The Mafia King's Runaway Ghost Bride

Isabella POV Lorenzo’s knees hit the marble floor with a heavy thud. He wrapped his arms around Marco and me, his usually immaculate composure shattering into quiet, desperate sobs. "What is the meaning of this?" My father's voice boomed from the grand staircase. Antonio Valentine froze halfway down the steps, his sharp, calculating eyes widening in absolute shock. Behind him, my mother, Sofia, let out a piercing, breathless scream. She practically flew down the stairs, her silk robe billowing behind her. Her trembling hands cupped my cheeks, tracing my features frantically as if terrified her fingers would pass through a ghost. Her thumb brushed against the cold metal resting on my collarbone—the silver iris locket that had never left my neck. A raw sob tore from her throat. She collapsed against me, pulling me into a crushing embrace. "Mama, how am I here?" I whispered, my voice cracking with confusion and fear. "What happened to me?" She shook her head fiercely, burying her face in my hair. "It's a miracle, Bella. God gave our angel back to us. Nothing else matters." * An hour later, the mahogany walls of my father's study felt suffocating. I sat in his oversized leather armchair, scrubbed clean and dressed in a fresh nightgown, but the chill of the cobblestones remained in my bones. "You remember nothing?" Antonio asked gently, though his eyes were dark with unreadable calculations. "Just my sixteenth birthday party," I murmured, rubbing my aching temples. "Everything after that is just... fog." Antonio exchanged a heavy look with Enzo and Marco. "Five years ago today, a fisherman found you by the Adler Planetarium steps. A stiletto was driven cleanly through your chest. It was an Enforcer's work." Adler Planetarium. A sudden, violent spike of pain pierced my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut. A fragmented image flashed behind my eyelids: the lake, burning like liquid fire under a setting sun. The heavy, sweet scent of roses. And a voice—low, dangerous, and achingly familiar. "Bella..." I gasped, clutching my head. "The sunset... someone was calling my name." "Enough," Antonio commanded instantly, his Consigliere mask slipping to reveal the terrified father beneath. "Go to sleep, piccola(little one). We will handle the rest." Lorenzo POV The second the study doors clicked shut behind my sister, the fragile warmth in the room evaporated. My father turned to Marco and me, his face hardening into stone. "Three rules," Antonio said, his voice dropping to a lethal register. "First, absolute Omertà. If anyone in this house breathes a word that she is alive, I will put a bullet in their head myself." Marco clenched his massive fists. "And the second?" "Damien Moretti cannot know," Antonio said, a shadow of genuine dread crossing his features. "He has gone mad since her 'death'. If the Wraith finds out she is breathing, he won't return her to us. He will lock her in a gilded cage forever. We cannot let her fall into the Mad King's hands." I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses, my mind already calculating the terrifying risks. "And the third?" "Vendetta," Antonio growled. "Enzo, work your informants. Marco, rally your best Soldiers. We find whoever did this before Damien does." I nodded, the weight of tomorrow already pressing on my chest. In a few hours, the sun would rise, and my father and I would have to walk into the social club and play the grieving family on the anniversary of her death. One slip, one wrong look, and Damien would burn our entire world to the ground. Isabella POV My old bedroom smelled of lavender and dust. Exhaustion dragged me under the moment my head hit the pillow, but peace did not come. I was back in the dark. It was narrow, suffocating, lined with freezing silk. A coffin. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Then, the darkness shifted. The aggressive, intoxicating scent of whiskey, expensive cologne, and tobacco filled the claustrophobic space. Warm lips pressed against my numb fingertips. They moved to my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks. The kisses were agonizingly tender, yet laced with a desperate, terrifying possession. A man's breath fanned across my ear, his voice a broken, obsessive whisper in the pitch black. "Bella... mia anima(my soul)... my soul... Bella..." The sheer intensity of his grief and hunger branded itself into my very core, leaving me shivering in the dark long after the dream faded.