20 of the most elite financial experts in Chicago had spent three sleepless nights trying to find the traitor who was bleeding millions from the Moretti Empire.
20 brilliant minds with Ivy League degrees armed with the most sophisticated software money could buy, and not a single one could trace where the money was disappearing to.
The conference room on the top floor of Moretti Holdings had become a war zone of crumpled papers, cold coffee cups, and shattered egos.
Then, a 27-year-old cleaning lady walked in to mop the floor.
Isabella Reyes was nobody.
An orphan drowning in debt, working three jobs just to keep her dying sister alive, living in a ratinfested apartment in the worst part of Southside.
She had dropped out of college when life crushed her dreams under its heel.
She was invisible.
The kind of person powerful men looked right through without seeing.
But when her eyes landed on the numbers still glowing on that massive screen, something clicked.
In exactly 60 seconds, while wiping down a table with one hand, she scribbled three lines on a sticky note that exposed the entire money trail.
She had no idea that standing in the shadows behind her, watching her every move with cold gray eyes, was Vincent Moretti himself, the king, the most ruthless and feared mafia boss in the city, a man who had killed more people than she had ever met.
A man whose face could freeze an entire room into terrified silence.
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Now, let us find out what happens when the most powerful man in Chicago becomes obsessed with the woman everyone else overlooked.
Vincent stepped out of the shadows, his expensive leather shoes tapping softly against the wooden floor.
Who gave you permission to touch those things? His voice was cold as steel with no question at the end because it was an order demanding an answer.
Isabella startled and spun around, the bucket of water in her hands tipping over and crashing onto the floor.
Water splashing across his thousand shoes.
She stood frozen, her heart pounding wildly as she looked into the coldest gray eyes she had ever seen in her life.
Oh my god, I’m so sorry.
I was just cleaning.
I thought the room was empty.
Isabella spoke quickly, reaching for the rag to wipe his shoes.
But Vincent stepped aside, his gaze never leaving the note on the desk.
“What did you write on that?” he asked, his tone still devoid of emotion.
Isabella swallowed, knowing she had made a grave mistake by touching something that did not belong to her inside the territory of a mafia boss.
“Oh, that,” she forced an awkward smile.
“I just thought the numbers looked strange, so I scribbled a few silly things.
You know, bad habit of someone who mops floors.
When I see something dirty, I want to clean it.
Even filthy numbers, Vincent frowned.
This was the first time anyone had dared to joke in front of him when he was in a mood that could kill.
You think this is a joke? He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Isabella’s small frame.
No.
She took a deep breath.
If you really want to know, I think someone is stealing your money.
And if you look at the account ending in 3829, you will see where the money is going.
Vincent stood still like a stone statue.
In 20 years of running this empire, no one had ever dared to look him straight in the eye and say such things, especially not a janitor still holding a rag.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
Marco, come up here now.
Less than 2 minutes later, a tall man with a scarred face walked in.
Marco Benedetti, Vincent’s right hand, the man all of Chicago knew better than to mess with.
Check the account ending in 3829.
Vincent ordered without further explanation.
Marco glanced at Isabella with curiosity before sitting down at the computer.
His fingers flying across the keyboard.
The room sank into a tense silence, broken only by the tapping keys and the sound of Isabella’s heart pounding as if it might leap out of her chest.
She stood there unable to move, wondering if tonight would be the last night she would ever breathe.
Then Marco looked up and for the first time, shock crossed his hardened face.
“She is right,” he said horarssely.
The money is flowing into an account in Cayman.
Disguised through 17 layers of shell companies, the recipient is Anthony Russo.
Vincent said nothing, but the air in the room suddenly turned so cold that Isabella could see her own breath.
Anthony Russo, the chief accountant who had worked for the Moretti family for 15 years.
The man Vincent trusted like a brother.
Deal with him, Vincent said.
Just three short words.
But Isabella understood that deal with did not mean firing.
Marco nodded and left the room, leaving Isabella alone with the monster.
The entire city feared.
Vincent turned to her, his gray eyes now holding something different.
Not anger, not threat, but pure curiosity.
You just saved me $2 million, he said slowly.
“Who are you?” Isabella looked down at her wrinkled janitor’s uniform, then back up at the most powerful man in Chicago standing before her.
I clean floors, sir,” she replied, her voice steady, though everything inside her was shaking violently.
“I did not ask what you do for a living.
” Vincent said, his gray eyes still drilling into her as if trying to read every thought in her head.
“I asked who you are,” Isabella blinked.
No one had ever asked her that question like this, as if she truly mattered, as if the answer carried weight.
She took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth, because at this point, she had nothing left to lose.
My name is Isabella Reyes.
I am 27 years old.
I was orphaned at the age of 12 when my father was shot and killed during a robbery at our family grocery store.
My mother died of cancer 7 years later, leaving me buried under hospital debt and responsible for a 17-year-old sister who needs urgent heart surgery.
I work three jobs every day, mopping floors here at night, serving coffee during the day, and cleaning houses by the hour on weekends.
I live in an apartment on the south side, so filthy even rats would turn up their noses.
and I owe a lone shark a sum of money I will probably never be able to repay in my lifetime.
She paused, her lips curling into a bitter smile.
Oh, and I studied finance for two years in college before life kicked me in the face and told me to wake up.
Anything else? Do you want to know my blood type or my measurements, too? Vincent remained silent throughout her confession, his expression unchanged.
Yet something in those gray eyes seemed to soften just a fraction.
He had met thousands of people in his life.
flatterers, cowards, the greedy, but never someone like this girl.
Someone who recounted her own tragedy without begging for pity.
Someone who could still joke while standing in front of a mafia boss.
Where did you learn to read numbers like that? He asked.
In college, before I dropped out and in life, after I dropped out? Isabella shrugged.
When you are poor, you learn to see where money is flowing because every single scent is blood and tears.
I am used to spotting dishonest numbers because I have been lied to too many times.
Vincent nodded slowly as if processing the information and reaching a significant decision tomorrow morning at 10.
You will come to my office at Moretti Holdings.
That is an order, not an invitation.
Isabella stared at him.
For what? To mop more floors? Or do you want me to solve a few more problems your Ivy League experts could not handle? To let me decide how much you are worth? Vincent replied, his voice still cold but no longer sharp as a blade.
Isabella picked up the half- empty bucket, slung the rag over her shoulder, and walked toward the door.
Before leaving the room, she turned back to look at him.
Fine, I will come, but you owe me a new pair of shoes because I just got yours wet, and your shoes probably cost more than a year of my rent.
