The Mafia's Wet Nurse

The night her child died, the sky bled crimson.

Isolde could still feel the weight of him in her arms - small, unmoving, wrapped in the hospital's sterile white blanket that mocked the warmth she never got to give. His face was perfect. Peaceful. As if he'd chosen not to stay in a world like this.

She hadn't even named him.

There hadn't been time to cry. The nurse had barely closed the curtain when the doors burst open - not with more staff, but with men in black coats and leather gloves. They weren't there for condolences. They were there to silence her.

She ran barefoot down the corridor, bleeding, half-conscious, the hollow ache between her legs tearing wider with every step. Alarms didn't sound. No one stopped them. No one helped her.

But she lived.

Hours blurred into the sound of footsteps and hiding in alleyways, the smell of blood and concrete, and the cold fire of grief clawing through her. By the time morning touched the horizon, she had nothing - no phone, no ID, just a hospital gown clinging to her sweat. But she was still breathing.

That's when she saw him.

A boy, maybe ten, staring at her from behind a row of trash bins near an old market square. Too thin. Pale. Eyes sunken. But it wasn't pity that made her stop - it was the way he looked at her. Like he recognized something in her.

"You need help?" she asked hoarsely.

He didn't speak. Just turned and ran.

She followed.

It wasn't rational. Nothing was. But something told her to trust the trail, and after two streets and a broken fence, she found herself in front of a worn-down townhouse with a crooked door. The boy disappeared inside.

An older woman opened the door seconds later.

She didn't ask questions. Didn't flinch at the sight of blood on Isolde's legs. She simply looked at her - really looked - and then stepped aside. "Come in," she said.

Her name was Magda.

Within the hour, Isolde had collapsed onto a mattress that smelled like lavender and dust, while Magda pressed a wet cloth to her forehead.

"Where's your baby?" the woman asked gently.

Isolde's eyes welled, but no tears came. "Gone."

Magda only nodded. "Your milk's coming in," she said a moment later, touching Isolde's damp shirt. "You'll be in pain if you don't feed."

"I don't have a baby," she whispered.

Magda looked toward the back room. "But I do."

That night, Isolde nursed a child who wasn't hers. A tiny infant with gray eyes and quiet hands. Orphaned, Magda said. The mother died in childbirth. The father? No one knew.

And so, Isolde stayed.

Each day bled into the next. Her body healed, though grief still lived in her bones. She gave the child - Magda called him Nico - what she could. Milk. Warmth. Her arms. For a while, that was enough.

Until she saw him.

It was raining. She had gone to the market for vegetables, trying to blend in beneath a borrowed coat, when a black car pulled up beside the curb.

The man who stepped out didn't glance at her, but she knew who he was.

Everyone in the city did.

Luca Monticelli.

His name was always spoken in whispers. The kind of man who didn't need to shout to kill. Tall. Immaculate. Eyes sharp as broken glass. He was the ghost in every backroom deal, the blood behind every silk curtain. The mafia lord people prayed never to meet.

And there he was. Fifteen feet from her.

He didn't see her. Not yet.

But something in her stomach twisted. Her hands gripped the basket tighter as she turned away. She didn't need to draw his attention. Didn't want to know why the air around him felt like winter.

But fate doesn't care what a broken woman wants.

The next morning, he was at the house.

Magda opened the door with shaking hands. "Mr. Monticelli," she murmured, voice taut with fear.

Isolde stood frozen in the kitchen, clutching Nico to her chest.

Luca's eyes swept the room once, then landed on her. He didn't look surprised.

"You've been hiding," he said calmly.

Her breath caught. "You're mistaken."

He walked in like he owned the place. "You escaped Saint Jude Hospital six nights ago. You left a trail of blood to the north district. The woman who stitched your leg is dead now. And the man who smuggled you out of the city is missing."

Isolde's knees nearly buckled.

"Yet here you are," he continued, eyes flicking to the child in her arms. "Feeding someone else's baby like you weren't hunted for a reason."

"What do you want?" she rasped.

He didn't smile. "Answers. But more than that..." His gaze dropped to the infant, then returned to her face, unreadable. "A proposition."

She hated the way her heart thudded when he said it.

"I'm not for sale."

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "Everyone's for something."

And in that moment, Isolde knew her life was about to shift again.

Not because she chose it.

Luca Monticelli didn't need to explain himself. He didn't need to speak in grand gestures or make threats. His presence alone suffocated the room with an oppressive tension.

Isolde felt every second of it.

She stood frozen by the small table where Nico was asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. It had taken her a moment to realize that Luca had not moved, had not even acknowledged the quiet infant in her arms. His gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and calculating. It was a look that pried, dug beneath layers of flesh and bone, until it found whatever secrets a person was hiding.

