Page 48 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Isabella

“ L uca,” I yell when he still doesn’t say a word.

His jaw flexes again. He looks away for a moment, as if weighing how much more I can take. When he finally speaks, he’s reluctant.

“Let it go for now, Isa. Trust me, there’s a time and place for this conversation, but it’s not here. Let’s head back to the house. You’re cold. The sun’s going down soon. It’ll only get colder.”

I stare at him, incredulous.

“No.”

I take a step forward, fists clenched.

“No, I’m not letting it go. I deserve answers, Luca. Whatever this is, it clearly involves me .”

He studies me for a long beat. His eyes search mine like he’s looking for a reason to hold back.

I don’t give him one. I hold his gaze, every inch of me demanding the truth.

He sees it.

And finally, he gives in.

“Your father and I had an agreement,” he repeats. “He would not arrange another marriage for you. Because as far as he was concerned, you were still promised to me.”

The air leaves my lungs like a punch.

I blink.

My knees buckle, and I drop onto the bench behind me.

Luca doesn’t move. Wise choice. He just stands there, watching me with that hawk-like focus.

My mind races as puzzle pieces rearrange themselves into a clear new picture.

“This is why Mari was getting married first,” I murmur. “Despite my being the oldest.”

Luca says nothing, but the silence is answer enough.

“And that’s why he was arranging Mia’s marriage next.”

It all makes sense now.

The parts of my father’s behavior that never quite added up. The things he didn’t explain. The things we didn’t question, because obedience was what he expected.

He was playing the game with pieces we couldn’t see.

I press a palm to my temple, sick with the realization.

“Then why make me believe I was next?” I ask. “Why parade me around like some prize?”

“I guess he had to keep up the ruse,” Luca says, his voice sour.

I narrow my eyes at him. Yeah, he doesn’t like the idea of other men looking at me.

Good. I hope he was green with jealousy.

Luca’s silence sharpens again.

And it hits me. Like a second betrayal layered under the first.

“Wait a second.” I look up at him, the pieces clicking into place too fast. Jumping to my feet, I point a finger at him.

“If you had an agreement with Father, that means you talked to him? But not to me?”

I’m shaking now. I don’t know if it’s the cold or the fury or the way the world keeps shifting beneath my feet.

“No, Isa,” Luca says quickly. “All communication went through my father.”

He’s trying to calm me, to soften the blow. But it’s too late.

How many more revelations is he holding back?

“My father was still in touch with Antonio,” Luca adds, quieter now. “Through convoluted channels. Always encrypted, indirect, discreet.”

“But you said you’re no longer speaking to your father,” I snap. “So how do you even know all this?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since the agreement was made with your father,” Luca says evenly. “But I monitored their exchanges.”

I frown. “You just said they were encrypted and convoluted.”

He exhales through his nose and gives me a look. “I set the system up for them, Isa. Of course I could read them.”

He pauses, and something in his voice shifts. It’s less defensive now, more resigned.

“My father never told Antonio that he and I were at odds. He didn’t want to risk their alliance because he needed it intact. He was still working behind the scenes to bring down the De Marcos. Your father…”

He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. His expression tightens, like he’s debating whether to keep going.

“My father what?” I demand. Luca has always been direct. If he hesitates like this, it can’t mean anything good.

“Luca! Tell me.”

He lets out a wary sigh.

“Your father was his inside man.”

Everything in me goes still. The words hang between us, refusing to land.

He meets my eyes. “Our marriage was supposed to cement the trust between our families after the power in Sicily shifted.”

It’s like the floor dropped out from under me, and all I can do is grasp at the air, stunned, searching for something to hold on to.

Another revelation that shreds the beliefs I never questioned.

I stare at him, his words echoing in my mind .

“My father was a traitor?” It comes out as little more than a whisper.

Luca’s eyes hold mine. Steady. Honest. But careful.

“I think he saw himself as more of a liberator. But yes. He was helping the De Marcos’ enemies from the inside.”

My stomach twists.

I try to make sense of it, but it’s like the ground keeps shifting under my feet.

The man I feared. The man I obeyed. The man who raised me on la famiglia’s laws. And all this time, he was breaking them?

“Why would he do that?” I ask, incredulous. “He was about to become consigliere. The most powerful man in Sicily after the Don and his underboss. Why risk everything?”

My voice rises now, full of disbelief. “Why put our entire family in danger like that?”

Luca doesn’t answer right away.

Because there is no good answer.

Eventually, he says, “Your father would have been promised something better.”

And I know he’s right. Antonio Accardi never did anything that wouldn’t benefit him.

“Does that mean he wasn’t killed by the Irish, like we were told?”

Luca exhales. “I don’t know. I never looked into his death. It could’ve been them. Or it could’ve been someone else. He made enemies on every side.”

For a second, I can’t speak. But then it all comes tumbling out.

“All this time… all these years I spent watching my father, fearing what he would do next. Dreading the moment he’d marry me off to someone else…

“And it was all a pretense… a lie.”

The ugliest truth crashes into me. My breath catches on the next words.

“And you knew.”

Luca knew. He’d always known. And he didn’t tell me .

“It would have changed everything . I wouldn’t have wasted so many nights grieving you. Dreading my future. Waiting for a fate that was never really coming.”

Something inside me tears loose.

A soundless scream builds inside my chest.

The betrayal. The silence. The years I lost.

Fury boils up stronger than before, and this time I don’t try to contain it.

Eyes locked on his, I take a slow, deliberate step toward him.

He doesn’t move.

But I do.

I draw my hand back and slap him. Hard.

The crack of it cuts through the air. My palm stings from the contact, the burn radiating up my arm. His cheek snaps to the side with the force of it, and for a second, everything is still.

My chest heaves. My fingers tremble. But I don’t take it back.

I meant it.

Without another word, I spin around and stomp down the path.

“Isa!” he calls after me.

But I don’t turn around.

I’ve had enough.

I don’t want to hear any more.

Not from him .