LUCA'S POV She held my gaze in the mirror, the response I wanted desperately hovered above her lips. Yes, desperately—I knew what I wanted, and I knew what she wanted as well. I had let her go. Fuck , I was pissed as hell. She wanted to leave? Then she fucking could. That was how I felt the first week. But by the second, I succumbed. I was close to the peak of my insanity. I went on a killing spree—butchering my enemies, rival factions, spies in our Bratva. I ruined everyone as much as I could, using that as an outlet for my anger, my pain—trying to cover up the vast space Antonio left in me. But after a month, I had done all the killing I could. And my men? They were scared as fuck of me. I was a radiating time bomb waiting to tick off. The only nutjob crazy enough to stick up to me was Mancini. I remembered telling him to fuck off. I remembered shoving a punch into his face and him doing the same to me. We had beaten each other to the brink of death until no one cou
ISABELLA'S POV“¡Sí, jódete y corre! ¡Eso pensé, maldito cobarde!" I cursed out loud, flipping him the middle finger, watching him run as fast as he could while I stood unbothered. “I can't breathe,” a strained, muffled voice called out from beneath my feet. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” I groaned, jabbing my foot back into his chest forcefully, repeatedly, earning more pained groans from him. “It must be bad being you, right?” I asked, tilting my head backward as I stuck my fingers into his pockets, pulling out his wallet to flip through. A couple of bills, but no ID. “Really?” I scoffed, yanking out the cash before tossing the wallet back at him and lifting my foot off his chest, earning a painful wheeze from his lips. “You have more money than I do, and you tried to rob me?” I asked, jabbing my boot into his side, rolling my eyes before turning on my feet. I tucked the hoodie over my head. “I'm never a thief, and I usually don't do this, but I'm in need of money, and you did t
--LUCA'S POVThe door swung open as Mancini barged in, his eyes searching directly for me amongst the others in the room. “I heard,” Mancini whispered, pulling closer to me. Not breaking his gaze, he tapped me slightly on the shoulder before squeezing my palm gently. “He was a soldier down to the last minute. I'm sure he'd be proud of you and wouldn’t want you breaking down,” Mancini reassured me. I nodded, trying to feign a smile, but I just couldn't. I should be mourning the death of my best friend, but here I was, assisting the others in a room, planning an attack. “Come on, man, huge fat to buckle up. We need to avenge his death. Every single one of us needs to make those bitches pay for messing with one of ours,” Mancini asserted again. For a brief moment, I was suspicious. How had he known about Antonio's death so fast? But I was quick to cross out the thought as soon as it settled in. This was the mafia—news spread fast, especially when the one dead was the second
LUCA'S POV Isabella stood before me, eyes red-rimmed, shaking. She hadn’t stopped crying since the explosion. Since she told me what she did. Since she whispered his name like a prayer before breaking into a million fucking pieces. Antonio was gone, my best friend was dead, the only one whom I could trust was gone, and it was all her fucking fault. It was her fault. It was always her. “Every single fucked-up thing that went wrong started the very moment I married you, Isabella!” I spat furiously as soon as we stepped through the doors. I grabbed her by the neck, pinning her back forcefully against the wall while hovering over her. “You! It was always you! You fucking killed him!” I retorted again. This time, she didn’t cower. She didn’t try wriggling her way out of my grasp. She kept crying, almost as though she couldn’t register my words. “You don’t get to cry, Isabella!” I slammed her back harder into the wall, a scowl spreading across my face as she finally lift
