The Mafia's Lost Queen
Megtihis lost queenthe man who lost queenmafia king's lost princessthe mafia's princess
In between pains I arrived downstairs, and froze at the dining room entrance.
Damiano, a middle aged woman, a young man and a lady sat around the table.
“Miss Isabella, what wine did you ask for?” A maid called out, from the mini wine bar.
Isabella?
“Oh, Isabella Romano,” I utter internally, I recall the name on the contract. Damiano’s lover.
She looked perfect, hair curled, lips glossed, wearing an outfit that screamed expensive Italian couture.
And sitting beside her… was Damiano’s mother. Sharp eyes. Perfect posture. A woman carved from iron and ice. Just like the rumors say.
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