Betrayed By Him: Marrying The Mafia Ghost

Isabella POV Three days trapped in the Falcone dockside warehouse's cellar, the concrete's bitter cold seeping into my bones, the air thick with rot, cheap liquor and the stench of my impending death. Starvation wracks my body, my throat parched raw, but my mind remains razor-sharp, fueled by a quiet, unyielding fire. The iron door groans open, and I brace for Marco-my father-only to find Angelica Gallo standing in the dim bulb's glow, a sickening triumph on her face. Clutched to her skirt is a two-year-old boy, with Marco's dark curls and exact jawline, an unmistakeable replica of the man who sired him. "He has his father's eyes," Angelica purrs, stepping into the damp cellar. "Our man's been busy, Izzy. You'll never leave here." I force myself upright, ignoring the dizziness, my voice raspy but laced with De Luca pride. "A goomah is just a warm bed, Angelica. You'll never be this family's lady." Before she can strike, the door widens-Marco walks in, flanked by a man with a black medical bag. The boy squeals "Papa!" and clings to Marco's leg, the word hitting me like a physical blow. "You told me you were sterile," I whisper, betrayal tasting like ash. "An old gunshot wound, you said." Angelica cackles, sharp and grating. "He's not sterile-he just can't stand a cold De Luca bitch." Fury surges through me, overpowering my weakness. "I used my mother's De Luca inheritance to pay your gambling debts! I endured Nonna's insults, gave you everything-and you don't even have a Soldier's honor!" A flicker of shame crosses Marco's face, quickly snuffed out by cold apathy. I lift my chin, refusing to break. "I'll settle this before the Dons-we're done." "Take the boy outside," Angelica orders flatly. Marco hesitates a split second, then leaves, slamming the door shut. His silence is my death sentence. "We don't want a split," Angelica whispers, as the doctor-Dr. Russo-opens his bag, surgical scalpels glinting. "We want your face, your name, your De Luca trust funds." My blood turns to ice. "We'll carve you unrecognizable, dump you in Lake Michigan," she continues, greed blazing in her eyes. "The world will mourn a rival's kidnapping victim, and Marco inherits everything." "You're insane," I gasp, panic clawing at my throat. "The De Lucas will hunt you-Donna Vittoria will never allow this!" Angelica laughs. "She blessed it. The whole Falcone family agrees-you're worth more dead." The truth shatters me: it's not just a cheating father and his mistress, but the entire family I'd tried to please, all who'd signed my death warrant. Dr. Russo lunges, pinning my shoulders to the freezing floor. I thrash and scream, but I'm too weak. Angelica kneels, picking up a scalpel. "Such a pretty face," she murmurs, then slices deep into my cheek. White-hot fire sears my skin, blood pouring down my neck. I scream, a raw, agonizing cry that tears my throat. As Angelica raises the blade again, my vision fades to black. But in the suffocating dark, I don't pray for mercy. I swear a blood oath-Vendetta. If I survive this hell, I'll become the monster they made me. I'll tear the Falcone family apart piece by piece, drown them all in their own blood, and make every single one of them pay for their betrayal.