” She winked and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Vincent alone in the room littered with papers and cold coffee cups.
He watched her go and then the unthinkable happened.
The corner of Vincent Moretti’s mouth.
The man Chicago had never seen smile slowly curved into a small smile.
He stood there for several more minutes, looking down at his wet shoes, and for the first time in many years, he felt something unfamiliar stirring inside that frozen chest of his.
Isabella pushed open the apartment door, the creaking sound echoing through the late night like the groan of a dying creature.
She stepped into the familiar darkness and did not turn on the light, knowing that illumination would only expose more clearly the misery of the place she called home.
The apartment was nothing more than a tiny single room on the fifth floor of a crumbling building on the south side, where the stairwell rire of urine, the walls were blotched with mold stains, and the sound of rats scurrying inside the walls had become a nightly lullabi.
Isabella tiptoed across the rotting wooden floor so as not to wake her sister.
Yet she still stopped beside the narrow bed in the corner of the room.
Sophia lay there, her 17-year-old face still youthful, but already etched with the fatigue of illness, her lips slightly bluish in the moonlight, slipping through the cracked window.
Isabella listened to her breathing, labored and heavy.
Every inhale like climbing a mountain.
Every exhale like a plea for rest.
Her heart tightened as it did every night when she watched her sister battle the congenital heart condition the doctors had said would kill her within months if she did not undergo surgery.
Isabella pulled the blanket up around her, her trembling hand gently smoothing Sophia’s dark hair, and she whispered like a vow that she would find a way.
She promised.
She rose and walked to the small table in the corner where a pile of white envelopes sat waiting.
Envelopes she was afraid to open.
Hospital bills from Sophia’s last admission.
Rent notices already two months overdue.
Electricity warnings threatening disconnection.
And at the bottom, the papers from Carlos Menddees, the lone shark she had borrowed from when her mother was gravely ill 3 years earlier.
Isabella sank into the old chair, dropped her head onto the table, and memories crashed over her like a flood.
She remembered the hospital room the day her mother died.
the sharp stench of disinfectant, the steady beeping of the heart monitor that suddenly flattened into a merciless line.
Her mother’s hand in hers, skeletal and icy cold, and her final breath carrying the words to take care of Sophia because Isabella was all her sister had.
Isabella cried for 3 days after that, then wiped her tears and stood up because she had no right to collapse while Sophia still needed her.
She looked down at her own hands, hardened from mopping floors, cracked raw by cleaning chemicals, and wondered if life would ever stop beating her down.
The clock showed 4 in the morning when she had only just drifted into sleep for a few minutes before her phone began to vibrate.
She jolted awake and stared at the screen, her blood turning to ice when she saw the name Carlos Menddees.
She swallowed hard and answered, forcing her voice to stay steady.
Hello, Reyes.
The man’s voice on the other end was low and cold like a snake sliding over stone.
I hope you have not forgotten your debt.
Isabella clenched the phone.
I have not forgotten.
I just need more time.
Time? Carlos laughed, the sound sending a shiver through her.
You have been saying that for 3 months.
I am giving you one week, Reyes.
One week to come up with $50,000 principle and interest.
If not, his voice dropped into a terrifying whisper.
I hear your sister is very pretty, 17 years old, right? There are plenty of people willing to pay a high price for a young girl like that.
Isabella choked, her body trembling with rage and fear.
Do not touch my sister, she said through clenched teeth.
Then you know what you have to do, Carlos hung up, leaving Isabella alone in the darkness with her ragged breathing and a heart that felt crushed in a vice.
She looked over at Sophia, still sleeping, her chest rising and falling with effort, and tears streamed down Isabella’s face.
Then she remembered the appointment the next morning with Vincent Moretti, the most ruthless mafia boss in Chicago, and she wondered whether she was stepping into hell or finally finding a way out of it.
Isabella could not sleep after that call.
She sat by the window, staring down into the dark alley below, where shadows drifted like ghosts from her own life.
$50,000 in one week.
There was no way she had that kind of money.
She would never earn that much in her entire lifetime.
Her phone vibrated and a message from Carlos Menddees’s number appeared, her blood turning to ice as she opened it.
It was a photo, a photo of Sophia walking home from school the previous afternoon, accompanied by a short line that made her want to scream.
Your sister is very cute.
Do not make me do something I do not want to do.
Isabella threw the phone onto the bed and clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.
He was watching Sophia.
He knew where her sister went when she came home and he could do anything to her at any moment he chose.
Her body trembled, but then she looked at Sophia sleeping peacefully, her sister’s face calm in her dreams.
Unaware that monsters were stalking just outside this world, Isabella took a deep breath and told herself she had already been through hell.
She had lost her father, lost her mother, lost everything.
But she would not lose Sophia.
Even if it cost her her own life, she would find a way.
She had to find a way.
The night stretched on endlessly.
And when the first rays of dawn filtered through the dirty window, Isabella stood up with eyes red from exhaustion, but filled with determination.
She woke Sophia, made her a glass of milk, and reminded her to take her medicine on time.
Then lied and said she had something important to do and needed to leave early.
Sophia looked at her with wide, worried eyes, and asked if she was all right, saying she looked very tired.
Isabella smiled.
the smile she had practiced for years to hide pain, telling her sister she was fine and had just worked a late night shift, telling her to stay home, not go out, not open the door for anyone.
Sophia nodded without asking more, accustomed to the fact that her sister always carried secrets she was not meant to know.
Isabella went to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway, looked into the mirror, and saw a woman with a hollowed face, deep dark circles under her eyes.
Yet, in those brown eyes, there was still a spark that had not gone out.
She washed the most presentable clothes she owned, an old white shirt that was still clean, and a pair of faded jeans that were worn but not torn.
She combed her hair neatly, trying to look as respectable as possible.
Even though she knew that next to the people at Moretti Holdings, she would still look like a mouse lost in a palace.
She tucked the last bit of money she had into her pocket for the subway, stepped out of the apartment, locked the door carefully, and looked back one last time as if it might be the last time she ever saw the place.
On the way to Moretti Holdings, she thought about Vincent Moretti, the mafia boss, who had looked at her with eyes cold as ice the night before, and yet had smiled when she left.
She did not know what he wanted from her.
Did not know whether he would help her or destroy her.
But she knew one thing for certain, between Carlos Menddees and Vincent Moretti, between the lone shark and the king of the underworld.
She would rather face the king than be devoured by the shark.
Because at least a king had rules, while a shark knew only blood.
The Moretti Holdings building rose in the heart of Chicago like a monument to power and money.
