Page 16 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Fifteen

Isabella

O ver the next few days, the new plan takes more and more shape in my mind.

I named it NUPTIAL. Normal, Uncomplicated Partner To Initiate a Life.

It’s a viable option worth exploring.

Find someone good. Someone kind. Marry him quickly. Quietly. Someone outside of all this, who can’t be twisted into using me.

If I play this right, no one in our world will realize he exists until it’s too late to stop me.

And if I look happy, I’m sure Mateo will offer his protection, which would make us untouchable.

It won’t be easy, but it is possible.

No one knows what will happen next with Father gone and Mateo as the new Don of la famiglia . I’d rather take matters into my own hands than sit around waiting to find out.

Anything is possible. So why not my new plan?

I even came up with a few taglines to take the edge off. They’re ridiculous, but they still make me giggle.

From blood ties to broadband plans .

Escape strategy: marry someone who thinks “capo” is a coffee.

Because love shouldn’t require a background check.

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on a pillow, staring at the blinking cursor on the dating app I just joined.

Mia would have a field day if she saw this.

I tap my fingers on the keyboard, let out a long breath, and begin typing.

“Independent Sicilian woman seeks kind, emotionally available man who is not secretly married, or in the Mafia, or otherwise under criminal investigation.”

Oh, that’s terrible. Way too bitter.

Erase.

Let’s try again.

“Looking for someone who enjoys books, the sea, and doesn’t consider murder an acceptable business solution.”

Delete.

Now I’m just being obvious.

Sienna once said my type is emotionally distant on the outside, with a superiority complex and great arms. Which is rude, but not entirely wrong.

I stare at the screen. My mind is blank.

I can survive under surveillance and navigate the treacherous mafia life, but writing a dating profile might prove too much for me.

I scroll through the site again for inspiration. Not long ago, Mari half-joked that the best way to meet someone normal was online.

“You can spot the red flags early,” she said. “And block them faster than in real life. ”

How she concluded that, I have no idea. Maybe Ella told her.

At the time, I laughed.

Now I wonder if she was onto something.

I try again.

“Family-oriented woman with complicated extended relatives. Fond of lemon trees, espresso, and not dying young. Likes quiet mornings and honest conversations. Dislikes liars, bounty hunters, and being used as mafioso bait.”

Okay, that’s… borderline poetic. Though I should lose the last line. No need to terrify the decent ones.

I read through it again. Hmm, maybe not.

I might attract thrill-seekers. The kind of man who sees “complicated relatives” as a code for “call me, I like danger.”

A normal, boring man would be better, right?

Someone who pays taxes. Gets excited about air fryers. Believes a “family secret” is how Nonna makes her cookies chewy, not where the bodies are buried.

I run my hands through my hair, thinking.

Okay, here we go again.

“Warm-hearted woman who enjoys beach walks, Italian novels, and owning fewer than three burner phones. Looking for a man who prefers conversation over conflict, has a working relationship with law enforcement (not as a suspect), and considers stability an attractive personality trait.”

God, I sound boring… and at the same time somewhat unhinged.

I groan. I really suck at this.

What would Luca write ?

It’d be quite short.

“Don’t even think about looking at my girl. She’s mine alone.”

A giggle breaks loose, but it fades as quickly as it came, leaving that familiar hollowness in its place. Joy never lasts long when it’s tied to mio falco . Not anymore.

But I’m not giving up. If I have to give myself another pep talk, so be it.

Funny how even eight weeks after deciding to move on, I still have to talk myself into it every single day. Like moving on is a job I keep failing at, no matter how determined I sound.

I have to banish Luca from my mind. Remembering him only makes me want to slam this laptop shut and reach for my bow, anything to feel control in my hands again.

I need to think of someone else.

I stare at the screen, swiping through profiles, but nothing sparks.

Then blue eyes drift into my mind. Sebastian.

What would his profile say?

I close my eyes and imagine it.

Sebastian, 28. Irresistible brooding face with sapphire blue eyes you’ll never forget.

Can cook, drive stick, and keep a secret.

Introvert pretending to be an extrovert.

Loyal to a fault, unless you betray me. Then I disappear from your life, and you’ll regret it for the rest of yours.

Enjoys books with morally gray characters, coffee at midnight, and the kind of silence that says everything.

Turn-offs: dishonesty, pineapple on pizza, and small talk.

Looking for someone who sees through the armor and doesn’t run. Bonus points if you can parallel park.

I laugh. Out loud.

God help me, I’d swipe right on that so fast I’d sprain my wrist. Not that I’d get the bonus points. I can’t drive, let alone parallel park.

I glance back at my profile attempt.

It’s still not right.

Sebastian’s really is the bar.

He’d be the kind of man who wouldn’t flinch at complicated. Who wouldn’t need me to smile all the time. Who wouldn’t mistake silence for weakness?

So, I mirror it. Not copy. Mirror.

This is still me, after all.

Isabella, 22, knows when to speak, when to disappear, and how to win a card game without letting you realize you’re losing.

Recovering perfectionist with a habit of overthinking and an eye-roll so sharp I had to register it as a weapon.

Loyal beyond reason. If I care about you, you’ll never doubt it.

If I don’t… you’ll wish I did. Enjoys, as previously mentioned, card games with the people she trusts most, lemon trees in bloom, and quiet company that doesn’t demand or perform.

Turn-offs: liars, inflated egos, and men who call women “baby.” Looking for someone real.

Bonus points if you listen more than you talk and can shuffle a card deck properly.

I read it back.

It’s weird. It’s honest. It’s… me.

And strangely, it doesn’t seem so terrifying.

It’s like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

I hit save.

Then, I immediately second-guess everything.

Too intense? Too dry? Too much ?

I picture Sebastian again. That quiet, intense look of his. And I know, if someone reads this and runs, they were never meant to be mine anyway.

So screw it.

Just as I hover over the “log out” button, the screen flickers.

New message.

Already?

It’s either a bot or a man who didn’t read a single word of my profile.

But curiosity gets the better of me, and I click.

From: CardCounter42 Subject: Can you teach me that disappearing trick?

Hi Isabella,

Your profile made me laugh… and then double-check my shuffling technique. (Spoiler: it’s trash. I now feel deeply inadequate.)

Card games sound like my kind of therapy. Especially with snacks. I’m also good at sitting quietly and pretending I’m winning.

And I don’t call women “baby.” I barely call anyone; I have texting anxiety.

Quick question though: when you say you “know when to disappear,” should I be concerned or impressed?

Andrea

P.S. I bet I can beat you at blackjack, but I’ll let you win the first round (strategic charity).

I smirk.

Okay. That was… actually good?

He’s clever. Self-aware. He even made a joke about my profile instead of quoting it like a pickup line.

And he signed it Andrea .

I sit with it a second too long, fingers frozen over the keyboard .

No way the universe hands me someone decent on the first try.

I don’t reply. I need to see what the rest of this site has to offer first.

You know… the truth.

Spoiler: it’s horrifying.