When A Mafia Heir Broke My Heart

phin

ome out of concern. He came for damage control, to protec

ce devoid of any real warmth. He stood b

es fell on the Florence travel brochure on my bedside table. A flicker of susp

"She was worried you might file a lawsuit.

ugh. "I don't want anything from you," I s

if to adjust my pillow, a gesture of condescending charity. His fingers br

r my head. She immediately looped her arm through his, a possessive anchor.

impose. After all," she looked directly at me, "it wouldn't be ri

randing me as a ho

al's sunroom. Isabella insisted they accompany me, a perfectly c

past a large, ornate fountain, Isabella suddenly stumbled. She

, his eyes blazing. In front of a dozen onlookers-family assoc

e roared. "You pushed her! Yo

the handles of my wheelchair. With a violent shove, h

e. I felt the stitches tear. The cold water stung the open

me, his face twi

us," he snarled, his voic

od debt, delivered in public