All Chapters of Her Mafia Husband's Secret Agenda: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The De Luca mansion glimmered that evening, polished to perfection as if the marble itself were trying to impress someone important. Servants moved like shadows—swift, silent, and nervous—under the sharp voice of Caterina De Luca. She had been orchestrating this dinner for days, a chance to restore dignity to the family name after Isabella’s quiet act of rebellion. Tonight, no one would be allowed to forget who the De Lucas were.Isabella had been in her room most of the afternoon, pretending to read, though her mind refused to focus on any line. The house was a symphony of orders—“Polish the silver!”, “Light the candles!”, “Where are the Burgundy glasses?”—each command sharpening her headache. She knew this wasn’t a dinner for celebration. It was a stage, and she was a prop.When the clock chimed eight, she finally descended the staircase. Every head turned. Even Caterina paused mid-sentence, her lips tightening before curving into something that might have passed for a smile.“Darli

Isabella lingered by the balcony, letting the last of the evening breeze brush against her face. The villa felt quieter than usual after the subtle chaos of the night. Adriano and Gianna had retreated to their rooms, and the servants were clearing the remnants of dinner, leaving the house in a soft, almost conspiratorial hush.Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She turned, surprised, to see Ryan standing there, holding a neatly folded folder. His expression was calm but deliberate, the kind that made her pulse quicken without a word.“May I come in?” he asked, his voice low, controlled.Isabella considered the request. She was tempted to send him away, to reclaim her solitude, but instead she stepped aside. “Of course,” she said, keeping her tone neutral.He entered, closing the door softly behind him, and for a brief moment, they simply regarded each other. The air between them had a strange weight, a combination of familiarity and distance, as though they wer

The car rolled quietly through the long driveway, tires whispering over the gravel, headlights slicing through the midnight haze. Isabella leaned against the window, her gaze unfocused as the silhouette of the De Luca villa emerged—grand, opulent, and colder than she remembered. The last of the Tuscan warmth still clung to her skin, a faint trace of sun and salt and freedom. But as the gates closed behind them, that warmth began to dissolve, replaced by a slow, creeping chill that settled in her chest.She had told herself she wouldn’t expect anything. Not a greeting. Not flowers. Not even a glance. But some small, fragile part of her had still hoped. It was their anniversary, after all. Two years of marriage—two years of pretending not to see, not to feel, not to break.Her father had hugged her tightly before she left, his voice low and steady in her ear. “Remember who you are, Isabella. Never again let them make you small.” She had smiled, promising herself she wouldn’t.The front

Isabella stood in the private study of the Romano estate, the heavy mahogany desk reflecting her image back at her. She had returned not merely as Carlo Romano’s daughter but as a force to be reckoned with, stepping into a role she had long deferred to satisfy her ex-husband’s fragile ego. The weight of her family’s legacy pressed upon her shoulders, and yet, for the first time in years, she felt a thrill coursing through her veins—a combination of power, anticipation, and careful calculation.Carlo watched her from the doorway, silent, a measured expression on his face. He had seen his daughter grow from a determined young woman into someone who could command a room without uttering a single word. He understood the significance of her return, yet he refrained from saying anything, letting Isabella find her own footing. The staff, the security, the long-time associates—all responded to her presence instinctively. It was as if the house itself recognized her authority, acknowledging th

Isabella walked through the Romano Estate, the warm summer air brushing against her face as she moved along the familiar corridors. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor, a rhythm that seemed at odds with the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She forced herself to appear calm, to blend in with the quiet elegance of the estate, but every detail around her screamed otherwise. Her cousin’s restless movements, the subtle way he shifted when he thought no one was watching, the faint tremor in his fingers when he adjusted a glass on the table—all these small, almost imperceptible gestures prickled at her instincts. Something was off, though she could not yet say what.She sank into a high-backed armchair in the main lounge, pretending to follow the conversation among the estate staff and family members. Her eyes, however, never left her cousin, who appeared increasingly uneasy. Every laugh he forced, every casual nod, seemed strained. Isabella cataloged each subtlety, each fl