Mafia’s broken Angel

Isabella “You weren’t supposed to see that.” The voice behind me is cold enough to stop my heartbeat. Rain pours harder around me as I freeze beside the alley wall, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. My breathing comes fast and uneven. I can still hear the gunshot echoing in my head. I can still see the body collapsing onto the wet ground. I shouldn’t have looked. I shouldn’t have taken the shortcut behind the bookstore. Slowly, I turn around. The man standing a few feet away looks even more terrifying up close. Black coat. Dark eyes. Blood on his hand. He stares at me without emotion, like he’s deciding whether I deserve to live or die. I know who he is immediately. Everybody in Italy knows Matteo De Luca. My father calls him dangerous trash whenever his name appears on the news. The city calls him a monster. And right now, that monster is looking directly at me. “I-I didn’t mean to….” “Run.” I blink in confusion. “What?” His jaw tightens. “Run if you’re going to.” For half a second, I just stare at him. Then survival finally kicks in. I run. My shoes slip against the wet pavement as I rush toward the street. My lungs burn instantly. Panic crashes through me so hard I can barely think. I hear footsteps behind me, calm and steady while mine are desperate. He’s not even rushing. That terrifies me more. A hand suddenly grabs my arm and slams me against the brick wall beside the alley exit. A cry escapes me before I can stop it. “Please,” I whisper. Matteo’s grip tightens slightly. Rain drips from his dark hair onto his face, but he doesn’t blink. “What’s your name?” “I-Isabella.” “Last name.” I hesitate. Big mistake. His expression darkens instantly. “Romano,” I whisper quickly. “Isabella Romano.” Everything changes. I see it in his face immediately. Recognition. His eyes narrow slowly as he studies me again, this time more carefully. “Judge Romano’s daughter?” My stomach twists painfully. “Yes.” For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he lets go of my arm. I stumble back, shocked. I expected violence. Threats. Maybe another gunshot. Instead, he reaches into his coat and pulls out his phone. “Bring the car around,” he says calmly. “Now.” My pulse spikes again. “What are you doing?” He ignores me completely. The body behind him lies motionless in the rain. Blood slowly mixes with water near the man’s head. I force myself not to look at it. “You’re coming with me,” Matteo says. “No.” His gaze lifts to mine again. “No?” he repeats softly. Fear crawls up my spine. “I have to go home.” “You witnessed something you shouldn’t have.” “I won’t tell anyone.” “You’re Judge Romano’s daughter.” His voice hardens. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” “I don’t know anything about my father’s work.” “That doesn’t mean your father hasn’t told you things without realizing it.” I shake my head quickly. “Please. My father will notice I’m gone.” Something unreadable crosses his face at that. “Good,” he says quietly. Before I can react, headlights appear near the alley entrance. A black car stops beside us. Matteo opens the back door. “Get in.” “I’m not going anywhere with you.” He steps closer. I immediately press myself against the wall again. For a second, something shifts in his expression. Not guilt exactly. More like realization. Like he’s noticing how afraid I am for the first time. But it disappears quickly. “Get in the car, Isabella.” My eyes burn suddenly. I hate crying. My father says crying makes people weak. Still, tears blur my vision anyway. “I didn’t do anything.” Matteo watches me silently before speaking again. “I know.” That answer confuses me more than anything else. If he knows I’m innocent, then why am I here? Why is he looking at me like I’m some kind of problem he hasn’t figured out yet? The rain grows heavier around us. Finally, I climb into the car because I know I have no choice. Matteo gets in beside me. The doors lock instantly. My chest tightens. I’m trapped. The drive through the city feels endless. I sit pressed against the door as far away from him as possible. Nobody speaks. The only sound inside the car is rain hitting the windows. I keep thinking about the dead man in the alley. I keep wondering if Matteo feels anything after killing someone. But when I glance at him carefully, his face looks empty and calm. Like nothing happened at all. That scares me. “You work at Belladonna Bookstore,” he suddenly says. I stare at him. “How do you know that?” “You smell like old paper.” I look down immediately, embarrassed for some reason. My father always complains about the smell after I come home from work. Matteo keeps watching me. “You’re shaking.” “I’m cold.” It’s a lie. I’m terrified. The car eventually turns through massive iron gates. My breath catches as a huge mansion appears ahead of us, isolated behind trees and darkness. The De Luca estate. I’ve heard stories about this place my entire life. Most of them horrible. The car stops. One of the guards opens the door, but my body refuses to move. “I can’t stay here.” “Yes, you can.” “My father…” “Your father isn’t here.” The words hit harder than they should. Matteo steps out first before looking back at me. For one stupid second, I consider running again. But where would I even go? Slowly, I step outside. The mansion feels colder up close. Inside, everything is dark wood, marble floors, expensive paintings, and intimidating silence. Men in suits watch me carefully as Matteo leads me upstairs. Nobody questions him. Nobody even looks surprised to see me. That somehow makes everything worse. Matteo stops outside a bedroom and opens the door. “You’ll stay here tonight.” I immediately back away. “I want to leave.” “No.” “I said I won’t tell anyone what I saw.” “And I said no.” My breathing starts getting uneven again. He notices immediately. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me. “You’re scared of everything.” The words embarrass me instantly. “I’m not.” “You flinch every time someone moves near you.” I look away quickly. “I don’t.” “You do.” Something about the calmness in his voice makes my chest ache unexpectedly. Not because he sounds cruel. Because he sounds observant. Like he’s paying attention. Nobody pays attention to me. Especially not my father. “I’m tired,” I whisper. For a second, Matteo says nothing. Then his gaze drops briefly to my wrist. My sleeve had slipped back slightly during the drive. Just enough to expose the fading bruise beneath it. My heart stops. I pull my sleeve down immediately. But it’s too late. He saw it. The air between us changes instantly. Matteo’s face becomes completely unreadable. “Who did that to you?” My stomach drops. And for the first time since entering this house, I realize Matteo De Luca might start asking questions I can’t answer.