บททั้งหมดของ Bound To The Mafia: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

‎ISADORA‎‎Later That Day‎‎I didn’t go back to my room. Couldn’t. I needed clarity, not the suffocating silence of silk sheets and locked doors. So I went to the only place that ever made sense when everything else didn’t—the garden. Luca’s mother’s garden, to be exact. It was a piece of serenity tucked between the chaos, the only place in this mansion that hadn’t been touched by blood or secrets.‎‎I walked along the stone path, brushing my fingers against the petals of the roses she used to care for. It was ironic, how something so delicate could survive here, in a place built on violence and power plays. Maybe that’s why I liked it—because it reminded me of what I wanted to be. Soft when I chose to be. Sharp when I needed to be.‎‎I sat on the stone bench at the edge of the garden, pulling my knees to my chest, letting the wind carry my thoughts. I didn’t hear him approach—not at first—but I felt it. That same tension in the air. That same storm.‎‎Luca.‎‎He didn’t say anyt

‎‎LUCA‎‎She said she was fine.‎‎But she wasn’t.‎‎I knew Isadora too damn well by now—not just her smiles, her sighs, the subtle shifts in her posture when she was tired or thinking too hard—but the way she lied.‎‎Because she was a terrible liar.‎‎And that smile she gave me? It was just that—a cover. A shield.‎‎I watched her a second longer, her eyes flicking back to the phone like it burned.‎‎He looked familiar to her.‎‎She didn’t say it out loud, but I saw it in the way her shoulders stiffened, the pause too long before her answer. Something about that face hit her memory hard, and she buried the reaction faster than she thought I’d notice.‎‎But I always noticed.‎‎Because I paid attention.‎‎Because ever since I put that ring on her finger, I’d made it my business to protect her—whether from enemies or memories she didn’t want to face.‎‎I set the phone down, leaned closer, brushing her hair away from her cheek, even though my pulse had picked up slightly. “You

‎ISADORA‎‎He knew.‎‎Not everything—God, not yet—but enough to make my breath catch as he stepped into the kitchen like a shadow wrapped in silk. His presence didn’t just fill the room—it claimed it, like oxygen suddenly belonged to him, and I was trespassing just by breathing it.‎‎And when he looked at me?‎‎Not through me.‎Not around me.‎At me.‎‎Like I was the only thing that existed between heaven and hell.‎‎“What's going to change, tesoro?”‎‎The word burned more than it soothed.‎‎Tesoro.‎‎His treasure.‎‎He always said it like a vow, like a warning. As if calling me that meant I didn’t get to break, didn’t get to run, didn’t get to hide. His treasure wasn’t allowed secrets. Not without a cost.‎‎I clenched the cup too hard. My fingers trembled. My throat tightened with all the words I should say but couldn’t. Not yet. Not while the truth still tasted like betrayal in my mouth.‎‎Because how the hell do you tell your husband that the man who saved you years ago

‎ISADORA‎‎The garden was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin itch, like the calm before something cracked.‎‎Rafael stood near the far edge, his posture deceptively relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something dark. He didn’t look up as I approached, but I knew he felt me. He always did.‎‎“I need to ask you something,” I said, stepping into his shadow.‎‎“Isadora.” He nodded once, without looking away from the trees. “You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately.”‎‎“And you’ve been giving a lot of half-answers.”‎‎He glanced at me then, just a flicker of his gaze, like a warning. But I didn’t back down.‎‎“I know about Bianca,” I said.‎‎His brow arched, just slightly. “What about her?”‎‎“She’s working for Luca. Feeding him information about Emilio. Don’t bother denying it.”‎‎“I wouldn’t,” Rafael said smoothly. “Because you’re right.”‎‎My heartbeat stuttered. I hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily.‎‎“What I don’t un

‎ ‎ISADORA ‎ ‎The garden was silent again, but something had shifted—warped. The kind of silence that came before a storm with teeth. ‎ ‎Two weeks. That’s all I had left before I walked down an aisle with a man whose promises were carved in blood and devotion. Two weeks before I became Isadora Morretti in front of the world. ‎ ‎I should’ve felt safe. Certain. But all I could feel was the slow, suffocating weight of everything we didn’t know tightening around my chest like a corset I couldn’t breathe in. ‎ ‎Luca hadn’t let go of my hand. His grip wasn’t gentle—but it wasn’t cruel either. It was possessive. A silent vow wrapped in skin and bone: you’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me. ‎ ‎We walked back inside without speaking. Rafael was gone—smart. He knew Luca wouldn’t let the next conversation end in words. And if I wasn’t careful, the next time they stood in the same room, it’d end with a body. ‎ ‎Two weeks. ‎ ‎I stared at the