The Mafia Affair

, she would wake to the sight of the sun glinting off the Hudson River, its golden light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of h

ty to transform dilapidated buildings into luxurious residences. Her portfolio was a testament to her vision, each project more ambitious tha

ways the same, she would savor the rich aroma while reading through the latest market reports, her mind already calculating potential investments

ct she commanded in the industry. Isabella was known for her attention to detail, her ability to negotiate with even the most stubborn of clients, and her uncanny knack

life, there was a softer, more vulnerable side that onl

but with Isabella, he was simply the man who made her heart skip a beat. Their romance had blossomed slowly, a steady burn rather than a flash

art galleries in Chelsea, or weekend getaways to the Hamptons. Alexander had a way of making Isabella laugh, his dry wit and easygoing nature balancing

st Side. The owner, Giovanni, knew them by name and always reserved their favorite table by the window. It was here, over candlelit dinners and glasses of

nd Alexander had won a landmark case. They were celebrating, their eyes bright with the thrill of success and the warmth of each

e should start looking for a place out in the countryside. Somewhere w

ross from her. "I think that sounds perfect. A little house in the H

y. A place where we can just be o

aughter, and shared dreams. Isabella felt a deep sense of contentment, a ce

hand. The city was alive with the hum of traffic and the distant sound of music drifting from open windows. It was one of those r

ng outside. Isabella leaned against Alexander, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, an

her's side of the family, only that they had deep roots in Italy. Her mother had never talked much about it, and Isabella had always assumed it was because of the divorce. Her father, Lorenzo Moretti, was a figure w

angement. Her father's absence had shaped her in many ways, making her fiercely independent and determined to succeed on her own terms. But as she sat there, nestled in th

voice was urgent, the words tumbling out in rapid Italian. Isabella's Italian was rusty, a skill s

Moretti found dead in hi

red at the screen, her mind struggling to process what she was hea

microphones extended as they shouted questions at the grim-faced detectives emerging from the house. The anchor's voice continued in the background, providing details

be? She had always known him as a businessman, a man who had moved back to Italy to run his company after the divorce. But

hers, his voice filled with co

verything she thought she knew about her life. Lorenzo Moretti, dead. Lorenzo Moretti, a mafia boss. Her father, a

eads of her life pulling apart as the truth of her father's death, and his life,