And Isolde had too many secrets. Secrets she had been running from for days, weeks, months-secrets she couldn't allow anyone to uncover.

Still, she didn't lower her gaze. "What do you want from me?" Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced herself to stand tall. She wouldn't let him see her break. Not like this.

He didn't answer immediately, his eyes moving from her to the sleeping child and back again. His fingers brushed the edge of the wooden table as if considering something, a thought lingering behind those cold eyes.

"Tell me, Isolde," he said, his voice low, smooth, and unnervingly calm. "What's your story? How does a woman like you end up bleeding out in the streets with nothing but a dead baby in her arms?"

The words stung. There was no kindness in them, no empathy. Just curiosity laced with a dangerous edge. And yet, there was something about the way he said it-something about the way his lips curled ever so slightly, just enough to make her want to believe he wasn't entirely heartless.

But she couldn't afford to trust him. Not yet. She knew too well that people like Luca Monticelli didn't do things out of kindness.

"I was never supposed to be here," she said quietly, her eyes drifting down to Nico, the only thing in the world that still made her feel human. "I was... used."

Luca said nothing. He just watched her, waiting. And for a moment, Isolde felt the weight of her confession-bare and unguarded-fall into the air between them. It was dangerous to speak, to show weakness. But in the presence of a man like him, silence felt even more dangerous.

"Used?" he repeated, his eyebrow arching slightly as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue.

Isolde took a deep breath and moved toward the chair across from him. "I was part of an arrangement. A marriage... a deal. My family sold me to someone. A man I didn't know. My father... my brother... they thought I was just another pawn to move on their board. They didn't care about me, about what happened to me." Her voice faltered but she kept going. "They didn't even care when I lost the baby."

Luca leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as if this was all some sick game to him. "And you're running from them now?"

"Yes."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. Isolde couldn't read his expression. She wasn't even sure if he was judging her or simply calculating his next move. It was unsettling.

"And what do you think you'll find here?" Luca asked finally, his voice still smooth but laced with something darker. "Do you think Magda can protect you from the people who sent those men after you? From your family?"

Isolde flinched at the mention of her family. The people who were supposed to love her, yet had driven her into the arms of a stranger. She had trusted them. Or had she? She didn't even know anymore.

"Magda's the only one who cared enough to take me in. She didn't ask questions. She didn't care who I was." Isolde stood up, her fists clenched. "I won't let you destroy that. I've already lost everything. I won't let you take this from me too."

Luca's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as he watched her stand her ground. "I'm not interested in your charity," he said coldly. "I want something from you. You think you're the first woman to run from a life she doesn't want? That's not my problem. But you and I... we could help each other. If you're smart enough to realize it."

Her heart thudded in her chest. "Help each other?" she repeated incredulously. "What could you possibly want from me?"

Luca's lips twisted into something between a smirk and a sneer. "You have something I need. Or more precisely, someone." He nodded toward Nico, still sleeping soundly in her arms. "That boy... you think he's an orphan, don't you?"

Isolde stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that boy is a tool. A weapon. The child of a powerful man you've never met, but whose enemies I deal with on a regular basis. If he grows up in a world where people know he's still breathing... it'll bring nothing but chaos. And I'm not letting that happen."

Isolde's blood ran cold. Her eyes widened as she looked at the boy in her arms. He was just a child. A helpless, innocent soul who had already lost everything. How could Luca be so heartless?

"You want to use him," she whispered, the realization cutting through her. "You want to control him."

"Control?" Luca chuckled darkly. "No. Not control. I want to ensure his survival." He paused, his gaze turning sharp. "But for that, I need to make sure the people who want him dead... don't get to him first."

A sickening knot twisted in her stomach. "And what do you want from me in exchange?"

His eyes gleamed. "You're a pawn in your family's game. I'm offering you a way out. Help me keep the boy alive. Protect him, and I'll protect you. And you won't have to look over your shoulder every second of the day."

It was tempting. She would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about what it would mean to live without fear for the first time in ages.

But something in her gut twisted. Luca Monticelli wasn't offering protection. He was making a deal-an agreement that would tie her to him forever.

"I don't trust you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He shrugged, unfazed by her words. "You don't have to. Trust isn't a luxury I offer." He stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you will work with me. Or you will lose everything again."

For a long moment, Isolde didn't speak. She only stared at the man who had barged into her life, and she felt the world shift under her feet. She knew, deep in her bones, that whatever path she chose now would change the course of her life forever.

