Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

Ricco’s hands came up, away from his body, held out to show they were empty.

”What the fuck do you think you are doing, Isabella?” Her father’s voice exploded across the room, and for the first time, she heard something underneath the control. Shock. Anger. And maybe...just maybe....respect.

Isabella turned her head to look at him, keeping the gun trained on Ricco’s head.

Her father stared at her, really looked at her....and she saw it. That flicker across his face. Recognition. Understanding. She was a Russo. His daughter. And he’d trained her too well for her own good.

”It’s either you let me go,” Isabella said, her voice never wavering, ”or I blow off his head right now. Your choice, Father. But you can’t keep me here.”

Her father was completely still.

”You know that even if you kill him, you won’t be able to leave this estate?” he said calmly, like they were having a rational discussion about the weather. Like his daughter didn’t have a 9mm pointed at his most trusted man’s head. ”There are guards at every gate. Men in the gardens. You’d never make it off the property. You’d die before you made it a hundred meters.”

Isabella’s hands didn’t shake. Her breathing stayed steady.

”Try me then, Father,” she said, and there was something almost sad in her voice. ”You trained me yourself. You taught me how to fight. How to think. How to survive. So you should know exactly what I’m capable of.”

The standoff stretched like pulled taffy.

Ricco’s jaw was clenched so tight Isabella could see the muscle working underneath his skin. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. His hands were still raised, trembling slightly. He was a professional, he’d done this kind of work his entire life...but professional soldiers didn’t want to test whether a woman would actually shoot them in the head.

Especially not when that woman was the don’s daughter and had been trained by her father.

Three seconds passed. Five. Ten. Twenty.

The sound of a fountain outside the window was suddenly deafening. The tick of an antique clock on the wall sounded like gunshots.

Finally, Lorenzo spoke.

”Put down the gun, Isabella.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

”You can go,” he said quietly, his voice steady again, back in control. ”But on one condition. One condition that is non-negotiable. One condition that you will follow or you will face consequences that make imprisonment look like a vacation.”

Isabella’s finger relaxed slightly on the trigger. Not much. Just enough to show she was listening.

”You stay away from Dante Romano,” her father said, and his voice was harder than anything she’d ever heard. ”Completely. No contact. No communication. Nothing. You don’t call him. You don’t text him. You erase him from your life like he never existed. Do you understand me?”

”Yes,” Isabella whispered.

”And you’re going to get yourself together,” Lorenzo continued. ”You’re going to stop acting like some lovesick girl and start acting like a Russo. You’re going to repair the damage you’ve done. You’re going to show this family that you still have value. That you still matter.”

Isabella felt something twist in her chest.

”And most importantly,” her father said, ”you’re going to figure out how to get Dimitri Valentino back.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Get Dimitri back. As if she could ever undo what she’d done. As if she could ever be the woman he’d been engaged to, now that she’d been with another man. Now that she’d been used and discarded and discovered.

But looking at her father’s face, she understood. This wasn’t about love. This wasn’t about Isabella’s happiness or her future or any of that. This was about power. About status. About taking back what the family had lost.

”And if I don’t agree?” Isabella asked, though she already knew the answer.

”Then you stay here,” Lorenzo said simply, like he was stating a fact about the weather. ”And we talk about whether you’re actually worth keeping alive.”

It wasn’t a threat exactly. It was just a statement of reality in their world. Useless women died. Women who brought shame on the family, who couldn’t be controlled, who became liabilities...they disappeared. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes they were found in rivers. Sometimes they just vanished and no one asked questions.

Isabella lowered the gun.

She kept it pointed at the floor, her hand still steady, her breathing finally beginning to slow down. The adrenaline crash was coming, but not yet. Not while she still had to get out of this office alive.

”I agree,” she said.

Lorenzo nodded at Ricco, who slowly relaxed his posture. His hand finally moved away from his weapon. He looked at Isabella like he wanted to kill her....like she’d just destroyed his reputation by showing everyone in this room that he could be held at gunpoint by a woman....but he didn’t move.

”You’re dismissed,” Lorenzo told his second-in-command.

Ricco left without a word, though Isabella could feel the fury radiating off him. He’d been humiliated. A woman had held a gun to his head and he’d done nothing about it. That was the kind of thing that damaged a man’s reputation in their world. That was something people would remember.

But he left anyway, because Lorenzo Russo’s word was absolute law.

When the door closed behind him, Isabella’s father moved around his desk. He didn’t approach her threateningly....just moved closer, his movements slow and deliberate.

”Give me the gun,” he said.

Isabella hesitated for just a moment. Then she handed it over, grip first. Professional. The way he’d taught her years ago.

Her father took it and set it on his desk with the kind of care he might use handling something precious.

”You have potential,” he said, and there was something almost like pride in his voice. She’d forgotten he was capable of that emotion. ”I’d forgotten that. I’d thought that Dimitri’s rejection had broken you completely. I thought you’d become weak. Useless. Just another pretty Russo girl who’d become a liability.”