The Mafia Boss's Estranged Bride

The studio was quiet except the sound of Isabella Romano's brush moving lightly over the cracked surface of the old canvas. The lamp light bathed the painting in a warm glow as she leaned in close, her steady hand guiding the fine bristles over faded paint. The piece stretched across her wooden table, delicate and tired; centuries old and showing every year of it.

"Almost there," she whispered.

Restoration work was never easy because patience wasn't just helpful, it was essential. Isabella had learned that the hard way because every crack, every shadow, every worn-out color demanded a gentle touch, any slip, and years of history would vanish in a single careless swipe.

Sometimes, it felt a lot like life itself because there were some damages you could fix by bringing it back bit by bit. But other scars? You just had to learn how to cover them up.

She sat back and studied her progress. The dull yellow varnish was starting to lift, and in its place, a soft golden light peeked through.

Beautiful, she thought. And forgotten, too, just waiting for a second chance. A faint smile touched her lips.

"You're so lucky because not everyone gets to come back," she told the painting.

Her phone buzzed on the table. She ignored it, picking it up after the second buzz. It was Sofia, her best friend calling.

Isabella balanced the phone between her shoulder and cheek, dabbing her hands clean with a cloth.

"Normal people sleep at this hour, Sofia."

"Did you check your email?" Sofia replied as she never bothered with small talk.

Isabella let out a quiet laugh. "Is that how we're saying hello now?"

"Bella."

"I saw it."

"And?"

"I haven't decided."

Sofia groaned loud enough for Isabella to hold the phone away from her ears "That job could change everything for you!"

Isabella walked to the window, glancing out at the sleepy Milan street and the freshly washed pavement gleamed under the streetlights. She spotted a couple wandering by, their laughter echoing softly against the stone.

"I have what I need, Sof." Her voice was calm.

"What the heck do you mean by that Bella? You work in a studio the size of a broom closet."

Isabella shrugged. "It's a very charming closet."

"You deserve more."

It was an old argument. Isabella had heard it a hundred times, but it always missed the point. Peace isn't cheap, that she knew too well because she'd paid for every ounce she had.

"So what's so special about this one?" She asked, though she already knew.

Sofia's sigh carried across the line. "It's the De Luca Foundation Gala."

Isabella's hand tightened on the phone. She stared out the window, saw her own reflection, her dark hair was pulled back in messy tangle with sharp eyes that spoke about five years of change.

"You're quiet," Sofia said.

"I'm thinking."

"You know who's hosting the gala, right?"

A faint, wry smile tugged at Isabella's lips. "I do."

"Then you should know why I'm worried."

Of course she knew. Everyone in Italy knew the name Lorenzo De Luca. The smart-ass businessman and phiilanthropist. But if the rumors were true, he was a man whose shadow reached much further.

Five years ago, Isabella had called him something else.

Husband.

But that life belonged to another woman now.

"I'd be behind the scenes," she finally said, her voice soft. " It's just restoring a painting. I don't need to go near the guests."

"That's not the point."

" But I need the money," Isabella admitted, which wasn't entirely a lie.

Sofia fell quiet on the line.

"And Matteo?" she finally asked.

Just hearing his name softened Isabella's whole expression. Her gaze drifted to a tiny backpack in the corner, shoes barely big enough for a toddler tucked beside it. Matteo was asleep at Sofia's apartment, worn out from a busy day. He was her world and her reason for hiding all these years.

"He'll be alright," she said gently.

Sofia sounded tired now. "I just hate seeing you near that world again."

Isabella hated it, too. But life rarely followed neat lines.

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"If anything feels wrong, you walk away. No questions." Sofia continued

"I will."

The call ended. Silence wrapped around her again.She returned to the table, as her eyes fell on the elegant invitation beside her work.

The golden letters lined on cream paper: The De Luca Foundation Charity Gala. Hosted by Lorenzo De Luca.

Her chest tightened.

It's been five years. Five years since she left Italy with nothing but a suitcase and a secret she hardly dared name. Five years spent doing everything to make the world believe Isabella Romano was gone for good.

She slid the invitation into her bag. It was just a job. Just one night and nothing more.

Switching off the lights, Isabella slipped out into the cool Milan air. The streets were hushed. She locked the door, drifted toward the subway, her footsteps echoing on the cobbles.

Halfway down the block, a flicker of unease made her glance back, she saw nothing but a black car parked beneath a streetlight, quiet and still. She kept walking.

Inside the car, a man lowered his camera. His screen showed Isabella's face, clear as day. He frowned, his thumb hovered over his phone, then dialed.

The call picked up immediately.

"Yes," came a deep, controlled voice.

"Boss... You need to see something."

"What?"

The man looked at the photo again. "I think... I just saw your wife."

"That's impossible," said the voice as silence stretched across the line, thick and cold.

"Yes, boss."

"Send me the picture." the voice replied calmly after a longer pause,

In a sprawling estate on the outskirts of Milan, Lorenzo De Luca stared at his phone. His expression didn't crack, but the air in the room froze.

For five years, the world said Isabella Romano was dead and yet the woman in the photo looked exactly like her.

He studied it one more time, then stood out.

