Page 28 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Isabella

I don’t pull out Sebastian’s card again until after the new year.

Not because I didn’t want to, but the holidays had a way of wrecking any plans I had for something new.

Mari and Mateo took their yacht out after Christmas for a few well-earned days off, but they never came back. The boat went up in flames. No bodies were recovered.

Mari had warned me something like this might happen, that it was part of the plan she and Mateo had worked out to escape the Mafia life.

Mateo never wanted to be Don, and in our world, the only way out is death.

So that’s what they delivered.

I would have celebrated their freedom if it hadn’t been for the man who stepped in right after.

Niccolo Romero.

He claimed responsibility for Mari and Mateo’s deaths and stepped into Mateo’s place as Don. He produced two pieces of the De Marco necklace as proof of death; the same ones Mateo wore the last time I saw him .

I want to believe Mari and Mateo are alive. I need to.

Mari told me they might go dark after the escape, but every day without a sign from her chips away at that hope.

It’s the Luca saga all over again.

The waiting. The silence. The hollow helplessness.

I’m so done with that.

Mamma was destroyed when the news broke. Mia was too. She and Mari were always thick as thieves. I couldn’t keep it to myself. I told them what I knew and swore them to secrecy.

We haven’t spoken about it since and grieve for Mari like we’re supposed to.

But with her gone, at least for now, I’m more determined than ever to hold on to the family I still have and get out of the Mafia for good.

I’m going to see Plan NUPTIAL through till I’ve got a ring on my finger and a new last name.

And I don’t seem to be the only one thinking along those lines.

Mamma’s phone rings on the side table, and she reaches for it with a smile already curving her lips.

“Hello, Aldo,” she says, her tone light, a smile blooming in her voice.

I glance at Mia, who quickly bites her lip to stifle a grin.

Aldo Marino has been calling every day since he and Maximo came for Gualtiero De Marco’s memorial service a few weeks ago. Now, his calls are a regular part of our evenings. It’s sweet, in a weirdly formal way. Like he’s courting Mamma.

We slip out of the living room to give her privacy, and, if I’m honest, because none of us wants to hear her giggle like a teenager.

Aldo is charming, attentive, and clearly taken with Mamma. The way he talks to her, always respectful, always warm, is like something out of another time. It’s lovely. And a little weird to witness.

“It’s good to see Mamma like this,” Mia says as we climb the stairs to our rooms. “After everything she went through with Father, I expected her to swear off men for life.”

“I sure wouldn’t have blamed her,” I reply. “She must see something in Aldo. Or perhaps this is about something more than romance.”

“What do you mean?” Mia asks.

“With the way things are in Sicily, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“Niccolo Romero is consolidating power faster than anyone expected. He’s ruthless, unpredictable, and only respects tradition when it serves him.

"Two capos have already vanished since he took over, and no one dares ask where they went. The rules are changing, and not in our favor. We might not be on his radar, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

Mamma’s family was one of the original bloodlines, but without a male heir, we don’t hold power anymore. Still, that could shift.

“Niccolo might decide to forge new alliances. And marrying off one of us to one of his American capos would be an easy way to tie our name to his reign.

“Mamma knows that. I’ve seen it in her eyes, the way she takes in news when it trickles through to us. Have you not noticed how she stares into the distance after some phone calls end? She’s deliberating. Weighing things. Maybe Aldo is part of her plan to get us out of here.”

“I hate the idea of her relying on a man as the solution.”

“Well, her options are limited. She can’t leave without a good reason. And if Aldo is good to her… maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Still, I’m not waiting around hoping someone will save us.

It’s time I get Plan NUPTIAL back in motion.

I bid Mia goodnight and enter my room. Sitting down on my bed, I reach for the drawer in my bedside table and pull out the card.

Sebastian Moretti.

I run my thumb over the edge and flip it between my fingers, my heart starting to tick a little faster.

The card feels heavier than it should, like it’s watching me. Like he already knows I’d eventually pick it up again.

This is the moment. If I reach out, there’s no taking it back. I need to be smart. I need to be sure.

But one thing is certain.

I’m done waiting.

I even came up with a new definition for Plan NUPTIAL, the Sebastian Justification Edition.

Nice Upstanding Professional Type, Intense Ambition, Legally gray background.

This lets me convince myself that he’s probably an intense entrepreneur with strong boundaries, running perhaps a private security firm.

That would fit him. And it’s practically normal.

I even adjusted my tagline.

‘Safe’ is a fantasy. ‘Prepared’ is a strategy. Someone who won’t fold at the first death threat is worth more than a good credit score.

I added the last part because whomever I marry will meet my family. That’s the whole reason I didn’t just disappear but came up with my new plan. So he needs to be someone who isn’t easily intimidated and can handle pressure and pack heat.

I pick up my phone. Will Sebastian even remember me?

It’s been weeks. A man like him will have no shortage of female attention. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had forgotten about me already.

So I won’t call him. It would be too awkward if I had to explain how we met.

Hey, remember me? You stared me down at the restaurant before the fire sprinklers turned on.

Though, that mishap might jog his memory.

I add his number to my contacts and pause for a second, then type Sapphire Eyes rather than his name and hit save before I can second-guess it.

It’s ridiculous, but if anybody ever went through my phone, at least it’s not immediately obvious that I’m talking to a man.

Tapping the message icon, I stare at the blank screen.

Come on. Just say something.

Hey.

No. Delete.

It’s too vague. He’ll think I’m selling crypto or a dating scam.

I try again.

Hey, it’s me, Isa.

Delete. What am I, his ex-girlfriend from Barcelona?

Deep breath. Okay. How about this?

We met a few weeks ago. You gave me your card. I’ve been meaning to reach out.

Ugh. That sounds like I’m trying to network, not start a secret mission.

I delete it again and drop the phone on my pillow. This shouldn’t be this hard.

After a minute, I pick it back up and try something more casual.

Hi. You said I should message you. So I’m messaging. Hello.

I actually wince at that one and press backspace furiously. What am I doing?

And he told me to call, not message him.

One more try.

Hi. This is Isa, the girl you gave your card to at the Zucchero Café. I’m not selling anything. I promise.

Okay, better, but still a bit awkward.

Wait.

Oh no.

I never told him my name.

I sit there, staring at the screen in horror.

Crap. How is he supposed to know who I am?

He gave me his number. I never gave him mine. No name. No last name. Not even a fake one.

Fantastic. Now I’m mystery girl number 473 .

Should I send a picture? Not that kind, of course.

No, that’s a terrible idea. Still, I scroll my gallery. There are the pictures I took for the dating app.

Again, no. That was a disaster. I don’t want to curse myself with those. In fact, I’ll delete them.

“Get it together,” I mutter to myself. “No pictures.”

Back to the message. I tack on one final line.

P.S. I realize I never told you my name. Oops. If you don’t remember me, just ignore this message and I’ll pretend it never happened. Great. Cool. Okay, bye.

I hit send before I can stop myself and throw the phone across the bed like it might explode.

Well, that’s done.

I flop back onto the mattress, groaning into my pillow.

God help me if he actually replies.