Page 86 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

Even if that cost is whatever has been growing between Isabella and me.

I pace the length of my office, fury and disappointment warring inside me.

Everything changed the moment Sal mentioned Ernie's connection to Isabella's mother. Pieces began clicking together in a way they didn’t when Vinny mentioned the possibility.

I'd defended her. Like a fucking idiot, I'd stood there and told Sal he was wrong.

But then he showed me the photos. Isabella's mother with Ernie in a café. At a park. Getting into his car. The timestamps matched the weeks before her murder.

The façade of innocence I'd built around Isabella crumbled. Every hesitation, every time she'd held back information, it wasn't fear or confusion. It was calculation.

"She knows more than she's letting on, Roman," Sal had said, his eyes hard with certainty. "Ernie was in deep with Mrs. Ferraza before she died.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to Marco?” I asked him.

“Who says I didn’t?”

That made me pause. Would Salvatore have told Marco what Ernie was up to?

If so, why hasn’t Marco said a word?

Macro doesn’t owe me anything, but I’m his right hand man.

The one he bounces ideas or concerns off, and he never once mentioned Mrs. Ferraza meeting with Ernie.

“What makes you think Isabella knows anything about that?”

Sal rolled his eyes. “Why do you think she was meeting with Ernie? She wanted her daughter out of this life.”

“So you knew your brother was talking with the Feds and Marco knew about it?” I couldn’t wrap my head around that.

“Sometimes informing goes both ways. Look, I know my brother was a dipshit, but he agreed to share what he learned from the FBI and gave the Feds shitty info on us.”

“How did Mrs. Ferraza fit in?”

Sal shrugged. “I guess she heard he was talking to the Feds and thought he could help.” His eyes darken. “And because of her, my brother is dead. You know as well as I do that Ferraza’s favorite death is drugs. He’s like a fucking euthanizer. And then his daughter is talking to the Feds, handing over real info… That can’t stand, Ginetti, and you know it.”

I need a fucking drink. The burn feels appropriate.

I've spent my life reading people. It's how I've survived. How I've protected Marco and the family.

And somehow, I let this woman slip past my defenses.

Isabella isn't just a daughter seeking justice. She's been playing me, all of La Corona, from the start.

The virginal act, the reluctant spy turned willing wife, all part of her game.

Get close to me, get information, maybe even manipulate me into turning against Marco.

Christ, I almost fell for it.

How many times did I wonder if I could follow through on his order if he demanded that I kill her?

Was I really thinking I’d go against my brother for her?

I down the whiskey in one swallow. The woman sleeping in my bed, who teaches sewing to my daughter, who made me feel something I thought died with Emilia, has been lying to my face.

The enforcer in me knows what needs to happen. The father in me knows what's at stake.