MY MAFIA BOYFRIEND

I Came Back

Eleanor held on longer than necessary before finally letting go. She pulled back just enough to look at Isabella’s face, eyes searching every detail as if she needed to memorize her.

“You look thin,” she said softly. “Are you eating? Is he treating you well?”

Isabella sat down across from her, keeping her coat on. “I’m fine, Mom. I eat. He’s… good to me in his own way.”

Eleanor reached across the small table and took her daughter’s hand. Her fingers were cold.

“I don’t care about ‘his own way,’” she said, voice low and urgent. “I care that I haven’t seen you in weeks. Your father is impossible right now. He came home last night and blamed me for everything — said I gave you too much freedom, that I failed as a mother. I told him how I felt about your siblings but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m terrified something is going to happen to you.”

Isabella glanced toward the café window. The street outside looked ordinary. No sign of Dante or any of Julian’s men. Still, her stomach stayed tight.

“I can’t stay long,” she said. “If he notices I’m gone—”

“Then talk to me while you’re here.” Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Just tell me you’re safe. Tell me he isn’t hurting you. Tell me you still have a choice.”

Isabella hesitated. The truth was more complicated than a simple yes or no.

“He’s controlling,” she admitted quietly. “He doesn’t want me near Dad or Ethan. He thinks they’re going to try to take me away. But he hasn’t hurt me. When I’m sick or upset, he’s careful. He listens more than I expected.”

Eleanor’s eyes filled again. “Then why can’t you come home? Even for a night?”

“Because if I walk back into that house, I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to leave again,” Isabella said. “Dad already tried to force his way in the last time he came. Julian won’t forget that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The café hummed with quiet conversation and the clink of cups around them. Eleanor wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and tried to smile.

“I just needed to see you,” she whispered. “That’s all. I can breathe a little better now.”

Isabella checked the time on her phone. She had already been gone longer than she planned.

“I have to go,” she said, standing. “If he finds out I left without telling him, it’s going to make everything harder.”

Eleanor stood too and pulled her into one more hug, tighter this time.

“I love you,” she murmured against her daughter’s hair. “Whatever happens, I love you. And I’m still your mother. That doesn’t change.”

Isabella nodded, throat tight, then slipped out of the café and walked quickly back toward the building, already rehearsing what she would say if Julian was waiting when the elevator doors opened.

Isabella took the service elevator back up, heart still beating too fast. The note she had left on the counter was gone.

Julian was waiting in the living room.

He stood near the windows with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Dante was nowhere in sight. The penthouse felt too quiet.

“Where did you go?” Julian asked. His voice was calm, but it carried the same weight it always did when he was controlling his temper.

Isabella stopped a few steps inside the room. “I went to see my mother.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Julian’s jaw tightened. “You left the building. Alone. Without telling me.”

“I left a note.”

“A note isn’t permission.” He walked toward her slowly. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? Your father already tried to force his way up here. You think he doesn’t have people watching? You think walking three blocks to a café is invisible?”

Isabella held her ground, even as her pulse raced. “She’s my mother. She was begging me. I needed to see her.”

Julian stopped in front of her. For a moment the only sound was the distant city traffic far below.

“I told you I would handle it,” he said, quieter now but no less intense. “I told you to stay behind me. And the first chance you get, you sneak out like I’m the enemy.”

“You’re not the enemy,” Isabella answered. “But you’re not my jailer either.”

Something flickered across his face — anger, frustration, and underneath it a sharper edge of fear he didn’t bother to hide completely.

He exhaled slowly and dragged a hand down his face. When he looked at her again, the coldness had cracked just enough to show the concern underneath.

“I need to know where you are,” he said. “Not because I want to own every minute of your life. Because the second someone decides to use you to get to me, you become a target. And I will not lose you to your father’s pride or anyone else’s.”

Isabella’s shoulders lowered a fraction. “I came back.”

“You did.” Julian stepped closer and, after a brief pause, rested his hands on her waist. The touch was firm but careful. “Don’t do it again. If you need to see her, we find another way. One that doesn’t involve you walking the streets alone while half the city is looking for leverage.”

She searched his eyes. The anger was still there, but so was the same protective intensity that had kept her in the penthouse all this time.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Julian studied her for another moment, then pulled her against him and pressed a long kiss to the top of her head. His arms stayed locked around her, solid and unyielding.

“I mean it, Isabella. Next time you need something, you come to me first. Clear?”

“Clear.”

He held her there in the quiet living room, the city glittering beyond the glass, both of them knowing the argument wasn’t fully over — only set aside for now.