Married to the Mafia Don, in Love with His Three Sons

Isabella’s POV

There were very few people in this city who could summon me with one phone call.

Marcello Vitale was one of them.

That did not mean I was happy about it.

I stared through the window of the black sedan as it passed through the familiar iron gates of the Vitale estate.

I had not been here in almost six years.

Not since my father died.

The mansion looked almost exactly as I remembered it. Large stone walls. Tall windows. Guards positioned around the property.

Memories came rushing back.

Running through the garden as a child.

Waiting outside Marcello’s office while my father attended meetings.

Watching my father return home late at night with blood on his shirt and refusing to explain where it came from.

Antonio Russo had spent nearly twenty-five years as Marcello Vitale’s consigliere.

His adviser.

His closest friend.

His most trusted man.

And eventually, that life had taken him away from me.

The car stopped.

One of Marcello’s guards opened my door.

“Miss Russo.”

I stepped out and followed him inside.

A few members of staff recognized me immediately.

Their polite smiles did nothing to make me comfortable.

“Don Vitale is waiting upstairs.”

I nodded.

Minutes later, I entered Marcello’s office alone.

He sat behind his enormous desk.

The first thing I noticed was that he looked older.

Silver covered more of his hair now, and there were deeper lines around his eyes.

But he was still Marcello Vitale.

One of the most feared men in the city.

“Isabella.”

“Marcello.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“No Don Vitale?”

“I stopped calling you that years ago.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

“You have not changed.”

“I have changed plenty.”

“Yes.” His eyes studied me. “You have.”

I did not like the way he said it.

I sat opposite him.

“You said this was important.”

“It is.”

“Then talk.”

“You sound exactly like Antonio.”

My chest tightened.

“Please don’t.”

Marcello’s expression changed.

“I apologize.”

I glanced around the office and noticed an old photograph of him standing beside my father.

I looked away quickly.

Marcello leaned back.

“I have followed your career.”

I frowned.

“You have been checking on me?”

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“That sounds worse.”

“I promised your father I would.”

“My father has been dead for six years.”

“My promise did not die with him.”

I stared at him.

That sounded exactly like Marcello. Almost kind, yet somehow threatening.

“I don’t need protection.”

“I know.”

“Then stop watching me.”

“No.”

I sighed.

Marcello opened a drawer and placed a folder on the desk.

“You have become very good at what you do.”

Financial investigation.

Forensic accounting.

Fraud cases.

Money laundering.

It was a normal life compared to the one I grew up around.

“So?”

“I need someone good.”

“No.”

His eyebrow rose.

“I haven’t asked yet.”

“You’re about to.”

He pushed the folder toward me.

“Look.”

I reluctantly opened it.

Inside were financial statements from several Vitale businesses.

At first, everything appeared normal.

Then I noticed the transfers.

Small amounts.

Different companies.

Different dates.

Hidden beneath normal expenses.

Consulting fees.

Construction costs.

Transport payments.

Nothing huge individually.

Together?

Someone was stealing a lot of money.

“How long?”

“Almost two years.”

“And nobody noticed?”

“I noticed recently.”

I flipped another page.

“How much?”

“Several million.”

I looked up sharply.

“Call your accountants.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“One disappeared.”

I stopped.

“The other died.”

My fingers tightened around the folder.

“How?”

“Car accident.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No.”

I closed the file.

“This is Mafia business, Marcello. I want nothing to do with it.”

“This is more than theft.”

He leaned forward.

“Information has been leaking. Meetings. Shipments. Locations.”

“Someone inside?”

“Yes.”

“How sure are you?”

“Completely.”

I became quiet.

An enemy outside the family was dangerous.

An enemy inside was worse.

“I believe someone is preparing to take control of my organization,” Marcello said.

“And you want me to find them.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

I stood.

“I left this world for a reason.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

His expression hardened.

“I knew your father better than almost anyone.”

“And that is exactly why I stayed away.”

Years of anger suddenly pushed their way out.

“My father gave everything to this family. He missed birthdays. Dinners. Holidays. My mother spent half her life wondering if he would come home.”

“He loved you.”

“I know he did.”

My voice trembled.

“That did not stop this life from taking him.”

Silence filled the room.

Marcello looked away first.

“He was my friend.”

“He was my father.”

“I know.”

I picked up my handbag.

“I built a normal life. I investigate companies. I find fraud. Nobody shoots at me. Nobody follows me home.”

“I am not asking you to become your father.”

“You are asking me to investigate the Mafia.”

“My organization.”

“That makes absolutely no difference.”

Marcello stood.

“I need someone I can trust.”

“Find someone else.”

“There is no one else.”

He walked toward the window.

“I don’t know how deep this betrayal goes. Captains. Soldiers. Business partners.”

Then he turned.

“And I believe my sons may be targets.”

That made me pause.

“Enzo, Rafael and Gabriel?”