Isabella tilted her head back until her neck achd just to see the top of the glass and steel skyscraper reflecting the morning sun.
She drew a deep breath and stepped through the revolving doors and instantly felt like an ant that had wandered into a world of giants.
The vast lobby gleamed with marble floors polished so brightly she could see her own reflection.
The paintings on the walls probably cost more than the apartment she lived in.
And everyone moving around her wore expensive suits and tailored dresses, clutching Starbucks cups and the latest smartphones.
Isabella felt their eyes slide over her and then look away as if she did not exist, and she knew that in her worn clothes she looked like a stain on their perfect carpet.
She walked up to the reception desk where a large security guard in a black suit eyed her with suspicion.
“I have an appointment with Mr.
Vincent Moretti at 10:00, Isabella said, forcing confidence into her voice while her heart raced.
The guard looked her up and down as if she had just told the funniest joke he had ever heard.
You have an appointment with Mr.
Moretti? He drawled with open sarcasm.
And who exactly are you? Isabella Reyes? The guard tapped at his computer, then shook his head.
Your name is not on the list.
Please step outside before I have to call security.
Isabella was about to respond when a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
She is the boss’s guest.
Marco Benedetti stepped out of the elevator, the scarred face of Vincent’s right hand making the guard snap to attention like a soldier before his general.
Marco glanced at Isabella with the same curiosity he had shown the night before, then nodded for her to follow.
Isabella walked after him, feeling the weight of every gaze in the lobby pressing against her back, whispers began to ripple through the air.
Who is she? Who is that woman? Why is Marco personally escorting her? She looks like she just came from the slums.
Isabella pretended not to hear, but each whisper cut into her pride like a small blade.
Marco led her into a private elevator that required a special key card and pressed the button for the top floor.
“You made an impression on the boss,” Marco said, his voice low and grally.
“Not many people manage that.
I was not trying to impress anyone,” Isabella replied.
“I just saw the numbers and told the truth,” Marco looked at her, and for the first time, she saw something like respect flicker in the eyes of this killer.
That is exactly why you impressed him.
The elevator stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open.
Isabella stepped into an entirely different world.
Vincent Moretti’s office looked nothing like any office she had ever seen.
It felt more like a fortress with floor to ceiling glass walls overlooking all of Chicago, polished oak floors and furnishings.
She was certain each cost more than a human life.
And at the center of all that luxury, seated behind a massive walnut desk, was Vincent Moretti.
He looked up as she entered, those cold gray eyes boring into her as if trying to see straight through her soul.
“You are on time,” he said without emotion.
“I do not make a habit of wasting other people’s time,” Isabella replied, fighting to keep her voice steady.
Even when that person could kill me with a single nod, Vincent studied her for another second.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Sit down, Reyes.
We have many things to discuss.
Vincent rose and motioned for Isabella to follow him through a glass door leading into the large conference room next door.
And when the door opened, Isabella saw a spacious room with a long table of gleaming black wood around which sat about 10 people, all dressed in expensive suits and tailored dresses, all turning to stare at her as if she were some strange creature that had fallen from another planet.
Vincent walked in, and instantly everyone stood up by reflex.
Reverence etched clearly on every face.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
and they all sat at once.
Isabella remained standing at the end of the room, unsure of what to do, until Vincent pointed to the empty chair right beside him at the head of the table.
“You sit here,” she walked forward, feeling every pair of eyes tracking her, and sat down in the softest leather chair she had ever touched in her life.
“This is Isabella Reyes,” Vincent said, his voice rolling through the room like thunder.
“She is the one who uncovered the fraud that 20 of your experts failed to find.
” A woman sitting across from Isabella, let out a derisive laugh.
Gianna Costa, around 30 years old, with neatly cropped brown hair, dressed in an expensive red suit and glittering jewelry, the head of accounting at Moretti Holdings, and clearly unhappy to see Isabella seated in a place of honor beside the boss.
“With all due respect, Mr.
Moretti, but she is a janitor,” Giana said with open contempt.
“She mops floors right here in this building.
I have seen her spill buckets of water in the hallway many times.
Do you truly believe someone like her could do what our entire team of specialists could not? Vincent did not reply.
He simply turned to Isabella and nodded.
Explain it to them.
Isabella looked at the faces waiting for her.
Some curious, some skeptical, and Giana staring at her as if she wanted to burn her alive.
She took a deep breath and began.
I am not an expert, she said, keeping her voice steady.
And I do not have a degree from Harvard or Yale.
I am just someone who has learned how to recognize when someone is lying to me because I have been deceived too many times in my life.
She stood and walked toward the large screen at the end of the room displaying financial charts.
When I look at these numbers, I do not see anything complicated.
I see a story the same way I see where a stain leads when I mop a floor.
Money is like water.
It flows in a certain direction, and if someone is scooping it away, there will be traces.
She pointed to the graph here.
The money flows in very steadily, but when it flows out, a small amount disappears every month.
Not much, only a few%, small enough that no one notices.
But over 3 years, it adds up to millions.
And the account the money flows into is disguised very skillfully.
But there is one thing people cannot hide.
She turned back to face them.
Habit.
The person transferring the money always does it on the same day of the month, always for the same amount, and always using the same transaction code.
That is the thief’s mistake.
They think they are clever, but they are too lazy to change their pattern.
The room fell silent.
Giana’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut, her face flushing red with humiliation and anger.
An older man at the end of the table, the chief financial officer, spoke up.
She is right.
I checked again last night and everything matches.
We missed this for 3 years because we kept looking for complex fraud.
When it was so simple, we did not even bother to look.
Vincent watched Isabella the entire time she spoke, his gray eyes never leaving her for even a second.
He saw the way she stood firm despite trembling inside.
The way she explained everything in language anyone could understand, and the way she never lowered her head before contemptuous stares.
He had met many intelligent people in his life.
But this was the first time he had met someone who was intelligent without trying to appear so.
Does anyone else have an opinion? Vincent asked coldly.
Giana opened her mouth to speak but caught Vincent’s gaze and immediately fell silent.
“Good,” he said.
“Then we proceed.
” After the meeting ended, and everyone filed out one by one, Vincent signaled for Isabella to stay behind.
Giana Costa lingered as well, pretending to organize papers while clearly trying to eavesdrop.
Vincent shot her a look, and Giana understood at once, reluctantly leaving the room, though the glare she cast at Isabella before closing the door was filled with resentment.
When only the two of them remained, Vincent rose and walked to the window, gazing out over the city of Chicago, stretching below.