Isolde sat in the silence that followed Luca's words, her breath shallow, heart racing. Nico slept soundly in her arms, oblivious to the dangerous game unfolding around him. She couldn't help but think of the irony-she had been running from her family, from the deal they had made with a man who saw her as little more than an asset. Now, she was being offered a new deal by someone even more dangerous.

The room felt small, suffocating. The walls pressed in on her, as if they were closing in with each passing second, trapping her in a reality she didn't want to face. She wanted to say no. She wanted to walk away from Luca Monticelli, to take Nico and run far away, to a place where no one could find them. But the weight of her situation bore down on her, and she knew, deep in her gut, that it wasn't that simple.

"You think I want to be tied to you, don't you?" she asked, her voice low and trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance. "You think I'll just fall in line because you're offering me protection?"

Luca's expression remained unchanged, his face a mask of controlled emotion. He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. "I think you'll do whatever it takes to survive, Isolde. You're not stupid. You know I'm your best option."

Her gaze faltered for a moment, a brief flicker of doubt creeping into her mind. Was he right? Was he really her only option? Was there any other way out of this nightmare?

"You're wrong," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm not like you. I don't make deals with people like you."

Luca's lips curled into a thin smile, but there was no humor in it. "Is that so? Well, then you're welcome to try your luck without me. But let me remind you, Isolde... there are people out there who don't care about your morals. They'll take what they want, and they won't ask for permission."

Her heart pounded in her chest as his words sank in. She knew he wasn't lying. She had seen what his world looked like-corruption, violence, betrayal. She had witnessed it from the sidelines, her family entangled in it, but never fully understanding the depths of it. Now, she was standing at the edge, peering into the abyss, and the thought of falling in was more terrifying than anything she had imagined.

"I don't want to be a part of this," she said, her voice steady, though her insides were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "I won't be your pawn. I won't use Nico for your games."

Luca's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. "It's not a game, Isolde. You think I'm doing this for fun? You think I care about power for the sake of power? I don't need a child to win wars or to gain more influence." He stepped closer to her, his voice lowering to a whisper that felt like a threat. "I do this because it's survival. Survival in a world that doesn't care about people like us. People like Nico. People like you. You want to protect him? You want to give him a chance at life? Then you'll help me, whether you like it or not."

She could feel his words wrapping around her like a noose, tightening slowly, relentlessly. He was right. There was no easy way out. But there had to be a choice.

A choice that didn't involve selling her soul.

"You're offering me a deal I can't refuse," she said bitterly, glaring at him.

Luca tilted his head, his lips curling into a smug smile. "I'm offering you a way to survive, Isolde. A way to make sure your little boy doesn't grow up in a world where he's just another pawn to be sacrificed."

Her eyes flicked to Nico, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered what kind of future she could give him. A future where his life wasn't determined by the whims of powerful men. A future where he was free to choose his own path.

But that future felt as distant as the moon. The reality was much harsher. Nico had been born into a world where survival was everything. And she wasn't strong enough to protect him on her own.

"You know what they say, don't you?" Luca continued, his voice low and coaxing. "You make your bed, you lie in it. Your family made their bed when they sold you off. I'm just giving you a chance to survive in it."

Her breath hitched in her throat as the weight of his words sank in. She was trapped. She could feel the chains already tightening around her wrists, invisible but real, and she couldn't escape them.

"I won't betray Nico," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I won't use him like you want me to."

Luca's gaze softened for a brief moment, and for a second, she saw something other than calculation in his eyes. Something that resembled pity, though she quickly dismissed it as another manipulation. "You don't understand," he said quietly. "This world doesn't care about your innocence, your morals. It doesn't care about Nico's future. I'm offering you a chance to protect him, Isolde. A chance to keep him safe, to give him a life he wouldn't otherwise have."

She was silent for a long time, her thoughts spiraling. Everything she had ever known, everything she had ever believed in, was slipping through her fingers like sand. She was caught between two choices, neither of which she wanted to make.

"Tell me what I need to do," she finally said, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of defeat.

Luca's smile was sharp, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Good choice."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, tossing it onto the table in front of her. "This is a list of people you'll need to contact. A few people who can help you. But don't get too comfortable, Isolde. Once you're in, there's no getting out. Not without paying a price."

Her fingers hovered over the envelope, but she didn't touch it. Not yet.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked, her voice low but fierce. "How do I know you won't just throw me to the wolves once you've used me?"

Luca's eyes glittered, cold and calculating. "Because, Isolde, I don't need to use you. You're already mine."

The finality in his words left her breathless. She didn't know what was worse-the fear of what he would do to her, or the realization that, in this moment, she had already lost. There was no escaping this world. No escaping him.

Her fate was sealed, and it would be Luca Monticelli who held the key.