Chains Of The Mafia

Chapter 2 – Stolen by the Devil

Location: Romano Estate, Sicily, Italy

Time: 9:55 PM – The Night Turns Deadly

A heavy silence engulfed the room, thick and tense, as the intensity of Lorenzo DeLuca’s presence bore down like an impending storm.

Isabella remained motionless, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her father's estate had entertained numerous perilous individuals, yet none were like him. Lorenzo wasn’t merely strong—he was deadly. And now, he had arrived for her.

Moretti was the first to regain composure, a slow smirk forming on his face. “Do you believe you can come in here and take what doesn’t belong to you?” He jeered, sliding his chair away as he got up. "That's not the way this operates, DeLuca."

Lorenzo remained still and didn’t close his eyes. The atmosphere surrounding him appeared to vibrate with tightly controlled aggression. He dug into his jacket pocket, causing each man at the table to tense up.

However, instead of a firearm, he took out a folded sheet of paper. He threw it onto the table before Marco Romano, his face inscrutable.

Marco's jaw tightened as he grabbed it. His gaze swept over the document, and a muscle in his cheek fluttered.

Moretti grimaced. “What on earth is that?”

Lorenzo's voice was calm, steady. “A legal agreement.”

Marco's grip on the paper grew firmer. When he raised his gaze, anger filled his dark eyes. “From where did you obtain this?”

A sluggish grin flickered across Lorenzo’s face. "Your brother had a debt to me." "A big one." He leaned his head a bit. "I gathered."

Isabella felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Her uncle—her father's wild, gambling younger sibling. He had consistently been a burden, yet she never expected him to determine her destiny.

Moretti banged his fist on the table. “This is nonsense.”

Lorenzo’s cold stare sliced through him. “No, it’s a matter of business.” His voice became cuttingly sharp. "And you, Moretti, are disturbing it."

Moretti's hand moved nervously toward his belt. Isabella gasped.

Lorenzo's crew advanced, weapons at the ready. The metallic clicks of safety releases echoed through the room.

“Don't.” Lorenzo's caution was gentle, lethal. "Unless you prefer to perish this evening."

The room became a standoff, the atmosphere charged with the threat of aggression.

Marco reclined in his chair, his expression clouded with anger. "Do you believe you can take her and leave this place unscathed?"

Lorenzo breathed out gently, appearing somewhat uninterested. Then, in a swift movement, he extended his arm behind his back—

One gunshot echoed.

The crystals of the chandelier trembled from the explosion.

Isabella inhaled sharply, her heart pounding in her chest.

Lorenzo did not target a person. He had fired the costly bottle of whiskey right before Moretti, breaking glass and causing liquor to splash over the table.

The communication was obvious.

The upcoming shot will hit its mark.

Moretti remained stiff, his expression clouded with rage while his hands were cautiously lifted. He wasn’t bold enough to confront Lorenzo in this situation—not when the chances were against him.

Lorenzo faced Marco, smoothly putting his gun away in his holster as if nothing occurred. “You're aware of the rules, Romano.” His tone fell to an ominous level. "An honored debt is one that has been repaid."

Marco's nostrils expanded, his hands tightening into fists. He gazed at Isabella, his daughter—the pawn he could no longer govern.

She locked eyes with him, a defiant spark glowing in her emerald-green eyes. She understood what this signified.

He had no alternatives.

Marco breathed out sharply. "Remove her from my view."

Isabella hardly had a moment to understand before Lorenzo reached out to her.

“Hold on—” She hardly finished the word before his fingers gripped her wrist. The heat of his skin coursed through her arm, his hold strong yet not hurtful.

He then helped her stand up.

Moretti’s voice was a deep rumble. "This is not finished."

Lorenzo looked back at him, a ghost of amusement flickering in his storm-gray eyes as if he were enjoying it. “It better be, for your sake, Moretti.”

And just like that he walked out, with Isabella following behind him.

Location: Lorenzo’s Car – Speeding Through the Sicilian Countryside

Time: 10:15 PM

The evening breeze was heavy with the aroma of the ocean as Isabella sat stiff in the passenger seat of a shiny black Maserati. The vehicle sped along the twisting Sicilian pathways, the faint lights of her father's estate fading in the background.

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "Where on earth are you leading me?"

Lorenzo kept his gaze away from her, maintaining a firm hold on the steering wheel. "Somewhere secure."

She emitted a sarcastic chuckle. "Secure?" "By your side?" She faced him, fury burning within her. "You treated me as if I were insignificant." "As if I were an object."

He eventually looked at her, his face inscrutable in the faint light from the dashboard. “I rescued you.”

She derided. “From Moretti?” Or from my dad? "Since the last time I looked, you’re just as good as they are."

Lorenzo's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning pale as he held the wheel tightly. "I refrain from touching women unless they request it, Isabella." Moretti wouldn't have allowed you that option.

A shiver traced down her back. She loathed that he was correct.

She looked away, gazing out the window while the landscape rushed by. The quietness surrounding them buzzed, heavy with unexpressed thoughts.

He then spoke once more—softly, with restraint.

"You belong to me now, Isabella."

She spun around quickly. "Pardon?"

He maintained his gaze on the road, yet she sensed the heaviness of his words bearing down on her.

"You are mine." His tone was steady, yet there lurked something sinister underneath. Something that displays ownership. “Nobody comes near you.” Nobody acknowledges you. "No one pays attention to you unless I permit it."

Her breath caught, anger and something else—something perilous—twisting within her.

“You do not possess me, Lorenzo.”

His eyes darted to hers, and for the first time, she perceived it—the tempest brewing.

A vow.

A caution.

An assertion.

"We'll find out."

And as darkness enveloped them entirely,

Isabella was certain of one thing.

She hadn’t broken free from a prison.

She had stepped directly into the lion's lair.