“You have a talent I need,” he said without turning around.
“I want you to work as a special adviser for me.
Sit in meetings, analyze numbers, and tell me when someone is lying.
The salary will be 10 times what you earn mopping floors, plus full health insurance, and a new apartment in a safer area.
” Isabella sat there with her heart racing.
10 times that amount would be enough to pay off her debts.
enough to cover Sophia’s surgery, enough to escape the hell she was living in.
Yet something in the way Vincent spoke kept her from nodding immediately.
The conference room door suddenly opened and Giana stepped back inside, clearly having heard everything from outside.
“Mr.
Moretti, I must object,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm while anger seeped through.
“She has no degree, no experience, no background of any kind.
She is just a lucky janitor who happened to notice a mistake anyone could have seen if they looked long enough.
Putting her in an advisory position would be an insult to those who have worked hard for years to earn their place here.
Vincent turned around and the look he gave Giana silenced her instantly.
Are you telling me who should and should not work for me? Costa.
His voice was ice cold.
No, sir.
I was just get out.
Gianna went pale, turned, and left, closing the door behind her.
But Isabella knew she had just gained a dangerous enemy.
Vincent turned back to Isabella.
So, what is your answer? Isabella met his gray eyes head on.
You said it was an order, not an invitation.
I do not work for people who give me orders.
Life has been ordering me around for 27 years.
I do not need another master.
Vincent looked at her and for the first time, Isabella saw something like genuine surprise in the eyes of the mafia boss.
He was used to people bowing to his commands, used to no one ever saying no.
And this was the second time in less than 24 hours that this woman had challenged him.
He was silent for a moment, then the corner of his mouth slowly curved into a small smile, the second smile Isabella had seen on that stone cold face.
“Very well,” he said, his tone softening slightly.
“Then this is an invitation, not an order.
I invite you to work for me with the salary and benefits I mentioned.
You may refuse, and I will let you walk away without consequences.
But I think you should consider it because I know you need the money and I know your sister needs surgery.
Isabella stiffened.
You know about Sophia.
I know everything about people who walk into this building.
Vincent replied.
And I know you owe a man named Carlos Menddees $50,000 and that he is threatening your sister.
Isabella felt the blood rush through her veins.
She did not know whether to be afraid or relieved that someone finally knew the weight she was carrying.
She thought of Sophia alone at home, of her sister’s labored breathing every night, of Carlos Shark’s threat still echoing in her ears, and she knew she had no other choice.
“I agree,” she said softly but firmly.
“But I have one condition,” he raised an eyebrow.
No one had ever placed conditions on him.
“What condition?” “You do not give me orders.
You may ask, you may request, but you do not command me.
I am an adviser, not a slave.
” Vincent studied her for another second, then laughed.
A short dry laugh, but the first real laugh Marco, standing guard outside the glass wall, had heard from his boss in 8 years.
Agreed.
Vincent said, “We have a deal.
” Reyes.
Isabella’s first week at Moretti Holdings felt like stepping into an entirely different world.
A place where every glance concealed secrets.
Every smile could be a knife waiting behind one’s back, and every word had to be weighed carefully before being spoken.
Vincent assigned Marco to guide her, and the scarred man turned out to be a far better teacher than Isabella had expected.
On the first day, Marco walked her through the building and showed her who was an ally, who was an enemy, who could be trusted, and who should be avoided.
“No one here is your friend unless the boss says they are.
” Marco said in his low, grally voice.
“And even then, you should sleep with one eye open,” Isabella nodded.
She had lived on the southside long enough to know that trust was a luxury the poor could not afford.
She was given a small office right next to the main conference room where she could access all of the organization’s financial reports.
Every day she arrived at 8:00 in the morning and left at 8:00 in the evening.
Sometimes later, immersing herself in numbers and charts as if they were puzzles waiting to be solved, and she solved them well.
Within 3 days, she uncovered two more weaknesses in the accounting system.
Not fraud like the Anthony Russo case, but vulnerabilities that could be exploited in the future.
She wrote detailed reports and sent them to Vincent.
And he read every page carefully, something Marco said the boss rarely did with anyone else’s reports.
Every evening when she returned home, Isabella counted her earnings and calculated how much longer it would take before she had enough for Sophia’s surgery.
With her new salary, she could save nearly 20 times more than before.
And she estimated that in about 3 months, she would have enough for the hospital deposit.
Sophia noticed the change in her sister.
noticed that Isabella no longer came home with exhausted eyes and hands cracked raw from cleaning chemicals.
And she asked what kind of new job her sister was doing.
Isabella only said she had been promoted in a way and Sophia did not press further because she was used to the fact that her sister always carried secrets she was not meant to know.
While Isabella was gradually finding her footing, Ganna Costa was simmering with anger.
She had worked at Moretti Holdings for 6 years, clawed her way up from junior accountant to department head with sweat and tears, and she had believed herself to be indispensable in Vincent’s eyes.
But now, a janitor from nowhere had appeared, and was sitting right beside the boss in every meeting, being listened to whenever she spoke, and even daring to place conditions on the man the entire city feared.
Giana watched Isabella every day, noting every step she took, every person she spoke to, every report she sent.
She smiled at Isabella in the hallway, her smile sweet while her eyes were cold as ice.
“Hello, Isabella.
You look radiant today,” Giana said on the fifth day.
“The new job suits you, doesn’t it?” “Thank you,” Isabella replied, recognizing the falseness in Gianna’s tone, but choosing not to confront it.
“I am just trying to do my job as well as I can.
” “Yes, do try,” Giana said, tilting her head with a smile that never reached her eyes.
But you should remember that not everyone here appreciates newcomers who try to show how capable they are.
She walked away before Isabella could respond.
Her high heels striking the marble floor like the ticking of a time bomb.
Isabella watched Giana’s retreating figure and knew that sooner or later this woman would cause her trouble, but she had no time to worry about office power games.
She had a sister to save and a debt to repay.
That evening, as Isabella prepared to leave the office, she received a message from an unknown number.
She opened it and felt her blood turn to ice.
It was a photo of Sophia sitting on the bus on her way home taken from behind accompanied by a short line.
5 days left Rey as I hope you are counting your money.
Carlos Menddees was still watching them.
It was the sixth day and Isabella had spent the entire week completing a comprehensive analytical report on the cash flow of Moretti Holdings over the past 3 years.
A body of work into which she had poured hundreds of hours and every bit of knowledge she had accumulated through years of self-study.
She saved the file on her computer and stepped out to get a cup of coffee.
Just 10 minutes.
