I'm The Mafia's Mistress

“I don't know why my mom is doing this.” She gasped as those words came out.

“I'm just so tired of everything. It's not like mom to do these things.” Isla wiped her tears as her best friend Isolde leaned for a hug.

“Like she's betraying my dad.”

“Babes, your dad is dead and this is her life. Seriously, I don't see what your mom is doing wrong. Your dad has been dead for years now.” Isolde said and Isla looked at her in disagreement.

“It's not fair, my dad deserves better. I wish I had died with him.”

Isla Monroe sat at the edge of the hotel bed, her mascara smudging slightly as she stared at her mother’s engagement ring announcement glowing on her phone screen. The name on the card was even brighter than the diamond on the ring.

She was getting married to a Moretti. What the f**** Who does that?

"She’s really doing it," she whispered and her voice cracked.

“Babes let your mom live her life.” Isolde stood up and walked across the room.

Clarissa Monroe was always cold, always composed and now she was marrying again. Into the mafia royalty of Europe, no less.

"You’ve got to stop crying," Isolde said gently from across the room, zipping up her stiletto heels. "Tonight’s your night, not hers. We're in Rome for God's sake."

Isla turned to her best friend. "How am I supposed to be happy when my mom is marrying into a family I know nothing about? And she won’t even talk about my father, she won’t even tell me how he really died. It’s like he never existed."

Isolde crossed the room and cupped her cheek. "Then forget her. Forget all of them. Let’s go out, get drunk, and dance until your sadness falls off like cheap makeup."

A slow exhale left Isla’s lips. "Fine. But I’m not promising I’ll smile."

“Whatever.” Isolde muttered.

“I don't have a dress for that kind of event.” Isla said.

“I got you covered love.” Isolde ginned as she ran to her box and waved a dress at Isla.

“Shameless.” Isla cursed and they both laughed.

~~

The nightclub pulsed with low lights and luxury. Velvet walls, golden chandeliers, and a haze of cigars and perfume swirled through the air. Every soul in the room looked expensive and dangerous.

Isla walked in beside Isolde, feeling like a paradox in her own skin.

She wore a body-hugging black dress that barely reached her thighs. The front dipped into a deep V, her chest pushed up and framed in a way that felt sinful. Thin spaghetti straps clung to her shoulders, leaving her back bare. It was the kind of dress you wore to get noticed—or to hide your pain behind boldness.

And she hated how perfect it looked on her.

"Come sit with me for a bit," Isla whispered as they headed toward a private booth.

"Nope. Not happening," Isolde said, grabbing her wrist and dragging her onto the dance floor. "You’re going to dance this sadness off."

At first, Isla moved half-heartedly. The music thudded, bass vibrating through the floor and her heels. She closed her eyes, letting herself sway, letting the rhythm take over and she just kept dancing.

For the first time in a long while she felt happy but then the memories surged.

Her mother, standing in that ivory room, with her face cold as frost.

"You don’t need to know what happened to your father. He was weak."

"You never loved him," Isla had screamed. "You never even let me say goodbye!"

"Some goodbyes are better left unsaid."

It hit her like a slap. All of it. Her father’s mysterious death. Her mother’s secrets. The loneliness. The lies. The engagement to some mafia fossils.

The air in her lungs felt heavy.

It was bad how she always felt sad, the pain, the anger? They never go away.

"I… I need a second," she murmured and rushed off the dance floor, pushing through the crowd until she found the women’s restroom.

The lights inside were soft and golden. Isla gripped the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Her chest heaved. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it quickly, almost angrily.

“Gosh! I'm so damn tired of my pathetic life!” So many thoughts flooded into her mind.

Drowning would be an easy way to die. How about she died and watched her mother suffer the pain?

“Get it together,” she whispered. “He’s not coming back.”

“Dad… I wish you were here.” Her voice trembled as she added, “fuck! I hate my life.”

Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the edge of the sink.

She stayed there until her heart stopped shaking. Then she turned to leave but realized quickly she’d taken the wrong exit.

Everything looked unfamiliar. The hallway outside was dim, silent. No music. No familiar faces.

Shit.

She tried retracing her steps, but the corridors looked so twisted like a maze.

And that’s when she saw them.

Two massive men in black stood flanking a velvet curtain. They watched her closely, eyes glinting like polished knives.

“Hello, I'm lost please where is the exit?” She forced herself to speak.

"Lost, little angel?" one of them asked, smirking.

Before she could answer, one of them grabbed her.

“Cut the shit it's getting boring and you're late. Common get in.”

“What?” The other guy asked.

“Are you not a stripper?”

“N…”

“You are right? Great!” Before she could say anything they pushed her into a room and just immediately the curtain parted and a man stepped out.

He was tall. Unapologetically broad. His hair was dark and swept back. A scar cut through one eyebrow, and his eyes were cold with a golden which locked on her like a predator spotting a wounded deer.

He didn’t ask her name, nor did he blink.

"Start dancing," he said darkly.

Isla’s brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I said dance." His voice dropped an octave. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Her breath hitched.

This wasn’t a threat. It was a statement, like the law.

The guards inside the room didn’t flinch. They knew him, and probably feared him.

So she moved. Slowly. Awkwardly. Her hands trembled as she tried to recall the rhythm from earlier.

He stepped closer, watching her with unnerving stillness.

"Why are you pretending to be innocent," he said, voice a whisper against her ear, “if this is a game to make me like you it's working.”

“No, I'm…”

“You're not the stripper?” He turned to look at the guards, “is this a joke?”

“Boss it's just a trick probably.” One of the guards said.

"When you're dressed like you came to sin, why are you acting up?"

Isla froze. It felt like the world had just shifted and she was no longer sure she wanted to go back.

“What in fuck sake was happening?”