"Prepare the car," he ordered, his voice quiet and as flat as winter stone.

If Isabella Romano was still alive,she wouldn't disappear again so easily and he would make sure of that .

Two nights later, Isabella stood in front of Sofia's mirror, just staring. The figure in the glass nearly resembled a person she didn't recognize, it was merely a female figure wearing a navy blue gown, uncomplicated yet graceful, nothing flashy. She had deliberately selected the dress, something meant to blend in; professional and muted not to catch the eye.

Tonight wasn't about putting on a show, it was about getting the job done and then exiting silently. All the same, nervousness churned in her belly and had not released its grip since sunrise.

"Girl, you look like you're on your way to your own funeral." Sofia stood in the doorway as she observed her with her arms folded.

"Is it that obvious?" Isabella asked, making an effort to smile.

"You appear pale."

"I'm fine."

Sofia refused to buy it. "Bella."

"I said I'm fine," Isabella repeated, a bit softer. But honestly, she didn't know what emotions she had. Could it be fear? Maybe. Or perhaps something older, that lingering ache she believed she had long since buried.

The most recent time she came into Lorenzo De Luca's world, she stood as his bride. Naïve. Full of hope but still utterly terrified. Now, that young woman was no longer there.

"Stick to the plan," Sofia said. "You work on the painting, collect your fee and lave."

"That's the only thing I'm doing."

"And if you see him?"

Isabella hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her coat. "I won't."

******

The magnificent Palazzo Verani was drenched in warm golden light set against a dark Milan sky. Luxury cars pulled up with men and women in elegant outfits trooping gracefully into the venue with giggles bouncing around and camera shutters clicking. The De Luca Foundation Gala brought together Italy's top personalities; public figures, tycoons and socialites, in fact if they were significant, they were in attendance.

Isabella kept a low profile as she moved stealthily by the main entrance alongside the event workers. There were no cameras or no flashy items shooting in her direction which was just perfect.

Inside, the palace looked like something out of a dream. Crystal chandeliers were glistening beneath painted ceilings, polished marble floors radiated and columns rose high. Their murmurs buzzed across the ballroom, yet Isabella hardly noticed any of it, all her thoughts were just fixed on the modest exhibition space beside the main hall; the place where her real work was waiting.

The curator saw her immediately she walked in.

"Hii, you must be Elena Rossi. We're so grateful you took the offer" she clipped, stopping in front of Isabella.

Isabella nodded. "It's an honor."

On a display easel, the painting waited under a spotlight. She moved closer as she could see just how fragile and beautiful it was, the gentle brushstrokes and colors that were centuries old, even beneath the protective cover.

For a second, the tightness in her chest eased up. This was her world. Artwork never misled, has never caused you pain and never tried to kill you in your sleep.

"Take your time," the curator said, stepping out of the room.

Isabella was alone. She bunched up her sleeves and laid out her tools; Cleaning brush, rag, cleaning solvent. The work commenced minutes slipping by almost an hour.

Music and laughter drifted in from the main ballroom making Isabella actually feel herself almost relaxed.

Then something shifted slightly, she heard footsteps inching closer behind her and the quiet murmur coming from the staff nearby. The air seemed to freeze.

Isabella's hand stopped mid-motion as the icy realization crept down her spine. She knew this feeling; that sensation of someone watching her. Slowly, she turned around.

A towering figure occupied the entrance, his broad shoulders clad in a black suit exuding dominance. His dark-coloured hair, slicked back crowned his handsome face with a strong jawline. He still had those razor-sharp blue eyes that made Matteo's face flicker across her mind.

Isabella could barely breathe as neither of them moved

Lorenzo De Luca.

He hadn't changed much, if anything, he looked older, sharper, quieter and even more dangerous and those eyes?? They definitely remembered everything. The staff faded out of the room, melting away from the moment because nobody wanted to witness this.

Lorenzo stepped closer, never taking his eyes off her. He stopped just a few feet away but just close enough for Isabella to feel the gravity between them.

He didn't speak right away. He just studied her, as if making sure she was real. Alive.

"Hello, Isabella." came his voice, low and gentle but terrifying.

Her heart slammed in her chest.

She made herself stand straight. "Good evening," she answered softly.

Something flashed in his expression, maybe amusement, disbelief or anger. He edged closer.

"You're supposed to be dead." he replied, the words hung in the air, sharp and cold.

Isabella swallowed. "So I've heard."

Lorenzo's gaze hardened. He had endured five years of questions and losses and now the woman who vanished was just standing here, acting like it was nothing.

"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize my own wife?" His voice went even lower.

Wife. That word stung.

Isabella steadied her voice. "I'm not your wife anymore."

Lorenzo tilted his head, eyes darkening. "Legally," he said, "you are."

Her pulse thudded louder.

She needed space. "I'm working," she said, turning back toward the painting. "If you'll excuse me"

But his hand closed around her wrist before she could move, he was not rough, but solid and just enough to stop her cold, as a spark of tension jolted through them both.

Isabella looked up slowly.

"You disappeared for five years." Lorenzo's voice was soft but utterly certain as his grip tightened just a little.

"And now you think you can walk away again?"