But when she returned, the screen displayed a message she never wanted to see.
The file did not exist.
Isabella sank into her chair, her hands trembling as she clicked through every possible folder, searched the recycle bin, checked backups, but there was nothing.
Her report had vanished completely as if it had never existed.
She looked up and caught the gaze of Gianna Costa standing at the far end of the hallway.
The smile on Giana’s lips, thin as a blade, and her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
Giana said nothing, simply turned and disappeared around the corner.
But Isabella knew exactly who had done this.
She sat there for another minute, fighting the urge to cry, to scream, to chase after Giana and tell the entire company what she had done.
But then Isabella thought of Sophia.
Thought of the money she was saving.
Thought of how if she caused trouble here, she could lose this job.
And with it, her only hope of saving her sister.
She took a deep breath, wiped the moisture from her eyes, and started over from the beginning.
She sat there all night without eating or drinking, accompanied only by the glow of the computer screen and the steady rhythm of her typing in the empty room.
The clock ticked past 2 in the morning.
Then three, then four.
Isabella worked like a machine, recreating every page of the report from memory, grateful for the mind God had given her.
A mind that remembered numbers the way others remembered song lyrics.
On the top floor in his own office, Vincent Moretti did not sleep.
He sat before the security monitors watching the footage of Isabella bent over her desk working alone in the darkness.
He had seen everything.
Had seen Giana slip into Isabella’s office while she went for coffee.
Had seen her tap a few keys and walk out wearing a triumphant smile.
He had also seen the moment Isabella realized the file was gone.
Saw her shoulders tremble.
Saw her nearly break down before steadying herself and beginning again.
He did not understand why she had not come to him.
did not understand why she chose to endure in silence instead of demanding justice.
And then at 3:30 in the morning, Vincent saw Isabella stop typing and take out her phone.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then dialed.
He turned on the audio and heard her voice, gentle and soft to the point that he almost did not recognize it as the same woman who had dared to challenge him at their first meeting.
Are you asleep yet? I know it is late.
I am sorry.
I just wanted to hear your voice for a moment.
Did you take your medicine on time today? That is good.
Do you want me to tell you a story? Once upon a time, there was a little princess trapped in a tall tower.
She was sick and no one believed she would ever recover.
But she had a sister.
And that sister traveled across the world to find a way to save her.
The sister had to work very hard.
Had to face evil dragons and cunning witches.
But she never gave up because she loved her little sister more than anything in the world.
Vincent sat motionless in the darkness, listening to Isabella tell her sister a fairy tale over the phone.
and something inside his chest began to stir, a feeling he had buried long ago.
He did not know what it was.
He only knew that this woman was making him feel things he did not want to feel.
Vincent did not know why he stood up and stepped into the elevator at 4 in the morning.
He told himself he was simply checking on work, that a good boss should care about employees who worked late, that this was perfectly normal and nothing special at all.
But when he stopped at the coffee machine in the staff lounge and poured two cups instead of one, he knew he was lying to himself.
He entered Isabella’s office without knocking and she startled, lifting her head, her eyes red from lack of sleep and the glow of the computer screen.
“Mr.
Moretti,” she said, her voice from hours without speaking.
“What do you need?” Vincent did not answer.
He simply set the coffee down on the desk in front of her and pulled out a chair to sit opposite.
“You worked all night,” he said.
“Not a question, but a statement.
I had some urgent things to finish, Isabella replied, her gaze dropping to the coffee and then lifting to him in surprise.
You brought me coffee.
What did you think I came here for? To kill you? Vincent asked, and something like a fleeting hint of humor passed through his cold gray eyes.
Actually, I did not rule that out, Isabella answered, taking a sip of the coffee.
But if you were planning to kill me, you probably would not waste money on coffee.
This good? Vincent looked at her and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
It was the first time they had sat together without talking about numbers or traders, and the silence between them was not as heavy as Isabella had expected.
She knew he had watched the cameras.
She knew he had seen Giana delete her file and had seen her work all night to redo it, but he did not mention it, and neither did she.
“Why do you not sleep?” Vincent asked.
“Why do you not sleep?” Isabella asked back.
He was silent for a moment and then answered in a low, distant voice.
“I cannot sleep.
I have not slept a full night in a very long time.
Isabella looked at him and for the first time she saw something different in those gray eyes.
Not coldness or threat, but exhaustion, loneliness, and perhaps pain.
“Do you know that you frighten people?” she asked suddenly.
Vincent looked at her, his expression unchanged.
“That is the point.
That is sad,” Isabella said gently.
“Fear is very lonely.
Do you ever have anyone to truly talk to? not about work or deals or enemies who need to be eliminated.
Just talk like two normal human beings.
Vincent was silent.
No one had ever asked him that.
No one had dared to ask him that.
Everyone feared him too much to imagine that he could be lonely, that he could need someone to listen, that he might want to be treated like a human being rather than a monster.
I have Marco, he finally replied.
Marco is your subordinate, Isabella said.
He is loyal, but loyalty is not connection.
Can you tell him what you are afraid of? Can you tell him about your nightmares? Can you cry in front of him? Vincent stared at her and for the first time in a long while he felt exposed.
This woman with tired brown eyes and clothes wrinkled from working all night had somehow seen through every wall he had built over 36 years of life.
“You think you understand me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice cold, though it was no longer sharp.
“I do not understand you.
” Isabella shook her head.
But I see you and I see a man who is very very tired of having to be strong alone.
Vincent said nothing.
He simply sat there looking at the woman in front of him.
And for the first time in his life, he did not know how to react.
He had faced the most dangerous criminals, walked through blood soaked battles, killed without his hands ever trembling.
But here, in the dim light of the office at 4 in the morning, sitting across from a woman who had nothing but sincerity, he felt more vulnerable than ever.
Is the coffee good?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Isabella smiled, and that smile was like a ray of sunlight piercing the darkness.
It is very good.
Thank you.
And Mr.
Moretti, what? Next time you want to talk at 4:00 in the morning, just come down here.
I stay up late.
Vincent stood up and turned his back so she would not see how his expression softened.
Go to sleep, Reyes.
The report can wait.
No, it cannot.
But thank you for caring.
He stepped toward the door and before leaving he paused for a second.
Isabella, it was the first time he had called her by her first name.
“Yes, do not let anyone break you,” Vincent said.
Then he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, leaving Isabella sitting alone with a cup of coffee gone cold and a heart beating faster than usual.
2 days after that night, Isabella received a call from Maria, the night shift housekeeping manager at Moretti Holdings, where Isabella had worked as a janitor.
