The Mafia Don's Runaway Heiress Wife

ella

vy iron side gate of the Moretti estate. My bare feet were numb, my lungs

ed at the curb. The door flew open, and Nathaniel Hayes rushed out. Nate-the

ol coat and draped it over my shoulders, shielding me from the biting wind. "I've got you, Bella," h

e shadows near the ivy-covered wall. A faint red light

ow as Nate drove away. I knew exactly

ien

nst the mahogany desk.

as a photograph of my wife. Isabella, looking fragile and so

ft the estate. Nathaniel

to another man's arms? She had orchestrated our marriage with ruthless precision, and now she expected me to believe th

dark, possessive fury wa

ed back, my grip nearly cracking

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ur family crest. The mansion was brightly lit, a stark contrast to th

my loyal old housekeeper, Maria, was already wa

. Bianca. The maid who had spent the last year secretly fee

twisted into a mask of exaggerated, sickening concern as

owledge her voice. I simply sidestepped her outstretched ha

ile shattering as the col

ily against her side. "Maria," I said, my voice quiet but carry

staff watching from the foyer understood: Bian

lls and plush white rugs were exactly as I had left them before

Arthur, watched us from the shadows of the study. Julian looked at my pale,

w Damien's temper. You can't just walk out. Look, I'll handle it. I'll send over that lim

sharp and violent. I cut him off, my hands

k. I looked at my brother, then at the empty, imposing desk where my father

my voice dropping to a dead, icy calm.

nt slack, and the sheer, unadulterated terror that washe