CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A MALL FOR HIS WIFE

The boutique fell silent the moment Alessandro walked in with Isabella.

The saleswoman who had humiliated her earlier went pale. Her manager hurried forward, forcing a nervous smile.

“Mr. Moretti. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Alessandro ignored his greeting.

“Is this the woman your staff accused of using a fake credit card?”

The manager's smile disappeared.

“Sir, there must have been a misunderstanding. Our staff were only following—”

“Following what?” Alessandro interrupted. “The instructions to insult customers who don't look wealthy enough?”

Nobody answered.

Isabella stood beside him, her fingers nervously gripping her handbag. She wished the entire incident could disappear, but Alessandro had no intention of letting it go.

Marco stepped forward.

“The card is genuine. The bank temporarily blocked the transaction because it flagged an unusual purchase location. The restriction has already been lifted.”

Alessandro looked at the manager.

“So the card was never fake.”

“No, sir.”

“And yet you allowed your employees to humiliate my wife.”

The manager turned towards Isabella immediately.

“Mrs. Moretti, I sincerely apologize. We had no idea who you were.”

Alessandro's expression hardened.

“That is your apology? You are sorry because you didn't know her name?”

The manager swallowed.

“I apologize for the way you were treated, ma'am.”

Alessandro turned to Marco.

“Every employee involved in this incident is dismissed. I don't want them representing any business associated with my family.”

The saleswoman began crying.

“Please, sir. I didn't know. I didn't mean to offend her.”

“You didn't need to know who she was to treat her with respect.”

He glanced at his guards.

“Take them outside. Break the hands they used to push my wife away.”

“Alessandro!”

Isabella's voice came out softer than she intended.

He looked down at her.

She was visibly uncomfortable, but she gathered enough courage to speak.

“Please. I don't want anyone hurt because of me.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his gaze returned to the terrified employees.

“They will lose their jobs. That is already more mercy than they showed my wife. Take them away.”

The guards escorted them out.

The manager quickly bowed again.

“Mrs. Moretti, please allow us to serve you properly. Anything you want is yours.”

Alessandro looked at Isabella.

“Choose whatever you like.”

She hesitated.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The manager personally attended to her. Dresses, shoes, handbags and accessories were brought out, and Isabella was encouraged to try whatever caught her attention.

At first, she chose only two dresses.

Alessandro noticed.

“Is that all?”

She nodded shyly.

“That's enough.”

He leaned closer. “You came here to shop, not to prove how little you can ask for.”

Her cheeks warmed.

After another hour, she had selected several beautiful dresses, elegant shoes and handbags. For the first time, the staff treated her with the respect she had deserved from the beginning.

When they finally returned to the main entrance, Marco approached Alessandro with a folder.

“Sir, the mall owner is available. He has agreed to discuss the sale.”

Isabella looked up.

“The sale of what?”

Alessandro handed the folder to Marco.

“The mall.”

She blinked.

“Why are we buying a mall?”

“Because I don't want you wondering whether you are welcome in places like this.”

“Alessandro, you cannot buy an entire mall because one shop assistant was rude to me.”

“I can.”

He said it so casually that she almost laughed.

“That's not the point.”

He studied her face, then reached for her hand.

“I know. But I want you to have something that belongs to you. Something nobody can take away because they think you don't deserve to be here.”

Her expression softened.

“I'm your wife. I don't need an entire mall.”

“I know you're my wife.” His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. “I want you to have it because you're Isabella.”

He turned to Marco.

“Complete the purchase. Register the ownership in my wife's name.”

Marco nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Isabella stared at him, still struggling to understand what had just happened.

“Alessandro?”

“Yes, amore?”

She looked down at their joined hands.

“Thank you for standing up for me.”

His expression softened.

“You should never have to thank me for that.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

Then he opened the car door for her.

As she settled inside, Isabella found herself looking at him differently.

For the first time, she wondered whether the ruthless man everyone feared was slowly becoming someone she could love without being afraid.