Isabella Bello Novels & Stories

A single, matte-silver spotlight from a circling gunship fixed on the center of the terrace, and there, stepping out of the shadows of the collapsed ballroom, was a figure that shouldn't have been able to draw breath. It was Isabella. Not the digital ghost, not the hollow Heir, but Isabella in the flesh—or a terrifyingly perfect recreation of it—wearing the same silk gown she had been buried in, her eyes glowing with a calm, predatory silver. "I told you the house was built on salt, Dante," Isabella said, her voice a melodic, terrifying echo that seemed to come from the city itself. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like the Architect’s final, most successful experiment. "But I never

And now, Liam stood on that screen, holding his own son, promising to protect his family. "You promised too, Henry," Isabella said to the screen. Her voice was raspy. "You promised me the world." She looked at her reflection in the darkened glass of the window. It overlaid the image of Liam, creating a double exposure. Her eyes, lined with age and bitterness, stared back from his face. She wasn't twenty-two anymore. She wasn't the wild girl who waited in Paris. She was Isabella Voss. She owned shipping lines. She owned media conglomerates. She owned senators.

“Alessandro, look at me. It’s me, Isabella.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I know who you are. The bookkeeper’s daughter. The Falcone dove. You are a beautiful piece on the board, Isabella, and I am a master of the game. You should be honored by the role you get to play.”

“That’s enough for me.” “Now tell me about Isabella,” I ordered. “She’s highly trained. A field agent the Russians trust deeply. She’s one of their most valued assets. Her face was surgically altered to look like Isabella’s, and she was trained to behave exactly like her. Every habit, every memory.” “Who gave the Russians information about Isabella?” I asked sharply. “A… an insider,” she answered, hesitating. “Who?” I moved closer until she had to tilt her head back to look at me.

Isabella laughed, grateful for their shared history and the comfort of having Mahesh by her side in this new venture. Mahesh reassured her, "Don't worry, everything will fall into place. All I need to know is your personal preferences, schedules, home, family, and the available time." Isabella, demonstrating her trust in Mahesh, said, "That I will share. I trust you. You can talk to anyone on my behalf." Her words were a testament to the deep trust and understanding they shared, a bond that would guide them through the challenges of Isabella's rising stardom.

Isabella "Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of our very own Isabella Vega and Max Blackwell," Father Raffaele begins as soon as the choir finishes off the song. Words can't describe how I felt when I first heard it playing behind the closed doors. Max has really outdone himself this time.

Devo smirked. I opened the door for Isabella at the truck. She climbed into her seat and sighed. It must have felt like such a long day for her. After I drop Niles and Devo off, I’m going to take her home, run a warm bath for her, and pamper her all night. As soon as we started moving, I explained that Isabella was a mafia princess and had been betrothed to Antonio. “Holy shit,” Devo expressed. “Was that the dude who was at the rally?”

How lovely it would be to own this bodyguard as her dirty little secret that will serve her whenever she needs it? Mandela was fine, but when they had sex, it was as if he was thinking of someone else… presumably, his dead wife, and that put a whole dullness to it. She needed someone young and vibrant… Sebastian Damon. Isabella would make sure that the young man only thought of her when he was done with his contract, and he would worship the ground she walked on. Isabella was an expert in seducing and breaking men, and Sebastian would be a challenge, but she would eventually break him and make him fall madly in love and lust for her.

Her reflection stared back at her, beautiful, but no longer in control. She replayed the gala in her mind. The applause for Amara. The flashing cameras. Luca’s arm wrapped possessively around the woman who had stolen everything. Her jaw tightened. “You think you’ve won, little chef?” she whispered to her reflection. “You’ve only lit the fuse.” She reached for her phone and dialed a number she hadn’t used in years. When a voice answered on the other end, smooth and dark, Isabella smiled. “It’s time,” she said. “I need a favor. And I’m willing to pay whatever it costs.”

Isabella patted Masha’s shoulder and smiled, “Go practice the basics. Ignore the barking dogs; don’t let it bother you.” Masha smiled back, “Yes. Isabella, I hope to learn more from you about acting in the future. Don’t mind if I become a bother.” Isabella raised her eyebrows and beamed, “Sure, let’s learn together from now on.” After a day of intense training, Isabella was exhausted and ready to head home. As she left Knight Group, she reached a crossroad and saw a large crowd of people surrounding her. One of the leaders in the crowd spoke up, “She’s Isabella Rivera. She’s the one who schemed to steal the spotlight from Cynthia.”