His Engagement Broke Her Heart, but the Mafia Boss Refused to Let Her Walk Away

The black Mercedes slid to a halt near the warehouse entrance, its headlights cutting jagged beams through the rising mist. The passenger door clicked open, and a pair of stiletto heels stepped out onto the soot-stained concrete.

Isabella Marino did not look like a woman who had been married for less than twenty-four hours.

She wore a tailored Chanel coat over a shimmering silk dress, her blonde hair pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon that didn’t have a single strand out of place. Her diamond engagement ring—the one Clara had inventoried—flashed brilliantly under the flickering halogen lights.

She walked toward the open warehouse door with an unhurried, patrician grace, her cold blue eyes sweeping over the charred shipping containers and the armed enforcers standing watch.

When she saw Gabriel stepping out of the shadows with Clara right behind him, a slow, knowing smile touched her painted lips.

“Oh, Gabriel,” Isabella said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Playing in the dirt so soon after our honeymoon? My father would be so disappointed.”

Gabriel didn’t smile. He stopped ten feet away, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his slacks, though his posture radiated lethal tension.

“Isabella,” Gabriel greeted flatly. “What are you doing here at three in the morning in the worst district in Chicago? Did you lose your way to the country club?”

Isabella’s eyes flicked past Gabriel to fix on Clara. There was no surprise in her gaze—only a chilling, calculated assessment.

“I didn’t lose my way,” Isabella said smoothly. “I came to check on my investment. My father received a call an hour ago telling him that our new distribution hub was burning to the ground. He naturally assumed your incompetent security team had failed us again.”

“Your father’s men started the fire,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously quiet.

Isabella’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, smoothing her coat with manicured fingers. “My father is a businessman, Gabriel. He honors contracts. Unlike some people in your family who still operate like street thugs from the 1980s.”

“If you’re talking about my uncle Marco—”

“I’m not talking about Marco,” Isabella interrupted sharply. She took a step closer, her heels clicking rhythmically against the concrete. She lowered her voice, speaking only to Gabriel, though she cast another cutting glance at Clara. “I’m talking about the leak in your organization. The person who knows every financial loophole, every shell corporation, and every illicit bank account the Costa family owns.”

Clara felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.

Gabriel didn’t blink. “Clara is my executive assistant. She handles everything. If you have an accusation to make, make it clear.”

“An assistant?” Isabella laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. “Gabriel, please. Everyone in the higher circles knows she’s your kept woman. The little ghost who warms your bed while you sign marriage certificates with me.”

Isabella stepped directly into Gabriel’s space, reaching out to adjust the lapel of his soot-stained shirt with a nauseatingly intimate gesture.

“If the council finds out that your operational secrets are being funneled through your mistress, the marriage contract becomes void,” Isabella whispered, loud enough for Clara to hear every word. “And my father will take half your real estate portfolio before the week is out.”

Gabriel slowly reached up, caught Isabella’s manicured wrist, and pulled her hand away from his chest with deliberate force. He didn’t squeeze, but the warning in his grip was unmistakable.

“My business is my own,” Gabriel said, his voice like crushed ice. “And my relationship with Miss Bennett is none of your concern. If you ever come uninvited to my territory again, Isabella, I won’t send you back in a Mercedes.”

Isabella pulled her wrist back, rubbing the skin where his fingers had rested. Her blue eyes flashed with genuine malice.

“You think you control this game, Gabriel,” she hissed. “You think because you put a ring on my finger, you own me. But you signed a forty-eight-page contract. And on page thirty-two, it states that any breach of loyalty from either party dissolves the union with severe financial penalties.”

She turned on her heel, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the floor as she walked back toward her car. Before getting in, she paused and looked back over her shoulder.

“Check your accounts in the morning, darling,” she called out sweetly. “The war has already begun.”

The Mercedes door slammed shut, and the car sped off into the Chicago night, leaving a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

Gabriel stood frozen, his jaw locked so tight the muscles stood out in sharp relief. He pulled out his satellite phone again, dialing a single number with frantic speed.

“Viktor,” Gabriel barked into the phone as soon as it connected. “Freeze all secondary corporate accounts. Now.”

A pause. Then Viktor’s gravelly voice came through, filled with cold disbelief.

“Boss… I can't. The accounts are already drained. Three hundred million dollars transferred to an offshore holding in the Cayman Islands ten minutes ago.”