The Dark Don's Captive Mafia Queen

Isabella POV

The Moretti estate’s rose garden was a masterpiece of Italian landscaping. Hundreds of deep red Black Baccara roses bloomed under the afternoon sun, their heavy, sweet fragrance thick in the air. It was a beautiful place for a slaughter.

I stood near the edge of the white pebble path, my eyes briefly flicking toward the second-floor balcony. A faint shadow shifted behind the stone balustrade. Damien was there. I had planted the seed of fear in his mind this morning, a soft, trembling whisper about Mona’s erratic behavior and my fear of what she might do. I knew his possessive nature wouldn't allow him to leave me unguarded. And where the Don went, his Consigliere, Marco, followed.

The crunch of pebbles announced her arrival. Mona marched down the path, her face pale, her eyes wide and frantic. Her right hand was buried deep in the pocket of her silk skirt.

"Well?" she demanded, her voice shrill. "Did you write the letter to Father?"

I offered her a slow, pitying smile. "There is no letter, Mona. And there never will be."

Her chest heaved. "You bitch. You're ruining my life! Julian needs me to have the Valeriano name!"

"Julian Hayes needs a respectable wife," I corrected smoothly, taking a deliberate step closer. "Not a bastard born in the shadows. You will only ever be his dirty little secret, Mona. His whore."

The word snapped the last fragile thread of her sanity. With a guttural cry, she pulled her hand from her pocket. The sunlight caught the glint of a small, silver letter opener. It wasn't a proper weapon, but it was sharp enough to do damage.

This was my cue.

I took a step back, raising my voice so it would carry clearly to the balcony above. "Julian sent you to do this? To kill me because I know your filthy secret?"

Mona blinked, the weapon trembling in her grip. "What? No! I just—"

She didn't get to finish. I lunged forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. I grabbed her wrist with my right hand. Mona gasped, trying to pull back, but I held firm. With a calculated, ruthless twist, I forced her hand toward me and dragged the silver blade deeply across my own left forearm.

The sharp sting of tearing flesh was instantaneous, followed by a rush of heat. Blood welled up immediately, a brilliant, shocking crimson that rapidly soaked into the pristine white sleeve of my dress.

I released her wrist. The silver knife clattered onto the white pebbles, staining them red.

I clutched my bleeding arm and let out a breathless, perfectly pitched sob. "Why, Mona? We are sisters... Why would you do this?"

Mona stood frozen, her eyes bulging as she stared at my blood. She was entirely paralyzed by the horror of a crime she hadn't committed. Above us, I could almost feel the weight of Marco’s realization. He was a smart man; he knew exactly what I had just done.

But Damien was not a man of reason when it came to what belonged to him.

A maid, clipping hedges nearby, turned and let out a piercing scream.

Before the sound even faded, Damien materialized. He didn't run; he descended upon the garden like a god of death. He bypassed me entirely, his large hand shooting out to wrap around Mona’s throat. He lifted her off the ground, cutting off her terrified shriek.

With a terrifying, effortless display of violence, he hurled her backward. Mona flew through the air like a broken doll, crashing sickeningly against the edge of the stone fountain. She crumpled to the ground, groaning in agony.

Damien didn't spare her a second glance. He was instantly in front of me. His dark eyes were wild, fixated on the blood dripping from my fingertips. Without a word, he gripped the hem of his expensive silk shirt and tore a long strip from it, wrapping it tightly around my bleeding arm to stem the flow. His hands, usually so steady, were rigid with barely contained fury.

Heavy footsteps crunched on the path as several Soldiers rushed into the garden.

Damien didn't look up from my wound. His voice was a low, glacial rasp that sent shivers down my spine. "Take her to the basement. Find out who sent her. Then, make her disappear."

The Soldiers dragged a weeping, half-conscious Mona away. Her fate was sealed.

Damien suddenly swept me off my feet, lifting me into his arms as easily as if I weighed nothing. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked carved from granite, a lethal storm raging in his eyes.

I rested my uninjured hand against his chest, feeling the violent, rapid thud of his heart. Slowly, I reached up and gently smoothed the furious crease between his brows.

"It's okay, Damien," I whispered softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I'm safe now."