Dangerous Secrets: My Mafia Stepbrother

Grazia’s calm aura was like a soothing balm to Isabella’s escalating fear. It was crystal clear, this wasn’t the moment to reject her; Isabella was at her weakest, unable to confront the Lombardi clan or Emanuele. But Grazia, having been intertwined with the family for years, must have mastered her own survival tactics. Isabella recognized that she would indeed need Grazia’s aid in the future, as they were both trapped in the tangled web of mafia princesses.

Post the grand feast, Sophia suggested that Isabella should stay over for the night.

“Darling, it’s late, why not spend the night?” Sophia proposed. But to stay over? Absolutely not!

“No, I have an unfinished internship report, and work awaits me tomorrow,” Isabella declined firmly.

Sophia escorted her to the door, wrapping her in a soft hug.

“Mother, I wish for your happiness,” Isabella expressed.

“Isabella, my dear, I wish the same for you. If there’s a boy who has captured your heart, chase him fearlessly, don’t hold back,” Sophia replied with a warm smile, gently stroking Isabella’s hair. Their heartfelt blessings for each other were genuine, but Isabella wished her mother would reconsider.

Exiting the mansion, Isabella could finally let her guard down; she was exhausted. But at least until Sophia’s wedding with Leo, she could avoid encountering Emanuele, and she could relish a brief respite.

Damn it, why was she ruminating about that devil again? She had suffered enough torment for one night.

When her car transported her to the other side of the city, the buildings that filled her view were mundane, unremarkable, much like herself. But Isabella’s heart began to relax gradually.

Once the car halted, she dashed out and sought refuge in her rented apartment.

On account of her limited finances, Isabella had opted for a secluded, compact apartment, but she had filled it with warmth. The chai-colored curtains, the ecru sofa, and the pale yellow bed linen reflected the warm hues Isabella favored, making her feel as though her room was bathed in sunlight.

It was modest, yet cozy.

This was her sanctuary, her corner of the world, not that icy opulence built on the blood and lives of others. However, reflecting on the night’s events, especially that devil of a man, Isabella felt as though the blade of a guillotine was looming over her, uncertain when Emanuele would materialize to claim her life.

Isabella drew a deep breath. At this juncture, she was disadvantaged; she needed to devise a plan to navigate the current crisis.

…

New York, NightVibes, VIP Booth.

In stark contrast to the lively ambiance at the bar’s front desk, Emanuele and his entourage traced the server’s steps through a labyrinth of corridors, leading them to the most secluded, tranquil, and secure VIP booth.

Soft lighting and hushed tones enveloped the booth’s occupants, each clad in sharp Armani suits and savoring premium wine.

Emanuele had vacated the Lombardi residence due to a meeting with the clerics.

After departing his home, he boarded a private jet to New York, rendezvousing with clerics from the other four major families at this bar.

Currently, the leaders of the world’s most notorious crime syndicates were nestled in the booth.

Besides Emanuele, there was Rocco Gallo, the chief of the Italian mafia, Cody Dowey of the Irish mafia, Clark Campbell from the Canadian mafia, and Isidoro Romero, the head of the Mexican mafia.

They convened every two months to establish common ground and maintain cordial relations amongst themselves, thereby averting a global-scale conflict.

“The Sicilians have been unusually active on my turf,” Emanuele announced, a grimace of concern etched on his face, clearly troubled by the situation.

“Do you need our backup?” Isidoro proposed, his family’s reputation in assassination and tracking making them experts in this realm.

“No, I can handle it,” Emanuele declared.

He didn’t need anyone’s help; it would portray him as weak, stirring doubts among the other clerics about his competence for his position.

At present, the wound from a bullet he’d sustained hadn’t fully healed, causing pain whenever he exerted himself.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

It was his first stumble in years of combat, and he dared not reveal it to anyone. In everyone’s presence, he had to radiate power and intimidation.

Weakness was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.

Emanuele swore to himself that he would dig out their secrets and make these audacious culprits pay the price! No one had ever dared to be so brazen on his turf.

They deliberated over the current scenario and some policy alterations, and before they realized it, the meeting was wrapping up.

Cody, sporting a smile, asked Emanuele, “Heard your father took a new wife?”

Emanuele nodded.

“We all received invitations,” Rocco chimed in.

Emanuele’s gaze swept over those present. They were a young crowd, none over the age of thirty-five, the youngest barely twenty-six. His thoughts wandered to Isabella and he posed a question, “Any of you thinking about marriage?”

His words stirred a wave of astonishment among them, surprise mirrored in their exchanged glances.

“Emanuele, what, are you playing matchmaker now?” someone joked.

Emanuele nodded, “My stepsister turned twenty-two this year, on the brink of graduating from university, and currently working at a hospital. Interested in meeting her?”

“Twenty-two, is she a looker?” Clark couldn’t help but whistle. At the ripe age of twenty-six, he was in his prime, quite the ladies’ man beyond his family obligations.

In response to Clark’s inquiry, Emanuele offered a smile, “You’ll find out at the wedding.”

“I can’t wait,” Clark retorted.

Emanuele contemplated to himself that he was being rather generous with Isabella, not pairing her with some aging man, but selecting from among his brothers, which served him well too. In this manner, he wouldn’t have to worry about how to care for this stepsister who had abruptly emerged, or fear her jeopardizing his interests, and it would keep the brothers happy-a splendid idea indeed.

Emanuele admitted to himself that he had changed his mind about her. He remembered the girl’s fearful yet defiant eyes, which he found amusing. No woman had ever dared look at him with such eyes; many would have gladly thrown themselves into his bed, performing oral sex, climaxing, screaming for him.

He was eager to see that self-righteous girl be just like that, screaming in bed, legs spread open, eventually becoming a recognized whore for the mafia. This thought was more pleasurable than just killing her.

Whether she became a plaything or managed to rise above would depend on her own skills.

He thought this might appease the irritation in his heart – this woman had occupied too much of his attention since she appeared.

…

In the subsequent days, Isabella found solace in the hustle and bustle of her hospital job, providing her a sense of calm amidst the storm.

Emanuele seemed to have vanished from her world, and she nurtured the hope that he would fade into oblivion for good!

Yet, that fateful night, when Isabella returned home, swung her door wide open, and found the man lounging on her bed, a scream involuntarily escaped her lips.

My God, how in the world did Emanuele manage to infiltrate her sanctuary?