ISABELLA'S POVPain, fear, and regret. They all came crashing in all at once. I lifted my gaze slowly, drowsiness attacking me as I shifted in the seat, propping my head slightly upward. A stifled groan and a light wince escaped my lips as I glanced around, trying to take in my current environment. The last thing I recalled was my heart thudding in my chest. I had woken up to an uproar in the house, chaos unleashed in the mafia world, and every maid had a whisper on their lips—Luca was having it bad. It wasn’t the smartest choice of my life, but I didn’t mind. I hurried my way toward his office to check on him, worried he'd be pissed to the core or broken. But to my despair, he was pissed. So I watched. Eavesdropping. Then I realized it was all because of the ledger—the one I had foolishly given away. I was pissed too, hurt maybe. I hadn’t expected Antonio to go so far, to such an extreme length. But I knew Luca wouldn’t spare me a minute to explain, so I ran as fast as my
LUCA'S POVFucking traitors. Fucking rats.The Bratva wasn’t what it used to be. Back in my father’s days, a traitor didn’t even live long enough to confess—his tongue was ripped out before he could speak a single word of betrayal. And now? These motherfuckers had the audacity to steal from me. To defy me. To challenge my goddamn throne.Not a fucking chance.Kirill's voice droned in my ear, but I barely registered it. My fingers curled into a tight fist against the armrest of my chair, the leather creaking under the force. My head was pounding, a mix of whiskey and seething fury. I wanted blood. I wanted screams. I wanted to remind the world why the name Ricci was feared.“The shipment wasn’t stolen—it was seized. Someone tipped off the government task force. And the Rossetti Mafia had a hand in it,” Kirill said, standing rigidly before me.I didn’t react. I let the words sink in, let the weight of betrayal settle deep in my bones. My men were tense. Their fear was palpable, thickeni
ISABELLA'S POVI'm seething, with my knees curled up against my chest, my eyes still pinned against the door. Those goddamned painkillers and messed-up meds made me miss him last night, although I was certain I had seen him in a blur while I was asleep. That was why I skipped the meds today, fooled the maids into thinking I took six pieces, watching them leave. Now, my head was no less of a splitting migraine, pain stabbing into it, but I'd do it this once. I needed to figure out the way he'd been acting. Just as I anticipated, it took more hours and determination from me before the door cracked open slowly, gently, almost as though he was sneaking in. He froze, standing idly by the door as our gazes locked. I glanced ahead at the wall clock. It was twelve past four in the morning. Great. "I didn't mean to wake you," he added way too hastily before pushing his way toward the closet. "Go to sleep, Isabella," he asserted, igniting a flame in me. He wanted to go crazy? Fine, he
LUCA'S POV“That bitch knows nothing. She should be grateful I'm nice enough to let her stay after that bullshit stunt she pulled,” I retorted, yelling as loud as I could, trying to hide my insecurities and hostility, which apparently doesn't seem to fool Maccini by any means.“Really?” he asked, not in the slightest bit bothered by my threats.“What’s your big plan then? Strangle her rough after she recovers from the coma?” Maccini asked, cocking his eyebrows at me in an unsettling manner. “Last I checked, Luca, you were the one bawling your eyes out on your knees, asking God to bring her back, so what the hell is wrong with you this time?” Maccini asked.A low grunt escaped my lips. Shrugging, I threw both my hands into the air and took another sip of whiskey tonight. How was this my life?Suddenly, Maccini and I became best buddies—not that I was complaining. Matter of fact, he was as much of a snub as I was. I didn’t really think much of it when Isabella had fallen into a coma, a
ISABELLA’S POV I woke up to pain. Not the sharp, searing kind. No. This was dull, stretched-out agony. The kind that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. I shifted, but my limbs felt like dead weight. My throat burned. My lips cracked as I tried to swallow, but it was like sandpaper against my insides. the machine beeped and then I heard another click. A soft shuffle. I wasn’t alone. I turned my head—slowly, painfully—and saw her. A nurse, a middle-aged woman. Brown hair tucked into a loose bun. She barely glanced at me as she adjusted my IV. “You’ve been out for three weeks.” I opened my mouth, but my voice came out broken, hoarse. “W-Where…?” “You’re stable. Lucky.” She didn’t even sound relieved. Like she’d seen too many people like me. Like she didn’t care if I had woken up at all. I tried again. “Luca…” Her eyes flickered to mine, unreadable.“He hasn’t been here.” she responded showing no sign of indifference.“He hasn’t…?” I questioned again as t