“Yes.”

I had known them when we were younger, although never closely.

“What do you mean by targets?”

“Someone may be trying to remove them.”

“Kill them?”

“I believe someone wants to weaken my family. If my sons are gone, succession becomes complicated.”

“Then tell them.”

“No.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because they will react.”

“They should react!”

“Enzo will tear through the organization. Rafael will begin asking questions everywhere. Gabriel will investigate alone.”

That sounded believable.

Marcello continued.

“If the traitor realizes I know, they will disappear.”

“So your sons know nothing?”

“For now.”

I shook my head.

“You are impossible.”

“So your father often told me.”

Before I could answer, Marcello suddenly coughed.

Once.

Then harder.

His hand went to the desk.

I moved instinctively.

“Marcello?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

He straightened.

“Age.”

“Don’t insult me.”

He sighed.

“The doctors found some problems.”

“What problems?”

“Health problems.”

“How serious?”

He said nothing.

My stomach tightened.

“Do your sons know?”

“No.”

“Of course they don’t.”

“There is nothing they can do.”

I sat again.

“This is why you want this solved quickly.”

“Yes.”

“I’m still not doing it.”

“I know.”

“Then why am I still here?”

Marcello became very calm.

“Because I haven’t explained the entire plan.”

I immediately became suspicious.

“What plan?”

“I need you inside my family.”

“I practically grew up around your family.”

“Not like that.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I want you living here,” he continued. “Attending meetings. Accessing my accounts, properties and private records.”

I stared at him.

“And how exactly do you expect me to do that without everyone wondering why Antonio Russo’s daughter suddenly moved into your house?”

Marcello folded his hands.

“Marry me.”

I blinked.

Then laughed.

Marcello did not.

My laughter died.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You haven’t considered it.”

“There is nothing to consider!”

“It would not be a real marriage.”

I froze.

“Separate bedrooms. No romantic relationship. No physical expectations.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“The marriage exists only on paper.”

“This is insane.”

“It is practical.”

“It is insane.”

“Both can be true.”

I stared at him.

“Why marriage?”

“Because it gives you access without raising the right questions.”

“Hire me.”

“My sons would investigate you.”

“Make me a consultant.”

“Same problem.”

“You think marrying me will stop Enzo from investigating?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.”

“But everyone else will focus on the scandal instead of what you are actually doing.”

I frowned.

Marcello continued.

“They will see a young woman who married an older wealthy man. They will gossip about your clothes, your jewelry, your intentions.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“And while they are insulting you, you will be investigating them.”

I hated that it made sense.

“And your sons?”

“They will hate it.”

“Especially?”

“Enzo.”

I laughed once.

“At least you’re honest.”

“You would also have my protection.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“You would if they discover what you are doing.”

His face became serious.

“As my wife, touching you would mean declaring war against the Vitale family.”

That sentence reminded me exactly what kind of world I was dealing with.

“I won’t do it.”

Marcello nodded.

“All right.”

I frowned.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“No threat?”

“I would never threaten Antonio’s daughter.”

“But you would manipulate her.”

“That is different.”

I shook my head and reached for my bag.

“I’m leaving.”

“One moment.”

Marcello crossed the office and opened a safe hidden behind a painting.

He removed an old brown folder.

My heart started beating faster the moment I saw the handwriting across it.

PRIVATE — A. RUSSO

I froze.

“That belonged to my father.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have it?”

“He gave it to me three weeks before he died.”

I stared at him.

“You’ve had this for six years?”

“He told me not to give it to anyone.”

“He’s dead, Marcello.”

“There was a condition.”

“What condition?”

“He told me to open it only if I ever believed the Vitale family was being betrayed from within.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

I slowly opened the folder.

My father’s handwriting covered dozens of pages.

Account numbers.

Dates.

Names.

Missing money.

Leaked meeting locations.

Suspicious payments.

He had been investigating something before he died.

My fingers trembled as I turned another page.

Then I stopped.

One sentence had been written across the bottom.

Messy.

Urgent.

My eyes blurred as I read it.

If anything happens to me, the betrayal came from inside the Vitale family.

Everything inside me went still.

For six years, I had believed my father simply died.

Now I was no longer sure.

I slowly lifted my eyes toward Marcello.

And suddenly, his insane marriage proposal did not seem quite so easy to refuse.

Isabella’s POV

I did not sleep much that night.

My father’s file stayed open on the table in front of me while I read page after page.

Accounts.

Dates.

Payments.

Names I did not recognize.

Companies that seemed harmless until I compared them with the newer records Marcello had shown me.

There were patterns.

Small transfers.

Hidden payments.

Money moving through businesses that looked legitimate.

My father had noticed some of it six years ago.

That was what frightened me.

If the same kind of activity was happening now, then this betrayal had not started recently.

It had been growing for years.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.

Everyone had believed my father died naturally.