Isabella's heart hammered.

She never planned for this reunion, never expected the weight of his stare or the cold certainty in his voice.

"Let go," she whispered.

Lorenzo watched her for another moment, then released her wrist but his next words hit harder.

"Enjoy the rest of the evening," he said quietly. Then, after a pause, "Because when this gala ends..." He locked eyes with her.

"You're coming home with me." he turned,returning the same way he had come.

For the first time in five years, something became horribly clear to Isabella; escaping Lorenzo De Luca once had been a miracle.

But getting away again? That might be impossible.

Isabella didn't wait.

The moment Lorenzo walked out of the exhibition room, the air rushed back into her lungs, but it wasn't that of relief but panic.

Her hands trembled slightly as she gathered her tools, shoving them into her bag with far less care than usual because her every instinct kept screaming the same thing:

Leave. Now.

She knew she had made a mistake coming here, a very terrible one at that and if she didn't act fast, she would lose the one thing she had spent five years protecting; her son Matteo.

Isabella slipped out of the exhibition room, keeping her head down as she mixed into the crowd in the main ballroom. The music was louder now and the laughter brighter, but to her, everything felt distant, blurred by the pounding of her heart.

She moved quickly toward the nearest exit, the door leading to the side corridor because using the main doors would make it too obvious and too risky. She remembered it from earlier, she turned left as she walked straight ahead.

"Ma'am." a male voice rose behind her, stopping her dead in her tracks.

Isabella turned slowly as two men in black suits stood a few feet away. They had polite expressions and steady eyes that burned through her skin.

"Can we help you?" one of them asked.

"No," she said calmly. "I was just looking for the restroom."

"It's the other way." The man responded, smiling faintly.

" Of course it was.Thank you." Isabella said and forced a small nod.

She turned and walked back into the crowd, her breathing grew shallow. There has to be more than one exit and other ways out. She tried another corridor, it was blocked, the next door was surrounded by guards.

Every path she took led to the same result. There were extra men in suits, all watching and waiting. The realization hit her like ice down her spine, this wasn't a coincidence, it was control.

Lorenzo hadn't raised his voice or chased after her, because he didn't need to. He just sealed the entire building.

Isabella stopped walking and stood in the middle of the grand hallway, her chest rising and falling slowly as the truth settled in. She wasn't trying to leave, she was trying to escape a trap that had already been set.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be." A soft voice behind her confirmed it.

Isabella closed her eyes briefly and then turned.

Lorenzo stood at the far end of the hallway, his expression calm, his posture relaxed as if he had all the time in the world.

The guards around them stepped back subtly, creating space and giving him control of the moment.

"I told you," she said, Isabella lifted her chin slightly. "I'm working." her voice steady despite the storm inside her,

"And I told you, you're coming home" he replied, as he walked toward her in slowly, measured steps.

"I have a life, You don't get to just... she snapped.

"I get to do exactly what I want," he cut in quietly as he stopped in front of her.

His gaze dropped briefly taking in every detail of her face, as if confirming again that she was real.

Then he lifted his eyes back to hers.

" It's been five years," he said, with no anger in his tone and that made it worse.

"You disappear," he continued. " With no explanation or trace. And now you walk back into my world like nothing happened."

"I didn't walk back, I was invited."she said, her chest tightened.

A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes.

"Is that what you think this is?" he asked softly.

Her stomach dropped and before she could respond, Lorenzo turned his head slightly and gave a silent signal. The guards straightened immediately and then came the words that sealed her fate.

"Close the exits." he ordered making Isabella catch her breath.

"They're already closed, boss," one of the men replied.

"Good." Lorenzo replied, his gaze never leaving hers.

"This is insane, You can't just trap me here."Isabella said, taking a step back.

Lorenzo took steps forward, as she backed up until her back hit the cold marble wall till there was nowhere left to go.

"You ran away from me once,you would never get that chance again." His voice dropped, softer this time but far more dangerous.

"I'm not the same person you married," she whispered, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely think.

"I can see that." Lorenzo's lips curved slightly as he lifted his hands.

For a second, Isabella thought he was going to touch her but he didn't. Instead, he turned away. Then he spoke again to the men behind him.

"Bring my wife to me." The words echoed through the hallway.

Isabella's stomach dropped and before she could react, two guards stepped forward.

"Don't touch me!" She screamed as she tried to pull away.

But they already had her firmly. Her pulse raced as panic surged through her veins because that was exactly what she had feared, exactly what she had tried to avoid which was being pulled back into his world.

"No," she said, struggling now. "Lorenzo, listen to me..."

He didn't turn around or slow down, just simply walked away as if it was already done and she already belonged to him.

Isabella's resistance weakened for just a second as reality crashed over her. She wasn't leaving tonight or going back to her quiet life. She remembered Matteo and her chest tightened painfully, the one thing she had been trying to protect, the one secret she couldn't afford to expose was now closer to danger than ever before.

As the doors of the private elevator closed behind her, Isabella's eyes stung with tears, five years ago, she had escaped by a miracle. But this time, she had just walked straight back into the lion's den.

And Lorenzo De Luca had no intention of letting her out.