost. A handkerchief appeared in front of her. She looked up. An elderly woman dressed entirely in black offered it. "Dear, you should cry." Isabella blinked. "Why?" The old woman looked horrified. "Because your husband died." "Oh." The old woman waited. Isabella waited. Nothing happened. Finally, Isabella accepted the handkerchief. "Thank you." The old woman nodded encouragingly. Isabella used it to wipe rainwater from her forehead. The woman's expression collapsed. A laugh nearly escaped Isabella's lips. She swallowed it. Probably not the right time. The priest finished speaking. People began approaching the coffin one by one. Offering condolences. Sharing memories. Telling lies. So many lies. "Marco was a good man." No, he wasn't. "He loved peace." Absolutely not. "He was kind." The man once threatened someone with a chainsaw. Kind wasn't exactly the word. The line continued. After the twentieth fake speech, Isabella felt her patience evaporating. Then she saw him. Standing beneath a black umbrella. Watching from a distance. Luca Moretti. Marco's younger brother. The entire cemetery seemed to shift around him. Men who terrified others stepped aside when he walked. Bodyguards straightened their backs. Soldiers lowered their eyes. Not because he demanded it. Because they feared him. Luca was taller than Marco. Broader. Colder. The kind of man who never smiled in photographs. The kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. The kind of man newspapers called a monster. His black suit fit perfectly. Rain slid down his dark hair. His face remained expressionless. He looked more like an executioner than a mourner. Their eyes met. For a moment neither moved. Then Luca gave a single nod. Nothing more. No speech. No condolences. No fake sympathy. Oddly enough, Isabella appreciated that. At least he wasn't pretending. A black car suddenly arrived at the cemetery entrance. Several mafia captains exchanged nervous looks. Whispers spread. Isabella noticed immediately. Something was wrong. Very wrong. One of Marco's senior advisors hurried toward Luca. The man leaned close and whispered something. Luca's expression didn't change. But his eyes darkened. Dangerously. The advisor stepped back as though afraid of being shot. Interesting. Very interesting. Unfortunately, before Isabella could hear more, another group of mourners approached. For the next hour she endured endless condolences. By the end, she was ready to bury half the guests alongside Marco. The funeral finally ended. People began leaving. Cars disappeared down the winding road. The rain softened. Silence settled over the cemetery. At last. Peace. Isabella released a long breath. She turned toward the grave. "Well." The fresh earth remained silent. "That was exhausting." Still nothing. "Your funeral was almost as dramatic as your life." A small smile touched her lips. Despite everything, Marco had been part of her life for twelve years. Their marriage had never been perfect. Far from it. But he had protected her. Provided for her. Made her laugh on occasion. And now he was gone. The realization landed unexpectedly. Heavy. Permanent. She closed her eyes. For the first time that day, tears threatened to appear. Then a deep voice spoke behind her. "You should leave." The tears vanished instantly. Luca. Of course. She turned around. "Do you ever say hello first?" "No." "How charming." Luca stared at her. Isabella stared back. The silence stretched. Neither seemed interested in breaking it. Finally Isabella sighed. "What do you want?" "To make sure you're safe." She laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised both of them. "Safe?" "Yes." "I'm standing in a cemetery." "Exactly." His answer made absolutely no sense. Unfortunately, it also sounded serious. Her amusement faded. "What happened?" Luca didn't answer immediately. That alone was concerning. Men like Luca always had answers. Eventually he said, "There may be people who benefited from Marco's death." "There are thousands." "I'm aware." "Then narrow it down." His jaw tightened. Interesting. Apparently she wasn't the only one frustrated. Before he could reply, another voice interrupted. "Boss." A bodyguard approached quickly. The man looked nervous. Very nervous. "Not now." "It can't wait." Luca's eyes sharpened. The bodyguard handed him a phone. Luca listened. For several seconds he said nothing. Then he ended the call. His expression became even colder. Which was impressive considering he already looked like winter in human form. "What happened?" Isabella asked. Luca looked at her. For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he said, "The council is meeting tonight." Her stomach dropped. The council. The governing body of the Moretti crime family. A collection of old men with too much money and too many opinions. She hated them. They hated everyone. "Why?" No answer. Luca looked away. That was enough. Something was very wrong. "Why?" she repeated. His gaze returned to hers. And suddenly she wished she hadn't asked. Because for the first time all day... Luca looked troubled. Not angry. Not cold. Troubled. The sight was deeply unsettling. Finally he spoke. "The family needs a new leader." "Obviously." "The council has already chosen." "Then congratulations." Silence. Luca didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't react. A terrible feeling crept into Isabella's chest. "Oh no." Still silence. "Oh no." Luca sighed. Actually sighed. A rare event. "What?" "The council chose me." She groaned. "Wonderful. The family psychopath gets promoted." His eyebrow twitched. Victory. A tiny one, but still. Then she noticed he wasn't finished speaking. That terrible feeling returned. "What else?" Luca looked toward the grave. Then back at her. "The council made another decision." The rain seemed to stop. The wind seemed to disappear. The entire world suddenly became quiet. Isabella folded her arms. "What decision?" Luca hesitated. A second later she realized why. Because the answer was absurd. Completely absurd. The kind of thing that belonged in a medieval kingdom. Not modern Italy. "The council believes Marco's widow should remain under family protection." She blinked. "Okay." "You'll be moving into my estate." Silence. One second. Two seconds. Three. Then Isabella burst out laughing. Hard. So hard she nearly doubled over. Luca watched her. Unimpressed. "Oh, that's good," she said between laughs. "Very funny." "I'm serious." The laughter stopped. Instantly. "What?" "The council's decision is final." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." "No." "Isabella—" "I am not moving into your house." "You are." "I'm thirty-five years old." "I know." "I'm not a lost puppy." "I know." "I'm not a piece of furniture." "I know." "Then why are they acting like they inherited me?" For the first time all day, Luca looked as though he might agree with her. Unfortunately, agreement wasn't the problem. The council was. And everyone knew it. Isabella pointed toward the cemetery gate. "I'm going home." "No." "I'm packing." "No." "I'm leaving the country." Definitely no." She glared. He glared back. Neither moved. Finally she grabbed her purse and started walking away. "I'm leaving." Luca's voice followed her. "You have until sunset." She stopped. Slowly turned around. "What does that mean?" His expression remained unreadable. Then he delivered the sentence that would change her life forever. "The council didn't ask." The wind picked up. The trees swayed. And for the first time since Marco's death... Isabella felt afraid. Because Luca Moretti wasn't joking. By sunset... The most feared man in Italy was coming for her. And somehow... He intended to take her home.