Maria said that a man had come asking about her.
a tall man with gold teeth and a shark-like smile.
He asked where Isabella worked now, where she lived, and whether anyone was protecting her.
Maria said she told him nothing because she knew nothing.
But her voice trembled as she described the way he looked at her as if he could do anything to her, and no one would dare stop him.
Isabella sat in her office with the phone pressed to her ear.
But she no longer heard Maria’s words.
The lone shark had gone to the very place where she used to work.
He was tightening the noose, and it was only a matter of time before he found out where she was.
Before he found Sophia, she hung up and tried to steady herself, but her hands shook so badly she had to hide them under the desk.
She did not know that Marco was standing just outside the door and had heard everything.
That evening, Marco knocked on Vincent’s office door and entered with a grave expression.
“Boss, I have information about Miss Reyes.
” Vincent looked up from his paperwork, his gaze sharpening.
“Speak.
Carlos Menddees, known as Shark, a lone shark operating on the south side.
Ms.
Rays owes him $50,000.
A loan from three years ago when her mother was gravely ill.
Predatory interest.
The principal and interest have already doubled.
He has been threatening her and her sister, following them for weeks, and now he has begun asking questions at places where she used to work.
Vincent said nothing, but the air in the room suddenly turned so cold that even Marco, a cold-blooded killer, felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He knew that look on his boss’s face, the look Vincent wore just before giving an order that would cost someone their life.
He dared to touch someone who belongs to me,” Vincent said, his voice low and dangerous like the growl of a wild beast.
Marco nodded, waiting for the command.
“Take care of him cleanly and make sure no one ever finds out where he is.
” Understood? Marco turned to leave, but Vincent stopped him and Marco, she does not need to know.
Marco nodded again and disappeared through the door.
Two days later, Isabella woke up and realized her phone held no threatening messages.
She waited all day, but Carlos Shark did not call, did not text, did not appear anywhere.
She checked with Maria, who said the man from before had not returned.
She asked around among acquaintances on the south side, and they said Shark had vanished.
His loan office was closed.
No one knew where he had gone, and no one dared ask.
Isabella sat in her small apartment watching Sophia sleep, and she felt a massive weight lift from her shoulders.
She was not foolish.
She knew Shark had not simply disappeared.
She knew that in this world, men like Shark only vanished when someone stronger wanted them gone.
And she knew only one man with that kind of power, Vincent Moretti.
She did not know what he had done to Shark.
And she did not want to know.
She only knew that for the first time in 3 years she could breathe without feeling suffocated.
She could look at Sophia without fearing someone would take her away.
The next morning when Isabella arrived at the office, she passed Vincent in the hallway.
He nodded to her as he always did.
Said nothing more.
Did not mention Shark.
Did not wait for thanks.
But as he walked past, Isabella spoke softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
Thank you.
Vincent stopped for a second, his back still to her.
I do not know what you are thanking me for,” he replied, then continued on his way as if nothing had happened.
Isabella watched him go, and for the first time, she wondered whether the most ruthless mafia boss in Chicago might, after all, have a heart.
After that night, everything began to change in ways neither Vincent nor Isabella had anticipated.
It started with late dinners when both of them worked deep into the night and Vincent would order food up to his office, enough for two, with the excuse that he disliked eating alone and that she needed to eat something instead of surviving on coffee and protein bars.
Isabella knew it was an excuse.
But she did not refuse because truthfully she did not want to refuse either.
They sat in Vincent’s office, overlooking the city of Chicago, glittering with lights below, eating Italian dishes from the most expensive restaurant in the city, a place Isabella had once only dared to walk past without ever stepping inside.
And they talked, not about work, not about numbers or traders, but about life, about the past, about the scars they carried.
One night, when the bottle of wine was half empty and the city lights flickered like stars beneath their feet, Vincent began to talk about his father.
He was shot right in front of me, he said, his voice low and distant, as if staring into a memory from long ago.
I was 28, having dinner with him in our family restaurant.
And then someone walked in and shot him three times in the chest.
He died in my arms, his blood soaking into my clothes, and the last thing he said was, “You must be strong.
You must carry everything.
” Isabella sat in silence, saying nothing.
Simply listening, because she knew that sometimes what people needed was not comfort, but someone willing to listen.
“I never wanted to inherit this empire,” Vincent continued, his eyes fixed somewhere far away.
“I wanted to study architecture, to build beautiful buildings, to live a normal life.
But when my father died, I had no choice.
If I did not take power, others would have, and they would have destroyed everything my father built.
They would have killed those loyal to my family.
So I became the thing I hated.
A mafia boss, a killer, a monster the entire city fears.
Isabella looked at him and saw not a ruthless kingpin, but a 28-year-old man who had buried his dreams to shoulder a responsibility he never wanted.
“I understand,” she said softly.
“I had dreams, too.
I wanted to become a financial analyst, to work on Wall Street, to prove that a girl from the Southside could succeed.
I was the top student in my class, earned a scholarship to college, and I thought life was finally smiling at me.
She paused, her eyes dropping to the wine glass in her hand.
Then my mother got cancer.
Terminal.
The doctor said she had only months left, but if treated, she might have a little more time.
So, I dropped out, sold everything I could, borrowed money from Carlos Shark, and did everything I could to give my mother more time.
She still died, but at least I had one more year with her.
And what was the price? Vincent asked, his voice gentler.
I lost everything.
Isabella smiled sadly.
My scholarship, my future, my dreams.
But I do not regret it.
If I had to choose again, I would do the same because my mother was worth the sacrifice.
They sat in silence, and in that moment, they were no longer a mafia boss and a former janitor.
They were simply two wounded souls who had found each other in the dark.
two people who had lost too much and were still trying to keep going.
Vincent looked at Isabella and realized she was the first person he had ever told about his dream of architecture.
The first person he had admitted that he never wanted to become what he had become.
She was not afraid of him, did not flatter him, wanted nothing from him except honesty, and that made him feel something he had forgotten long ago.
The feeling of being himself.
Outside the office, Marco stood guard as he did every night, but he noticed changes others could not see.
his boss, the man he had served for eight years, was changing.
Vincent smiled more, even if only small smiles.
Vincent spoke more, even if only to one person.
And Vincent looked at Isabella with a gaze Marco had never seen him give anyone before.
The gaze of a man falling in love without realizing it.
The call came at 3:00 in the morning.
Just as Isabella had managed to fall asleep for a few hours after a long day of work, she heard Sophia’s weak whisper through the phone, “Sister, my chest hurts so much I cannot breathe.
