Maid To The Mafia

Isabella POV:

"Isabella?" I heard my boyfriend Mike calling my name.

I felt my heart drop slightly from his tone.

It was gentle, too gentle and Mike was always angry.

Standing up on my feet, I tried to see if he brought someone else with him.

When I saw only his head, a little breath left my lips before tilting my head down.

"Come here, sweetie." He said.

I found myself nodding my head, I didn't want any beating, I'm still healing from the old ones.

I hate when he beats me, I hate when he insults me and makes me feel small.

We have been in a relationship for 2 years and in those 2 years was only beating and apologizing for what he did, then beating again.

The same routine over and over again.

As I walked towards Mike, memories of our tumultuous relationship flooded my mind.

The scars, both physical and emotional, served as a constant reminder of the toxic cycle we couldn't escape.

"Isabella, you know I care about you, right?" Mike's words contradicted the cruelty she had grown accustomed to. The sudden tenderness only fueled her confusion.

Nodding silently, I hesitated, wondering if this was just another twist in the unpredictable narrative of our connection. The fear of the unknown loomed large as I braced myself for whatever lay ahead, hoping against hope for a chance at genuine change.

Mike reached out, his touch sending shivers down my spine. Instinctively, I flinched, bracing for impact. Instead, his hand gently cupped my face, a stark contrast to the violence etched in my memory.

"I've been thinking, Isabella. Maybe we can break this cycle, start anew," he murmured.

I looked up at him, trying to read him.

I can't believe these lies anymore, this would be the 18th time he has said this.

"Answer me, Isabel." He said.

My heart beat faster at the tone again.

What kind of man Is this?

"ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF?" He yelled.

Immediately I closed my eyes waiting for the hit.

But nothing came.

Opening my eyes slowly, I looked at him with one eye open.

"Just, just get food ready when I'm back." He said with a chuckle then walked away.

I looked at him from behind as he walked out of the house.

A breath left my lips as I looked around.

Is this a dream?

I thought before shaking my head.

As I gathered my thoughts, the silence in the room felt heavy.

The familiar sounds of his anger were replaced by an eerie quiet that unsettled me.

With cautious steps, I moved towards the kitchen, still processing the surreal encounter.

Preparing the food, my mind raced, replaying the countless times Mike had promised change only for history to repeat itself.

The cycle of abuse had carved deep scars, both visible and hidden, and the scepticism within me fought against the glimmer of hope.

As the aroma of the meal filled the air, I couldn't shake the question echoing in my mind: Was this a genuine turning point or just another deceptive calm before the storm?

I glanced at the door, half-expecting Mike's return to bring back the harsh reality I had grown accustomed to.

The minutes stretched into an uneasy anticipation as I finished preparing the meal.

The sound of the front door opening startled me, and I tensed, bracing for what might come next.

As Mike walked in, his expression seemed different – a strange mix of nonchalance and something I couldn't quite decipher.

He sat down without a word, and a heavy silence settled between us. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and I found myself cautiously watching his every move.

"WHAT?" He snapped looking at me.

I jumped slightly at his tone before looking back at the ground.

"Have you got a job, Isabella?" He asked.