Bella

Back in New York, the tension with my father had only intensified since returning from Texas. Meanwhile, my connection with Marco continued to blossom. Even in the midst of a critical meeting, a text from him could draw a soft smile from me, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by my father, who shot me an annoyed glance.

As one of the New Jersey leaders turned to me for an opinion, I was quickly cut off by my father's stern voice. "She doesn't call any shots here."

Carl, a respected figure in our organization, interjected in my defense. "With all due respect, Travis, she's closer to Romano than anyone else here."

Gathering my thoughts, I chimed in. "We should consider avoiding operations in the West for now. The police presence has intensified."

My father scoffed at the suggestion. "That's crazy. That area brings in 43% of our profits."

"But if our men are arrested, that 43% will quickly turn into zero," I countered firmly. "Laying low for a few days might be wise."

My father's reaction was like a storm brewing, his temper flaring. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back loudly, and stormed out of the room in a huff.

As he left, the others in the room murmured their approval of my suggestion. "I'm glad you're here, Isabella," one of them said. "We've needed someone with your insight for a long time."

Their support was comforting, but I knew the fallout from challenging my father wouldn't be easy to handle. His pride and my growing influence were on a collision course, and I couldn't help but worry about the impact this would have on our already strained relationship.

Standing outside, the air was heavy with more than just the smoke from my father's cigarette. His presence was always formidable, but now it felt charged with an unspoken tension.

"Dad?" I ventured, hoping to bridge the gap that had widened over the years.

He didn't look at me as he spoke. "When your grandfather took you to Italy, I knew you'd come back changed. The stories about you there... they're like myths, but they're all true, aren't they?" His tone was a mix of resignation and a faint trace of pride. "Your grandfather leads with his mind, not his heart. That's dangerous."

His words stung, mainly because I had rarely seen him lead with his heart either. "I agree," I replied, a tentative attempt at finding common ground.

Then, unexpectedly, he brought up my personal life. "So, who's the boyfriend?" he prodded.

I was caught off guard. "I don't have a boyfriend," I answered, a bit too quickly.

His look told me he didn't believe me, and I could feel the lie adding to the strain between us. "Your grandfather won't love you the same if you love someone other than him. Remember that." With those words, he walked away, leaving me standing there, the weight of his warning heavy in my heart.

His words echoed in my mind as I watched him leave. The idea that love could be seen as a weakness, a liability in our world, was a harsh reality to accept. And yet, it was a truth I had known deep down. In our line of work, emotions were often seen as a vulnerability, a crack in the armor that could be exploited. My father's warning was a reminder of the delicate balance I had to maintain - between heart and mind, love and duty. As I stood there, the smoke from his cigarette dissipating into the air, I wondered about the path that lay ahead and the choices I would have to make.

The distance between Marco in Arizona and me in New York had an unexpected effect on us. We found ourselves craving more communication, more connection. Every opportunity I got, I would sneak away for a FaceTime call with him, eager to see his face, hear his voice. Today, however, was different. As his image filled my screen, I noticed immediately that his usual half-smile was absent; his expression was somber.

"Hey. Everything okay?" I asked, concern coloring my tone.

"Keta is here," he replied, and I could hear the unease in his voice.

"Okay. We left Samuels alone, so there shouldn't be any problems," I tried to reassure him.

"It's not about Samuels. My father wants me to show her around, be hospitable. They even invited her to the wedding." His voice was heavy with reluctance, and I could sense he was looking for some reaction from me.

I struggled with how to respond. We didn't have a defined relationship, so dictating what he should or shouldn't do felt out of place. Yet, his next words caught me off guard.

"I hope you trust me enough to handle this," he said.

It prompted an unexpected admission from me. "Are we at the point where I should be jealous? Because, I am." I tried to laugh it off, but the truth was, I did feel jealous.

Marco's response was heartfelt, a rarity for him. "Bella, I know I'm not good with emotions or words, but I'm yours. I hope you'll be mine."

His words resonated deeply, sending a wave of warmth through me. "In that case, I trust you, Marco." The smile that broke on my face was one of genuine happiness.

This was a new step for us, an acknowledgment of something more profound than either of us had dared to articulate before. Despite the complexities of our lives and the distance between us, there was a bond growing, a promise of something more. Marco's assurance gave me hope, a sense that no matter the obstacles, we might find a way to make this work.

Marco

Hitting the town with Keta, I found myself continually comparing her to Bella, and the differences couldn't have been starker. Keta was visually stunning, the kind of woman that would turn heads in any room, but beyond that surface, there seemed to be a lack of substance. Her conversations lacked depth, her laughs felt hollow. She was, in a word, 'soulless.'

We ended up at a club, sitting at the bar with drinks in hand. "Come on now, I can't be that bad," Keta said, handing me a drink with a flirtatious smile.

"I honestly have no opinion of you," I replied honestly, turning to look elsewhere.

Her next words caught my attention, though. "So, what will Mexico think if its leader marries 'the Italian Princess'?" She laughed, but her eyes were probing.

I shot her a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, Marco. I'm not blind. I saw how you and the brat were in Texas. It's obvious." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But think about it. She's not just Italian; she's black, too. Maybe your world can deal with one but not both."

Her words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they highlighted a challenge I was already wrestling with. "I will make them," I stated, the conviction in my voice surprising even me.

Keta's reaction was a mix of surprise and annoyance. "I have no doubt you will," she replied, but her tone was tinged with irritation.

As the night wore on, my thoughts kept drifting back to Bella. The contrast between her genuine warmth and Keta's calculated charm only reinforced my feelings. Bella's presence had brought a sense of authenticity and depth to my life that I hadn't known I was missing. Now, more than ever, I was determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead to be with her. Keta's words, though harsh, only solidified my resolve. Bella was worth any complication, any challenge. She had become a vital part of my life, and I wasn't about to let her go.

I was jolted awake at midnight by the shrill ring of my phone, snapping me out of a recurring nightmare filled with snakes. I fumbled for the phone, my heart still racing from the dream. "Yeah," I answered, my voice groggy.

"Rivera has made an offer I couldn't refuse, Hijo," my father's voice came through, tinged with a seriousness that immediately caught my attention.

"What's the deal, Papa?" I asked, sitting up in bed.

"It's Keta. She wants to marry you. In exchange, we gain access to their ports. Think of the revenue it could bring in." His voice was filled with the enthusiasm of a businessman spotting a lucrative opportunity.

As he continued, outlining the financial benefits, my mind raced. Marrying Keta had never been part of my plans. The mere thought of it felt like a trap, a strategic move that could bind me in ways I wasn't prepared for.

"Just make it work for as long as you can," he finally said, a hint of understanding in his voice. He knew well my reservations about Keta, about how deeply I distrusted her.

Ending the call, I lay back in bed, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Marrying Keta wasn't just a simple business transaction; it was a dangerous game of alliances and power. She was a woman I knew I couldn't trust, and the idea of having her so close, in my personal space, was unsettling. If this marriage went through, I would have to be vigilant, always watching my back, always on guard. It was a daunting prospect, one that left me feeling trapped between family loyalty and personal apprehension.