MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

Just For Coffee

On Returning Home

Richard returned to the house in a black mood.

The front door shut harder than necessary. Eleanor, Isabella’s mother, looked up from the careful set dinner table, the moment she heard it. She had been waiting all evening with the hope that her daughter was coming home.

“Did you see her?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel as she stepped into the hallway.

Richard dropped his keys on the table with a sharp clatter. His face was set and cold.

“No. He wouldn’t even let me upstairs.”

Eleanor’s expression fell. “Richard—”

“Don’t.” He turned on her, voice low and hard. “This is on you.”

She froze. “What?”

“You heard me.” He stepped closer, anger that had nowhere else to go spilling out in clipped, cutting words. “You failed as a mother. You gave her too much freedom. You let her do whatever she wanted, come and go as she pleased, makes her own choices without consequence. And now look where we are. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t come home. She disappears into some man’s building and we’re left standing in a lobby like strangers.”

Eleanor’s face went pale. “I only wanted her to feel trusted—”

“You wanted to be the soft parent,” Richard snapped. “The one she liked. And this is the result. A daughter who thinks she can ignore her family because no one ever made her stay in line. If you had been firmer, if you had controlled her the way a mother should, she wouldn’t be locked away with that man right now.”

Eleanor’s eyes shone, but she didn’t raise her voice. “She’s twenty-four, Richard. She’s not a child.”

“She’s still our daughter,” he shot back. “And she should have known better than to cut us off. That starts with how she was raised. With what you allowed.”

He turned away before she could answer, walking deeper into the house with stiff, angry steps. Eleanor remained standing in the hallway, the towel still clutched in her hands, the weight of his words settling over her in the quiet that followed.

Eleanor’s hands tightened on the towel until her knuckles went white.

For a moment she only stared at her husband’s back. Then the words she had been holding in for years finally broke free.

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” she shouted, voice sharp enough to stop Richard mid-step. “You want to talk about failure? The daughter you raised ended up being a slut who chased every man with money, and your son is sitting behind bars right now. So don’t stand there and tell me I failed with Isabella. I did a better job with her than you ever did with the other two.”

Richard turned slowly, face darkening.

“Watch your mouth.”

“No,” Eleanor shot back, stepping forward. “You came in here blaming me because you couldn’t get past a lobby. You don’t get to rewrite history. Isabella is the only one of our children who turned out decent, and that wasn’t because of your rules. It was because I actually raised her. So if you’re angry that she won’t come running the second you demand it, look at the example you set — not at me.”

The house went silent except for their breathing. Richard’s jaw worked, but for once he didn’t have an immediate answer.

Eleanor’s eyes were wet, but her voice stayed steady.

“She’s safe. That’s more than we can say for the rest of this family. And if the only way she stays safe is away from this house, then maybe that’s the one thing I got right.”

The house was still heavy with the argument when Eleanor picked up her phone.

She stepped into the quiet of the living room, away from Richard, and dialed the number she had called dozens of times without success. This time, after several rings, the line connected.

“Isabella?”

There was a short pause on the other end. Then her daughter’s voice, careful and low.

“Mom.”

Eleanor closed her eyes for a second, relief and fear tangled together. “Baby, I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I just need to see you. Please. Just for coffee. Somewhere public, somewhere quick. I won’t bring your father. I won’t bring anyone else. I just need to look at you and know you’re all right with my own eyes.”

Isabella’s answer came slowly. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?” Eleanor pressed, her voice already trembling. “I’m not asking you to come home. I’m not asking you to leave him. I just want an hour. One hour where I can sit across from you and see that you’re safe. Your father came home furious and said terrible things, and I— I can’t keep going on like this without seeing you.”

Silence stretched between them. Isabella glanced toward the hallway, Julian was in his office on a call, the door half-closed. The low murmur of his voice carried faintly through the walls.

“It’s complicated,” Isabella said at last. “He’s protective. If he finds out—”

“Then don’t tell him,” Eleanor cut in, softer now but desperate. “Just come. I’ll meet you anywhere you want. A café, a park bench, the back of a*****e — I don’t care. I’ll take whatever time you can give me.”

Isabella leaned against the wall, phone pressed to her ear, torn. Part of her wanted to hang up and pretend the call had never happened. Another part — the part that still remembered her mother’s voice reading her stories at night — couldn’t do it.

“There’s a small café three blocks from here,” she said finally, still reluctant. “The one with the green awning. Early afternoon. I can’t stay long.”

“I’ll be there,” Eleanor said immediately. “Thank you. Thank you, baby.”

That night Isabella barely slept. She kept glancing at Julian while he worked beside her on the couch, wondering how long it would take him to notice she was gone. The next morning she moved through the usual routine carefully — breakfast, quiet conversation, the small tender gestures he still gave only her. When he was finally pulled into a longer meeting with Dante and two others, she knew it was her only window.

She left a short note on the kitchen counter — Back soon. Don’t worry. — then took the service elevator down and slipped out a side entrance the staff used for deliveries. Her heart beat too fast the entire walk. Every car that passed made her glance over her shoulder.

When she stepped into the café, Eleanor was already there, hands wrapped tightly around an untouched cup of coffee. The moment she saw Isabella, her eyes filled with tears.

She stood up so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.

“You’re here,” Eleanor whispered, and pulled her daughter into a tight, shaking hug. “You’re really here.”

Isabella hugged her back, already calculating how many minutes she could risk before Julian realized the penthouse was empty.