” And then the sound of the phone hitting the floor.
Isabella did not remember how she ran out of the apartment.
Did not remember how she called for an ambulance.
She only remembered bursting inside and seeing Sophia lying on the floor, lips turning blue, eyes shut tight, her chest rising and falling in desperate shallow gasps like a small bird trying to fly with broken wings.
The ambulance arrived.
They lifted Sophia onto a stretcher and rushed her to the county hospital, the only place her insurance would cover.
And Isabella sat in the back, holding her sister’s icy hand, repeating like a prayer, “You will be okay.
You will be okay.
I am here.
I will not let you go anywhere.
” At the hospital, the doctor said Sophia needed emergency heart surgery, but the hospital did not have the necessary equipment, and they would have to transfer her to Northwestern Memorial, the best cardiac center in the city.
And then they asked about the money.
The estimated cost for surgery, intensive care, medication, and post-operative care would be over $200,000, and they required a deposit of at least 50,000 upfront.
Isabella stood there staring at the doctor’s pale face and felt the world collapse beneath her feet.
She had managed to save nearly 20,000 after weeks of work, but it was nowhere near enough, not even close to what was needed to save her sister’s life.
She begged them for time, begged them to proceed with the surgery, and let her find a way to pay later.
But they shook their heads with regret, saying rules were rules, and they could not do otherwise.
Isabella collapsed onto a chair in the hospital corridor, head bowed, shoulders shaking, and for the first time in many years, she cried.
She had cried alone when her father died.
Cried alone when her mother passed away.
Swallowed her tears for years while enduring a brutal life.
But now, she could not hold them back anymore.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and fell onto the cold tiled floor, and she felt smaller and more helpless than she ever had.
Then she heard footsteps, the familiar sound of leather shoes against the floor.
And when she looked up, she saw Vincent standing in front of her.
He was wearing a black coat, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he had just gotten out of bed, and those gray eyes were no longer cold, but filled with something Isabella did not dare to name.
“Marco told me,” he said softly.
“Do not worry about the money.
” Vincent turned to speak with the doctor and Isabella could not hear what they said.
She only saw the doctor’s expression change from reluctance to respect, saw them nod repeatedly and begin making calls everywhere.
In less than an hour, a medical helicopter landed on the hospital rooftop and carried Sophia to Northwestern Memorial where a team of the city’s best cardiac surgeons was already waiting.
Isabella rode with her sister on the helicopter, still gripping Sophia’s hand.
And as she looked down at the city of Chicago falling away beneath them, she saw Vincent standing alone on the hospital rooftop, watching her until she could no longer see him.
At Northwestern Memorial, when Sophia was taken into pre-operative care, Isabella sank into a chair in the waiting room and could not hold it in anymore.
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
She cried from fear, from exhaustion, from gratitude, from all the emotions she had suppressed for so many years.
And when a hand rested on her shoulder, she looked up and saw Vincent sitting beside her, saying nothing, simply there, like solid stone she could lean on.
For the first time in her life, Isabella allowed someone to see her weakness.
And for the first time, she did not feel ashamed of it.
The surgery lasted six full hours, and throughout those 6 hours, Vincent did not leave the waiting room for even a minute.
Marco stood guard outside while Vincent sat beside Isabella, saying nothing, simply being there like a silent promise that she would not face this long night alone.
Isabella sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the operating room doors, her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
From time to time, her body trembled, and each time Vincent shifted a little closer, as if the warmth of his presence could push the fear away.
When the clock reached 2:00 in the morning, Vincent stood up and disappeared for a while, then returned carrying a bag of food and a cup of hot coffee.
“You need to eat something,” he said, placing the food in her hands.
Isabella shook her head and whispered that she could not swallow.
Vincent said nothing.
He simply opened the bag, took out a sandwich, and brought it gently to her lips.
“Eat,” he said softly.
“Your sister will need you strong when she wakes up.
” Isabella looked at him, “And perhaps because she was too exhausted.
Perhaps because she no longer had the strength to refuse.
She took the sandwich and bit off a small piece.
It tasted like paper in her mouth.
But she swallowed anyway because he had asked, because he was here, and because she did not want him to leave.
At 4 in the morning, the doctor emerged, his face weary, but carrying a relieved smile.
The surgery was a success.
Sophia was out of danger.
She would need rest and monitoring for a few days, but the prognosis was very good.
Isabella stood up, her legs shaking as if they might give way, and she could not stop herself from hugging the doctor, thanking him over and over like someone who had just been saved herself.
When she turned back, Vincent was standing there, and in the rush of emotion, she hugged him, too.
He stiffened for a second, as if unus to being held, then slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around her back, gentle and careful, as though she were something precious.
They said nothing, standing like that for a few seconds.
Then Isabella pulled away, her face flushing as she realized what she had done.
I am sorry.
I just, she stammered.
“It is all right,” Vincent said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.
Sophia was moved into recovery, and Isabella sat beside her sister’s bed, holding the small hand, still threaded with tubes and lines.
Vincent pulled up a chair beside her, and as night slowly gave way to morning, Isabella did not realize how utterly exhausted she was.
Her head began to droop, tilting to the side, and without knowing when it happened, she fell asleep against Vincent’s shoulder, he sat perfectly still, not daring to move.
Looking down at her dark hair resting against him, breathing in the faint scent of cheap shampoo, and feeling something inside his chest slowly melt.
He could not remember the last time someone had trusted him enough to sleep beside him.
He could not remember the last time he had wanted to protect someone this much.
The first light of dawn slipped through the curtains, and on the hospital bed, Sophia slowly opened her eyes.
She blinked a few times, struggling to focus.
Then she saw her sister asleep against the shoulder of a strange man.
A tall man with a stern face who was looking at her sister with the gentlest expression Sophia had ever seen.
“Who are you?” Sophia asked, her voice from waking after surgery.
Vincent looked at the girl, and he did not know why, but he felt the need to tell the truth.
I am someone who will not let anything happen to you or your sister.
Sophia studied him for a moment, then smiled.
A weak but sincere smile.
Thank you for staying with my sister.
She has always been alone.
Vincent said nothing.
He only nodded slightly.
And when Isabella woke a few minutes later, she found her sister and the mafia boss looking at each other with a strange understanding, as if they had just made a secret agreement she knew nothing about.
Sophia recovered faster than expected.
And a week after the surgery, she was already able to sit up in bed and laugh with her sister as if nothing had ever happened.
Isabella returned to Moretti Holdings with a lighter heart than she had felt in years.
