The Mafia Don's Runaway Collateral Wife

ien

traced the jagged, raised

ed, but the phantom sting of her t

prawling gray skyline of Manhattan looking like a kingdom of ash beneath the cloud

the storm knocked out the power, the drug had turned my blood into liquid fire. I stumbled into my suite, a blind

nt of rain and vanilla. She fought me like a feral cat, her nails carving into my

he was the sole witness to my complete descent into hell. I had be

vy obsidian door pulled

a mask of professional stone. "Don Moretti. We have a hit on

the room seemed t

on my tongue. Isabella Ros

uickly violently overwritten by the file my grandfather, Vittorio, had thrown on my desk five years ago. The forged bank statem

tion. Dante. My son. The Old Wolf had made it clear: Isabella had dumped m

nt money six years ago,"

d to face Casimiro, my voice dropping to a lethal command. "Send a team of Soldiers to customs. Detain her in a holding room. Force her

imiro nodded and

ell phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen

I have been standing at the JFK arrivals terminal with my luggage for t

ck up my PR girlfriend. The Santoro alliance was crucial for th

ayed," I s

the Phantom,"* she snapped. *"

I was heading to JFK anyway. I could handle Gianna's tantrum and

of the bulletproof Rolls Royce Phantom

ity feed from the JFK customs checkpoint. My men had already instruct

looked thinner, her posture rigid with

e car's secure comms, laced with a rare hes

in on the grainy

She has... childr

ound her legs. A boy with glasses, standing with eerie stillness. Another boy, prac

I saw the pitch-black hair. I saw the

come back for money. She had brought another man's bastards to my city, parading them in

een as the boy with glasses suddenly raised hi