Page 15 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Isabella

M y heart slams against my ribs. I try to grip the butterfly pendant on my necklace, but of course, I’m no longer wearing it.

Romeo hesitates. His shoulders tense as if he’s bracing for impact.

No one moves.

He looks down, searching for the right words, then back up at Mamma.

“Your husband has been found dead.”

For a long moment, no one moves.

No one breathes.

What did Romeo say?

Father is dead?

It doesn’t compute.

Father always seemed invincible. At times, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. And now, just like that… he’s gone?

I stare at Romeo, waiting for him to take it back. To explain that he meant something else.

But he doesn’t.

He only stands there, his mouth set in a grim line, his hands loose but steady at his sides.

I glance around. Mamma’s hand is still holding a towel, knuckles white.

Mia stares forward, her mouth slightly open, as though the world’s logic has fractured.

Ari’s eyes are wide, one hand gripping Sienna’s wrist. Sienna swallows hard, blinking like she’s trying to process it faster than her brain will allow.

And Aunt Serafina? Her mouth is hanging open in shock.

Mamma is the first to find her voice.

“How?” she asks.

Romeo glances briefly at Ari and Sienna before answering.

“His house in Rome was attacked,” he says. “Everyone inside was found dead.”

Mia sucks in a sharp breath beside me. Sienna presses closer to Ari, her hand slipping into her sister’s without a word.

Romeo shifts his weight slightly, as if what he has to say next is worse. And it is.

“His body was…” He trails off, jaw tightening. He looks again at my younger sisters and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

The unspoken words ring louder than anything else.

He must have been tortured, his body mutilated for Romeo not to speak of it in front of Ari and Sienna.

But Mamma understands. I understand.

And from the way Mia’s mouth presses into a hard line, she gets it too.

Romeo drags a hand through his hair. “They found his body in the river,” he adds quietly. “It looks like he was dumped there after he was killed.”

Everyone remains silent.

The mood is heavy.

Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m feeling.

Or maybe I’m just too afraid to admit it to myself. Because it’s wrong to feel that kind of thing about one’s father.

But the sensation twisting in my chest can’t be ignored. And it most certainly isn’t grief. I know by now what that feels like .

It’s something colder. Lighter.

It’s like breathing air after years underwater. Like a space opening inside my chest where grief should be.

Relief.

I curl my fingers into my palms, pressing hard until my nails bite into my skin. I don’t want to feel it, but I do. And judging by the silence stretching around me, I suspect I’m not the only one.

“Who found him?” Mamma asks, her posture composed.

Romeo straightens, slipping into the formal tone he uses for official business.

“One of our men from Rome. He was checking in on the house after no one answered his calls.”

Beside me, Mia shifts. “Was Father targeted specifically?” she asks.

Her voice isn’t trembling. It’s measured. Calculated.

Romeo’s jaw flexes once before he answers. “It would appear that way.”

No denial. No soft lies.

Ari leans forward slightly. “Are we safe?”

I draw in a shallow breath, my mind spinning faster now.

Father’s sins must have finally caught up with him. But if someone like him could be hunted and executed, what does that mean for the rest of us?

Romeo answers, calm but firm. “We believe he was targeted because of who he was and his position in la famiglia . There’s no reason for them to come after you. But just in case, I’ve arranged for extra security for you and this estate.”

I’m quiet, feeling disconnected from my body, like I’m watching someone else on this beach.

Is it the shock? Or the relief?

No matter my feelings toward my father, how cold, manipulative, or overbearing he was, Antonio Accardi was a fortress.

And now that fortress is demolished.

I rub my neck and move my head from side to side. My whole body is tight. Locked .

I can’t be here anymore.

I turn and leave the beach, going back inside. I walk aimlessly until I find myself near Father’s study. The door is closed, untouched since he left for Rome. I stare at it, resting my fingers on the handle.

Twenty-two years of conditioning say I shouldn’t open it.

And I don’t.

I turn and climb the stairs to my room. Closing the door behind me, I sink onto the bed and pull my knees to my chest.

Father is dead.

This changes everything .

Mamma will be in charge now. At least temporarily. That means no more arranged marriages, no more political deals. Not immediately, anyway.

I could still run. My plan is still viable. And with the chaos of Father’s death and Mateo’s new reign, no one would come looking for me.

All I have to do is take the first step.

But I don’t want a life without my family, especially now that we’re free of Father’s tyranny. And I don’t want to spend it running or hiding, always looking over my shoulder.

I want to live. Thrive. Not just survive.

I want to stay, but on my own terms.

And now, that’s actually possible. Isn’t it?

Still, I can’t ignore the other truth.

Mari is married to the new Don. Our family isn’t just a respected Mafia house anymore.

We’re blood-linked to the throne.

As sisters-in-law of the Don, we’ve become a hot commodity for any ambitious mafioso looking for a shortcut to power.

We can’t trust any man in our world. They might woo us with charm, and yes, some of them have it. Father did. It’s how he ended up with Mamma and all the influence that came with her family name.

We could never be sure if a man wanted us or the power that came with marrying into our bloodline .

And the worst part? As starved as we are for positive male attention, there’s a real chance we could fall for it.

My eyes flick to the corner of the room where Luca’s camera used to be. A pang of longing swells in my chest. I wish he were here to hold me.

If he were alive… if we were married… everything would be different. He wouldn’t have looked after just me, but Mamma and my sisters too, making sure any potential suitors who came near them had only honest intentions.

I unfold my legs and reach for the bedside drawer. Inside still sits the little velvet box with my engagement ring. I’ve forced myself not to look at it for weeks, and I’m not sure why I’m reaching for it now. Am I seeking comfort or torturing myself further?

I don’t touch it. Instead, I stare at it as if it might hold the answers I need. Perhaps it does, because a thought sparks.

Maybe there is another way out.

One that doesn’t require cutting ties with the people I love.

I laugh to myself. If anyone saw me, they’d think I’d gone mad.

The idea is ridiculous. Absurd, even.

Or is it?