The Bodyguard Who Stole the Mafia Bride

ella

ssa(princess), is

ed the last thread of my sanity. I was Isabella Blanchard. I had just lost ten years of my li

t," I hissed, my voice

another slow, deliberate step

avy crystal ashtray from the coffe

ease. Before I could grab anything else, he closed the distance. I lunged at him, my nails clawin

and and used his body weight to press me down onto the velvet sofa. He

, my chest heavi

that Falcone at Elysium," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I sa

t and pulled out a black velvet box. I turned my face away, expecting

ad vanished from a Sotheby's auction months ago-the exact necklace Julian had

flawless stones. "Is this blood money

he fastened the cold diamonds around my neck. It felt like a beautiful, heavy shackle

ent, a brand of absolute ownership that tasted of dark tobacco and

s as Mrs. Moretti tonight?" he whi

t of me. He stood up, leaving me trembling on

chase away the chill in my bones. I woke up in my bed

corner of my bedroom, fully dressed in a c

covers. I marched toward the bathroom, my

nto his arms before I could protest and dropped me back

g back against the headboard. "What e

now you eat junk food at two in the morning because your sleep schedule is a mess." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a

vacy. He wasn't just a bodyguard; he was a ghost who had been haunting my every

glaring at the dining table. A steaming bowl of my favorit

mmanded from the

y," I lied, cr

adpan calm. "Fine. I'll hav

ks burned with humiliation. Damien stopped. Without a word, he walked over, picke

de demanding a final stand. "I'm o

hrough his deep, Sicilian eyes. "Yes, principessa(princess)," he

lain was the only sound in the penthouse,