The Mafia King's Runaway Ghost Bride

Isabella POV

The tense silence of our family dinner was shattered by the blaring of the estate’s perimeter alarms.

Marco was on his feet instantly, his hand flying to the holster beneath his suit jacket. A breathless guard burst into the dining room. "It’s the Wraith. His Phantom just pulled up to the rear entrance. No motorcade, just two Enforcers."

All the blood drained from my father’s face. "Hide her," Antonio ordered, his voice tight with a terror I had never heard before.

"Go to your room, Bella. Do not make a sound," Marco commanded, shoving me toward the servants' stairs.

Panic seized my chest. I turned and ran. In my pocket, my fingers blindly clutched the crushed black rose I had secretly retrieved from the garden grass earlier that afternoon. As I sprinted down the dimly lit rear hallway toward the staircase, my trembling hands fumbled. The dark flower slipped from my grasp, landing silently on the thick Persian rug. There was no time to turn back.

I reached my bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs. I left my half-empty teacup on the nightstand and my silk nightgown draped carelessly over a chair, rushing straight to the window. Hiding behind the heavy velvet curtains, I peered down at the rear courtyard.

The sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom idled like a predator in the shadows. Damien Moretti stepped out. He wore a tailored black suit that seemed to absorb the moonlight, his aura so suffocatingly dark and lethal that even from the second floor, I found it hard to breathe.

My father and Marco hurried out to intercept him. "Don Moretti," Antonio said, his tone carefully measured. "Let us go to the study. We can discuss whatever business—"

Damien didn't even look at him. He bypassed the Consigliere entirely, his pitch-black eyes fixed on the wrought-iron gate leading to the rose garden.

My mother, Sofia, rushed forward, desperately blocking the gate with her own body. "You cannot go in there, Damien," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The gardeners sprayed toxic pesticide this evening. It isn't safe."

Damien finally stopped. He looked down at my mother, a cold, mocking smirk curving his lips. "I don't mind a little poison, Sofia," he murmured.

He stepped around her effortlessly, pushing the iron gate open. My family followed him, trapped in a nightmare they couldn't control.

Damien walked slowly through the manicured paths until he reached my favorite patch of red roses. Marco stood rigid behind him, looking like a bull ready to charge, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

Damien ignored the hostility. He stared at the blooms, his voice dropping into a haunting, obsessive cadence that drifted up to my window. "Today is the anniversary. I came to feel her presence."

Below, Antonio and Marco turned ashen.

Then, the Wraith did something that made my blood freeze in my veins. He slowly tilted his head back, his dead, bottomless eyes piercing through the darkness, locking directly onto my bedroom window. It was as if he could see my soul trembling behind the glass.

"I want to see her room," Damien stated. It wasn't a request. It was a Don's Command.

Marco’s hand twitched toward his gun. Antonio instantly grabbed his son’s wrist, his fingers digging into Marco's flesh, silently begging him not to sign their death warrants.

Damien didn't wait for permission. He turned and strode toward the house.

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. I spun away from the window, sheer terror overriding my senses. I threw myself into the walk-in closet, pulling the louvered doors shut just as the bedroom door clicked open.

I pressed my hands over my mouth, sinking into the shadows behind a row of silk dresses. Through the narrow wooden slats of the closet door, I had a clear view of the room.

Damien stepped inside. He stopped in the center of the rug, his chest expanding as he took a deep, agonizing breath. I saw his jaw tighten as he registered the lingering scent of my perfume, the fresh tea on the nightstand, the soft silk on the chair.

"The maids," Antonio said quickly from the doorway, his voice strained. "They clean it daily. To keep it exactly as she left it."

Damien didn't look at my father. His eyes were roaming over my bed, dark and hungry.

"Get out," Damien ordered softly.

"Damien, you cannot—" Marco started, his voice vibrating with rage.

"I said, get out."

The two massive Enforcers stepped forward, physically forcing my father and brother out into the hallway. The heavy oak door was pulled shut with a definitive click, the lock turning from the inside.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. I was trapped in the dark, locked in a room with the most dangerous man in Chicago.