Too Late For Regret: The Mafia Queen

POV Isabella

The silver fork almost slipped from my hand just as I was about to confess a secret—I was pregnant with the child of the Romano family's underboss.

However, when I bent down to pick up the fork, my gaze inadvertently landed on my adopted sister's bare foot, which was slowly sliding up his leg under the table.

Julian Romano was a man who absolutely tolerated no offense.

When he stepped into a room, even the most unruly bosses would instinctively put out their cigars and lower their heads, because looking him in the eye for even a second was a challenge to him.

This was a man who would not hesitate to snap someone's neck with his bare hands.

He controlled a bloody and money-laced underground network with cold precision. As long as someone whispered his name, everyone on the street would scatter.

To celebrate our new penthouse, I spent the entire afternoon carefully preparing a traditional Italian feast, including pasta and thick soup.

When I bent down to pick up the fork that dropped on the expensive Persian rug, a smile still hung on my face.

However, that smile soon froze on my lips.

Sophia's toes were curling against Julian's pants.

Her bare foot slowly slid upward, approaching the gun holster at his waist.

I sat back in my chair and looked straight at Julian. He picked up his crystal glass and took a sip of wine, his expression flawlessly calm. He was still the coldly calculating man I had served with loyalty for seven years.

A sourness surged up my throat. I violently pushed back my chair, rushed out of the dining room, hid in the bathroom, and locked the door. I knelt in front of the toilet and dry-heaved, but only spat up bitter stomach acid.

The door opened, and Sophia walked in, sliding the deadbolt locked. Her usual sweet disguise was completely gone.

She stood in front of me with her arms crossed.

She told me they had been sleeping together for months, and in a cold tone, detailed everything to me.

She said how he touched her in the backseat of the armored SUV while the soldiers drove them around the city; she said what he whispered to her when he was inside her.

The doorknob began to rattle, and then the lock was forced open. Julian burst into the bathroom.

He looked at me slumped on the floor, then glared at Sophia.

When he crouched down and tried to grab my shoulders, I violently dodged his hand.

He said he was drunk, it was too dark, and he mistook Sophia for me.

This was completely ridiculous!

This man could memorize the blueprints of enemy buildings; he would never make such a mistake. This was just an arbitrarily fabricated excuse.

I looked straight at him: "In our world, betrayal is a death sentence. You broke absolute loyalty, and it is irretrievable!"

I walked straight back to the dining room, grabbed the silk tablecloth, and gave it a violent yank. Silver forks and bone china plates shattered on the marble floor, and red wine seeped into the Persian rug like fresh blood.

The bulletproof doors locked behind me, shutting out Julian's shouts. I heard Sophia stop him, and he didn't chase after me.

The autumn night's moonlight was somewhat glaring. My high heels stepped on the asphalt road, sending dull aches up my calves.

The spare phone in my pocket vibrated non-stop. It was a series of messages from Sophia, ending with a selfie of her lying naked on the large bed in Julian's master bedroom.

Looking at the huge floor-to-ceiling windows in the background of the photo, it suddenly dawned on me: this twisted sense of exhibitionism was exactly what he wanted. They simply wanted to enhance their kink by torturing me!

The screen lit up, and Julian sent a message: "I'm sorry."

I sneered and simply turned off the phone.