Married to the Mafia's Lost Heir

"Luca, I told you Isabella was just throwing a tantrum. She could never really leave you."

Luca's expression eased. He truly believed I was only bluffing out of pride.

He stepped forward, reaching for my suitcase.

"You're forgiven as long as you know you were wrong. Go upstairs, put your things back, and don't—"

I sidestepped, avoiding his hand.

"You're overthinking it. I only packed what belongs to me. I didn't take anything of yours. I'm not like you—I don't keep an ex's things."

With that, I took Matteo by the hand and walked straight toward the door without once looking back.

Behind me came Luca's enraged roar.

"Fine! Get out! And once you walk out, don't even think about coming back!"

I drove away and asked Matteo for his address.

He gave one—an ultra-luxury hotel in the city center.

I blinked, surprised.

"My place isn't convenient to bring you to right now," Matteo explained.

Hearing that, I quietly let out a breath.

Truthfully, I don't fear hardship, but the thought of immediately living with someone I barely know—even if we already had a marriage certificate—was too much for me.

Seeing me finally relax, Matteo secretly sent out a message that read: [Instruct everyone to treat me like a stranger. No special treatment.]

Then he powered off his phone.

Soon, we arrived at the hotel.

Although I didn't have much luggage, the bellboy insisted on giving me a cart. While politely declining his offer, I handed Matteo my card so he could book a room for me at the front desk.

After the luggage was safely upstairs, he handed me the room key.

I followed the number—and froze.

It was a lavish presidential suite.

How much was this going to cost?

I pressed a hand over my wallet, comforting myself: Think of it as a celebration for finally leaving Luca.

Oddly, I hadn't received any credit-card notification, but I'd been running around all day. I chalked it up to a system delay and didn't think further.

I began unpacking my things.

Once everything was in place, I glanced at the man beside me. After a moment of hesitation, I spoke.

"Thank you for today. It's late… you should stay here tonight."

Matteo paused, his gaze flickering toward the massive bed.

Realizing how ambiguous that sounded, I panicked.

"I—I mean another room! I'll pay for it!"

He laughed softly at my fluster.

"No need. I can afford a room. I'll stay next door. Call me if you need anything."

I slept soundly.

The next morning, I planned to discuss the wedding arrangements with him.

But the moment we stepped out of the hotel lobby, several police cars screeched to a stop, surrounding us.

Officers rushed forward and forced Matteo to the ground.

Startled, I ran to them.

"What are you doing? Why are you arresting him?"

The lead officer glanced at me, his expression grave.

"Are you Isabella Avellino? We received a report that this man used marriage as a pretense to commit large-scale financial fraud against you."

Fraud?

My mind went blank.

"That's impossible. Who reported it?"

And then a familiar voice cut through the air.

"I did."