Kidnapped

When I got home, my mother was waiting outside with some other women. My shoulders slumped helplessly.

Why had that man so effortlessly made an imprint on my mind?

Why did I keep seeing his lush lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as he slept?

Why in the world did he have to fall asleep on my lap?

The shadow behind me startled me for a second, and I flinched, holding my chest.

I turned to the blond who had managed to stick right next to me.

"What's your deal?" I asked, slightly annoyed that his presence was going to scare little Ricardo.

"I've been asked to stay close to you. My duty is to serve and protect you." His tone was more respectful and professional now.

I raised my brow in surprise.

One would think I was his mistress. Or maybe I was?

I shook my head and sighed.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Carlo, madam," he said with a slight bow.

I scoffed. Being a mistress wasn’t as bad as I expected.

This was the same man who had hurled me like a rag doll.

"Carlo, stay here. Don’t come closer. It’s an order." I said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

For a brief second, I saw his displeasure.

He obviously didn’t like getting orders from a native village girl.

Well, that was not my problem.

I walked away from him and headed towards the cottage. From a distance, I saw Pa Paulo cradling Ricardo in his arms.

My heart went out to my son. What would I do about him?

My mother had put in so much effort to ensure the villagers wouldn’t know that her very innocent daughter had gotten pregnant from a drunken one-night stand.

I felt grateful to her just this once.

The Donatellis couldn’t know I had a son.

Ricardo must never be in danger.

Danger.

That was the man who had slept on my lap. He was the definition of the word.

"Isabella!"

Mom’s call snapped me out of my thoughts. She ran to me and wrapped her arms around me.

"Mama!" I called out, holding her firmly in my arms.

But our reunion didn’t last long.

The sound of gunfire erupted, drowning out the voices of the women.

In the blink of an eye, everyone was scrambling for cover, running from the armed men who seemed to be looking for something—no, someone.

I saw Carlo from the corner of my eye, running toward me.

But that didn’t matter.

I needed to protect my son.

I didn’t get to him.

A loud gunshot rang out behind me. I turned, and to my shock, I saw Carlo on the ground, bleeding from his leg. His face was covered in pain.

This was definitely not the Donatelli Mafia.

"Mistress…" he whispered, but I was too distracted.

A hand grabbed me from behind, yanking me backward. My eyes widened as I felt something cold and metallic press against my skull.

"Take a step, and you die," a cruel voice sneered.

I could swear my heart stopped beating.

All I could do was stare.

I had never been held at gunpoint.

I certainly hadn’t expected this.

"Is this the one? You think your Don could do any better?"

The man sneered, shaking me roughly.

"Please, I… don’t… don’t kill me," I stuttered, the fear gnawing at my heart like a surgical knife.

I felt a heavy impact on my head.

The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me whole was a voice—a whisper, laced with malice.

"Too bad… I was hoping you’d scream first.”

I'm

Giovanni's POV

I swirled the glass of whiskey in my hand, taking a long drag from my cigar.

The daughter of Raffaele Romano.

A common village girl whose name I had forgotten to ask.

Yet…

There was nothing common about her.

The Godfather had chosen a village girl because they were ignorant.

They couldn’t plan tyranny. They knew nothing about the underworld or its secrets.

They had no influential family ties.

The daughter of a wealthy man could be used against us. So he had chosen something simple.

Something.

A possession.

My…possession.

The sudden noise at the door made me sigh. I placed the cigar in the ashtray and walked over.

Before I could reach it, Rizz—my right-hand man and the one who had accompanied Carlo to get my bride—stepped inside.

I raised a brow.

"What’s this about?" I asked.

"The mistress has been kidnapped," he said.

I stared at him, almost wondering if he was in his right senses.

I’d always liked Rizz because he was straightforward.

But right now, I wanted to punch him in the face.

"What the hell do you mean, ‘kidnapped’?" I snapped, immediately grabbing my shirt from the sofa, ignoring the throbbing bullet wound on my shoulder.

"The Moretti Mafia must have figured her out," Rizz explained. "While we were regrouping after the loss, they moved in. They’re trying to end us."

I set the glass down. Carefully. Deliberately. The air in the room turned sharp, suffocating.

“So they thought they could touch what belongs to me?” I stood, rolling up my sleeves. My movements were slow, controlled.

Rizz stayed silent, waiting for my command.

"And Carlo?" I asked.

"He was shot."

Damn.

“Get the car.” My voice was low, deadly. "I want them to remember what happens when they cross me."

As I stormed out of the room, Rizz trailing behind, my father’s butler stepped in my way.

"Don," he called.

I shrugged him off.

"I have no time—"

"If this is about the mistress, your father has ordered you to stay put," the butler cut in. "She’s not worth fighting for. Our men are severely injured, and we have no backup. This is a trap to lure you in and kill you. Another suitable bride will be arranged for you."

I couldn’t believe my ears.

But there was no time for this.

Who knew what they were doing to her?

"Get away from me," I growled, pushing past him.

"You’re injured, Don," he insisted.

"Your father—"

"Tell my father that no lady in all of

Palermo has ever made me fall asleep—and not chopped my head off if I eventually did!" I yelled as I breezed past him.

Fine.

If my men couldn’t go, I would.

She was my bride, after all.