My Mafia Savior, My Hero

Isabella’s POV

The nightmare came as it always did—swift, vivid, and merciless. The sound of screeching tires, my mother’s panicked voice calling my name, and the deafening crash reverberated in my ears. I jerked awake, a cry caught in my throat. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and my trembling hands clutched the threadbare blanket.  

My heart pounded as the remnants of the dream lingered. No, not a dream. A memory. I could still see the amusement park lights glowing in my mind, my parents’ smiles as they indulged my wish to visit the park. And then, darkness. When I woke up in the hospital, they were gone, leaving me with nothing but guilt and grief.  

The old clock on the wall ticked steadily, grounding me. I pushed back the tears threatening to spill and sat up, brushing my dark brown hair away from my damp face. 

The small room I occupied was little more than a storage closet with a narrow cot and peeling wallpaper, but it had become my refuge from the nightmare of my wretched life.  

A distant creak signaled someone stirring in the house. Panic surged. Breakfast wasn’t ready yet. I swung my legs off the cot, slipped on my worn out slippers, and hurried to the kitchen.  

The house, with its cold gray walls and sparse furniture, mirrored the hostility of its occupants. 

I moved quickly, my movements practiced and silent as I gathered ingredients. I cracked eggs into a bowl, the sound echoing in the stillness, and heated the pan on the stove.  

My mind wandered as I worked. In a week, I would turn eighteen. Most girls my age looked forward to that day with dreams of freedom and independence. For me rather, it was a countdown to something far darker.  

I had overheard my uncle’s conversations late at night, hushed whispers of debts and desperate measures. 

Though I didn’t know the details, I felt the weight of his intentions hanging over me like a noose.  

“Why does it always smell like something died in here?”  

The sharp voice snapped me away from my thoughts. Sophie, my cousin, entered the kitchen in her silk robe, her perfectly styled blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. She sauntered to the table, her lips curled in disdain.  

I didn’t respond. Instead I placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before my cousin. Sophie eyed the food as if it were poison. 

“Ugh, you can’t even make breakfast right. I don’t know why my father keeps you around. You’re worthless.”  Her words cut deep, but I kept my expression neutral. Years of practice had taught me that reacting only made things worse.  

“Don’t you feel guilty?” Sophie continued with a smirk. “You know, for killing your parents. Isn’t that right, Isabella?” I froze, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. I forced myself to stay calm, but my voice trembled as I spoke. 

“ I didn’t kill them.” I said softly under my breath. Sophie laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. 

“Sure you didn’t. You begged them to take you to that stupid amusement park. If it weren’t for you, they’d still be alive.”  

“Sophie!” a deep voice interrupted.  

We both turned to see Draco enter the room, his towering frame and dark eyes commanding attention. 

Dressed in his usual tailored suit, he exuded an air of authority that made my stomach twist with unease.  

“Father!” Sophie said as she ran to give him a hug. My heart pinched against my chest. She always does this, remind me I am the reason for my parent’s death then rubs the fact that I am an orphan in my face.

“How was your night?” Draco asked her.

“It wasn’t fine, the fear that a murderer living under our roof could end up killing us kept me awake.” Sophie said while looking at me, I stood still as I swallowed the tears threatening to fall, she was rubbing salt to my already opened wound. I wished that I had died that day with my parents at least I won’t have to endure this unending pain and torture.

“Coffee,” Draco barked, sitting at the head of the table. I moved quickly to obey his order, pouring a cup of coffee and setting it before him.  

Draco sipped it slowly, his expression unreadable, before setting the cup down with a clink. 

“We need to talk,” he said, his gaze fixed on me.  My heart sank. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it wouldn’t be good.  

“You’re going to marry Santiago as soon as you turn eighteen.”  

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. My knees nearly buckled. 

“What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.  

Draco leaned back in his chair, his cold eyes never leaving mine. 

“He’s agreed to clear my debts in exchange for you. It’s a good deal. You should be grateful.”  

Grateful? The word echoed in my mind, mocking me. He was selling me like property, and I was supposed to be grateful?  

“No,” I said, my voice firmer this time.  Draco’s hand slammed against the table, making Sophie jump. 

“You’ll do as I say!” he thundered. “You have no choice in this, Isabella. None.”  

The tears I had held back threatened to spill, but I refused to let them fall in front of him. Instead, I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms.  

“Enjoy your last week of freedom,” Draco said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “It’s more than you deserve.”  

Sophie smirked as she picked at her breakfast, clearly enjoying my misery. I dragged a chair and sat down, as soon as my hands touched my plate, Sophie started again.

“When will you stop leeching on us?” She barked before dragging my plate away.

Leeching? If anyone was leeching, it would be them. They stole my inheritance my parents left behind, Draco still went ahead to claim my parents insurance and now he still wants to give me out to Santiago to clear his debts. They were the ones leeching off me and my very existence. 

Draco looked at Sophie, his gaze was a reminder that he doesn’t joke with his dining time. She was allowed to insult me as much as she could just not when Draco is eating.

Sophie threw my plates back at me. I heaved a sign before picking up the pieces of eggs that littered the table and began to chew into my meal.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, the tension in the air suffocating. After we were done eating, I cleared the table and washed the dishes but inside me, a storm raged. I couldn’t let this happen. I wouldn’t.  

As I scrubbed a plate, my mind raced. I had no money, no connections, and nowhere to go. But staying here wasn’t an option anymore. I’d rather die than marry a man like Santiago—a man older than my late father, with a reputation as cruel as my uncle’s.  

My mind was clouded with thoughts on how to escape, then I remembered my best friend, Natasha, had mentioned an opportunity in the city—a job that could give me a fresh start. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Could I really leave?  

The idea grew its roots in my head, growing stronger with each passing second. I dried the last plate and set it down, my decision solidifying.  

I wouldn’t get married to Santiago.  

I would run. 

Far away from this hell.