Page 45 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Forty-Four

Isabella

W herever we are, it’s surrounded by water on all sides.

I’m on a fricking island.

Luca knew all along that I couldn’t get away.

And by the looks of it, there’s no dock and no boat. The only way off this place seems to be by helicopter. I need to enter the Matrix and download a pilot’s manual or something.

Hold on…

If no one else lives here, does that mean Luca is the pilot?

I don’t want to be impressed by that, but a sliver of awe sneaks in before I can stop it.

I fold my hands in a prayer stance around my nose and breathe out slowly, letting my gaze drift across the view.

Silence surrounds me, the wind my only companion. It’s steadier now, as if calming down with me.

In my periphery, I catch sight of the black ink on my finger and hold it out in front of me.

The skin around Luca’s name is red and agitated, just like my heart.

Why didn’t he come and get me before the wedding? Or when Sebastian first entered the scene? He clearly knew about him. So why wait until the last fucking second?

He could have saved me the humiliation of walking down the aisle to a man I barely knew, hoping that it would all work out. He could have shown up. Said something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

He let me walk toward another man. Let me plan a life with him.

I feel abandoned all over again.

The longer I stare at my finger, the more it throbs. Though I’m not sure if it’s really my finger or my heart that’s hurting the most.

I rub at the ink carefully, hoping against hope that it’s a joke, and he used a marker.But nothing smudges. Nothing fades.

Seriously. What a lunatic.

And how the hell did he manage to mark me?

Unless he found a tattoo artist in Vegas who didn’t mind working on unconscious customers, Luca must have done this himself. The font is sleek and elegant, like something you’d see on a luxury watch or an expensive bottle of cologne. Clean. Precise. Possessive.

It’s a neat job.

Kidnapper, pilot, and tattooist. What’s next?

I really don’t know him anymore, do I?

The anger that had been burning through me dims into something else. Something heavier. Sadness creeps in.

I feel so betrayed. And not just by Luca.

What was it he said about Sebastian?

That he targeted me? That our meeting wasn’t a coincidence and our relationship was part of some twisted plan?

No. That can’t be right.

Sure, our engagement was fast, but surely Sebastian wouldn’t use me like that.

We genuinely liked each other. We both admitted it wasn’t love yet, but the potential was there.

Did I ignore the signs?

If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t want to overthink it because it suited me .

Did I see only what I wanted to see?

What else in my life isn’t what it seems?

A twig snapping behind me pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I whip my head around, my heart slamming into my ribs.

Luca is walking up the trail.

Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching a skittish animal. Like I might bolt if he moves too fast.

He stops a few paces away and doesn’t speak. Just stands there, letting the moment stretch.

I don’t say anything either. I can’t. My mouth is dry and my throat too tight.

For the first time since he came out of the bathroom and ripped the rug out from under my life, I really look at him.

I don’t want them to be there, but butterflies wake up in my stomach.

The boy I used to love is all man now.

His shoulders are broader, his jaw sharper. There’s more of him somehow… more presence, more weight.

He carries himself differently too, more grounded, more dangerous, like someone who’s had to fight to stay alive.

His hair is longer now, thick and dark, falling in tousled waves that skim his forehead and curl near his ears. Not styled. Not messy. Just… him. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t be so devastating.

He’s not clean-shaven anymore, either. There’s a few days’ worth of stubble along his jaw, and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or from being too busy kidnapping his ex-fiancée.

And that mouth… it still curves the same way, like he’s always on the verge of either a smirk or a command.

But it’s his eyes that undo me.

They’re the same warm brown. Deep. Dark. Dangerous. But they don’t offer safety anymore. Not now. Not with the way they hold me in place.

I can’t read him. There’s too much in them. A flicker of pain. Frustration. Longing. Maybe even regret. Or it’s my own storm reflecting back at me.

Luca was always hard to decipher. Cool. Controlled. Careful about what he allowed the world to see.

But today, something cracks through that perfect control.

He looks at me like I’m the beginning and the end of something he can’t name.

“I brought you more clothes.” His voice is quiet, low enough that the wind nearly steals it.

He lifts the backpack off his shoulders and takes out a few pieces of clothing and a pair of boots, holding them up like a peace offering. “They should fit you perfectly.”

I stare at him for a moment, then reach out and take the bundle when he steps closer.Our fingers brush. It’s brief, but the spark is unmistakable.

Only now do I realize how cold I am. The oversized coat has helped, but my bare legs sting with wind chill, my toes are numb, and my skin is tight from the cold.

I sink onto the bench, take off Luca’s shoes and quickly tug on the pants. Oh, they’re soft and lined and blessedly warm. The socks are thick, the shoes a perfect fit. I stare at them for a second, frowning.

“You’ve got your own closet,” Luca says, answering the question I haven’t asked yet. “Right next to mine. The door was closed, which is why you didn’t see it.”

I look up at him, my brows lifting. “I have a closet in your house?”

My tone is sharper than I intend, but I can’t help it. Everything that happened has derailed me.

He nods, unfazed. “Of course. You live here.”

A beat passes.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Luca doesn’t flinch. “More like… you’re meant to live here. It was always the plan.”

I stare at him.

Meant to?

My stomach twists. Like I’ve stumbled into a version of my life someone else wrote. One where my choices were never mine to begin with. Well, actually they never really were.

How long has he been building this world for me without me in it?

“When did you start planning this?” I whisper.

He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Or like I’ve forgotten something crucial.

“Since the moment we were torn apart,” he says softly.

The words hit like a gut punch.

And just like that, the memories flood back. The panic in Luca’s voice that night. The way his hand slipped from mine. My meltdown, and the disbelief on my father’s face when he realized Luigi and Luca were gone.

The silence that followed. Days turning into weeks. The carrot of hope dangled on two of my birthdays. Then years of nothing.

I’d searched for answers that never came. Grieved like someone widowed but without a body.

My whole world shattered and kept shattering, piece by piece.

I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. The grief is still there, low beneath my ribs. The rage too. And the longing, God, the longing I carried like a second skin for so long.

I open my eyes and stare at him.

“You should’ve taken me with you. Like I begged you to.”

My voice cracks at the edges, but I push through.

“We could’ve had five years together. Five years of something real, and none of this heartbreak.”