The Price Of A Mafia Queen

Isabella POV:

The day I was finally cleared to leave the medical wing, Marco was waiting for me, his face a mask of feigned concern. I walked right past him, my gaze fixed on the man standing behind him.

Luca.

He offered me a small, crooked smile. "Ready to escape, *principessa*?"

A weary smile touched my own lips. "More than you know, Luca."

Marco's jaw tightened. "I'll take her home, Luca. She's my responsibility."

"Doesn't look like she wants you," Luca retorted, his eyes glinting with challenge. "Besides, a Don's daughter deserves better than a glorified babysitter. She needs a man who will worship the ground she walks on."

I ignored the burning intensity of Marco's stare. I didn't have the energy for his possessive games.

"Let's go, Luca," I said, my voice quiet.

He offered me his arm, and I took it.

"There's a charity auction tonight," he said as we walked away, leaving Marco standing alone in the sterile white hallway. "A perfect distraction. My treat."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what does Marco Ricci's *consigliere* hope to gain by showering me with gifts?"

He chuckled, a low, confident sound. "I'm not his *consigliere* forever. I have my own ambitions. And they involve a queen who deserves a king, not a boy playing at being one."

For the first time in weeks, a genuine laugh escaped my lips. It was a small, fragile sound, but it was real.

"Fine," I said. "But we're not going for just any distraction. I want the Star of Sicily."

It was a legendary diamond, a flawless blue stone rumored to calm a troubled heart. It was exactly what I needed. My soul felt like a raging storm, and I craved the peace that diamond promised.

The ballroom was a sea of glittering jewels and false smiles. The air was thick with perfume and power. As I stepped through the doors on Luca's arm, a sudden chill washed over me. A cold premonition that crawled up my spine.

And then I saw them.

Marco and Angelia.

He was here to ruin this for me. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. He would not allow me this one small piece of peace.

The auction began. When the Star of Sicily was presented, a hush fell over the room. It was breathtaking, a piece of the midnight sky captured in stone.

Angelia placed the first bid, a playful, innocent gesture. Then she caught my eye, saw the desperate longing on my face, and theatrically withdrew her bid. "Oh, no," she said, her voice loud enough for those around her to hear. "Isabella wants it. I couldn't possibly take it from her."

It was a perfectly executed move, designed to paint me as the villain.

Marco's eyes met mine across the room. They were hard, cold, and full of challenge. He would make me pay for wanting something for myself.

He raised his paddle. "One million dollars," he declared, his voice ringing through the silent ballroom. "For Angelia."

The humiliation was a physical blow. He was using my family's money, the Moretti fortune, to publicly shame me and reward the woman who had helped him betray me.

A wave of pitying glances washed over me. I could feel their whispers, see their smug smiles. I was the jilted fiancée, the fool.

I would not let him win.

Pride, sharp and fierce, rose up in me. "One and a half million," I called out, my voice shaking only slightly.

The bidding war had begun.