Maid To The Mafia

ounded in her chest, the tension in the air thick as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She leaned against the door for a moment, eyes c

umbling before her eyes. She had known it wasn't going to be easy. She had known that her past was never truly g

tude of her home, the reality

her-not now. The past was back, but that didn't mean she had to return to it. She had chosen this life. It was her decision to walk away, to leave the mafia and ever

still innocent to the darker side of life. A younger Isabella, wide-eyed, smiling with her family at a gathering that seemed so normal, so far removed from

aside to peer out at the empty street. The world beyond the window was still and peaceful, the sun beginning its slow climb in the sky. A

o finish what he started? Her hands gripped the windowsill tightly, her knuckles white from the tension. For a moment, she simply stood there, frozen, listening. But when no fu

oor. She glanced out through the peephole. There was no sign of Leonardo. Instead, a figure s

still erratic. "Can I help you?" s

a calculating intensity before she spoke. "I'm

on flooding her mind. Who was this pe

It's about the mafia. Your past." Her words were heavy, each one laced with

e a curse. It was like a door she had locked away, buried deep inside her memor

on't know what you're talking about," Isabella said, her voice cool bu

g, Isabella. We both know it. You can run, but you can't hide from what you were bor

sent her? She had been careful, so careful to sever all ties with the mafia. She had changed her name, moved to a new to

ion. "Listen, I'm not here to drag you back into the world you left. I don't care about your past li

"I don't want anything to

want, but the truth is, they won't let you go. The mafia... they're falling apart. Someone

"You've got the wrong person. I'm not who you think I am. I'

t you've never truly escaped. You'll never truly be free of the past, Isabella. Not unles

oman's words struck a chord deep inside her. The mafia was falling apart? And she could somehow fix it? Was she the

ny of it anymore," Isabella replied, her voice hard

een them. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked

words of the woman echoed in her ears, each one a reminder th

me again. It wasn't a soft knock this time, but

ge-just a plain, unmarked box. Her breath caught in her throat as she crouched down to pic

just like the ones she had tried so hard to forget. It was a picture of her and Leonardo, taken long ago, smiling, full o

oto, a note was writt

You'll always be p

he mafia was far from done with her, and it seemed

sn't over. It ha