And she could not deny that every time she saw Vincent, her heart beat just a little faster.
She tried not to think about that night at the hospital, about the moment she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, about the brief embrace whose warmth she could still feel.
But everything changed on Friday afternoon when Isabella was sitting in her office and heard the sharp click of high heels against the marble hallway.
The confident rhythmic sound of a woman who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted.
Isabella looked up through the glass wall and saw a woman walking toward Vincent’s office, tall and slender with honey blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders revealed by an expensive red dress.
She was beautiful in a cold, flawless way, like a sculpted statue, with icy blue eyes and lips curved into the self-satisfied smile of someone accustomed to possessing whatever she desired.
Isabella did not know who she was.
But she knew this was no ordinary woman.
Because Marco, who always stood guard outside Vincent’s office with an expression carved from stone, opened the door for her without asking a single question.
A few minutes later, Giana Costa passed Isabella’s office, and as if deliberately making sure she could hear, spoke to a colleague in an excited tone that carried down the hall.
Natasha Vulov is here, the daughter of the most powerful Russian mafia boss in New York.
She and Mr.
Moretti have been betrothed since childhood, a political marriage to bind the two families.
I hear they will be getting married in a few months.
Isabella felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.
Betrothed wedding.
The words spun through her mind like a storm, and she did not understand why her chest hurt so badly.
She had no right to feel pain.
She was only his adviser, only a former janitor he had given a chance, only no one at all.
But when she looked through the glass and saw Natasha sitting in the chair Isabella once occupied, speaking to Vincent with intimate familiarity and touching his hand like a rightful owner, her heart felt as though it were being crushed.
She stood up and walked out, needing air, needing to escape before she did something foolish like cry.
She headed for the stairwell, pushed the door open, stepped into the quiet space, leaned back against the wall, and drew in a deep breath.
She loved him.
The realization struck her like lightning, clear and undeniable.
She had fallen in love with Vincent Moretti, the most ruthless mafia boss in Chicago, the man who had saved her sister, who had stayed beside her through the long night at the hospital, who had brought her coffee at 4 in the morning and listened as she spoke of dreams long dead.
And he was about to marry someone else.
Isabella stood there in the stairwell, letting silent tears slide down her cheeks.
Then she wiped her eyes and told herself she would keep her distance.
She would be professional.
She would not allow these foolish emotions to destroy her work or Sophia’s future.
From that day on, Isabella changed.
She no longer stayed late to have dinner with Vincent, no longer spoke with him about anything unrelated to work, no longer held his gaze for more than a second.
She built an invisible wall between them.
And Vincent felt it.
He did not understand why Isabella had suddenly grown distant, why she no longer smiled at him, why she left precisely at the end of the workday and declined every excuse to stay.
He was torn.
Natasha was duty, an obligation, an alliance forged between families when he was still a child.
This marriage would bring strength and security to the Moretti Empire.
Yet, every time Natasha touched him, he felt nothing.
And every time Isabella passed him in the hallway with eyes deliberately averted, he felt as though he were losing something vital.
Marco was the first to voice what neither of them dared to say.
“You love her,” he told Vincent late one night.
and she loves you too, but she is pulling away because of Natasha.
” Vincent did not respond.
He simply stood by the window, gazing out at the city of Chicago, drowned in darkness, and wondered when his life had become so impossibly complicated.
While Vincent was being torn between duty and emotion, a dark conspiracy was forming right under his own roof.
Giana Costa, with resentment smoldering for weeks since Isabella’s arrival and the loss of the position she believed she deserved, had found an unexpected ally.
Luca Moretti, Vincent’s younger brother, who had been expelled from the family 3 years earlier for betrayal and selling information to their enemies.
Luca hated Vincent, hated the massive shadow his brother had always cast over his life, hated that their father had loved Vincent more, and left everything to him instead of dividing it between them.
He had been hiding in Mexico for 3 years, waiting for a chance to return and reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.
And now that chance arrived in the form of a phone call from a woman whose voice was thick with bitterness.
Giana gave Luca everything he needed to know.
Vincent’s schedule, weaknesses in the security system, a list of those who were loyal and those who could be bought, and most importantly, information about a woman named Isabella Reyes, who, according to Giana, had made Vincent lose focus and grow weak.
Luca listened with a cruel smile on his lips, knowing exactly what to do.
It was an ordinary Tuesday evening when Isabella left the office at 6, as she did everyday, deliberately avoiding staying late so she would not have to face Vincent and the emotions she could no longer control.
She walked into the underground parking garage where the old car Vincent had quietly bought for her under the excuse that she needed safer transportation was waiting.
She had just opened the car door when a hand clamped tightly over her mouth from behind.
And before she could react, a sharp chemical smell flooded her senses, and the world went dark.
When Isabella woke, she found herself seated on a wooden chair in a damp room.
Her hands bound tightly behind her back and her legs tied to the chair, her head throbbed like it was being split apart.
And when she forced her eyes to focus, she saw a man standing in front of her.
He looked so much like Vincent that it stole her breath.
The same gray eyes, the same sharp jawline.
But there was something different in his gaze.
A cruelty and madness she had never seen in Vincent’s eyes.
“Hello, Isabella,” he said, his voice sweet as honey, but cold as ice.
“I am Luca, the brother of the man you are in love with.
” Isabella said nothing.
She simply met his gaze with the calmst expression she could manage, while terror shook her from the inside.
“I need to know a few things,” Luca continued, circling her like a predator.
the authorization codes for the Moretti offshore accounts.
Vincent’s detailed schedule this week and the location of the secret safe my father left behind.
I do not know those things,” Isabella said, her voice so steady she surprised herself.
“Wrong,” Luca laughed and the sound froze the blood in her veins.
“You are my brother’s special adviser.
You have access to everything.
Do not underestimate me.
” He nodded to a man standing in the corner who stepped forward holding an iron bar.
The first blow to her stomach doubled Isabella over.
The air crushed from her lungs as she gasped and coughed.
The second strike hit her ribs, and she heard a cracking sound she prayed was not her bones.
The third blow landed on her face, and blood began to spill from the corner of her mouth, but she did not speak.
The password, Luca shouted, losing his initial composure.
“Are you mute? Say it!” Isabella spat blood onto the floor, lifted her head, and looked at him with swollen eyes, still blazing with defiance.
Kill me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I will not betray him.
” Luca stared at her, and in that moment, he saw something he had not expected.
This girl, small and defenseless, was enduring blows that would have broken many men, and she still would not talk.
For Vincent, for the love she bore for the man who was his sworn enemy, it made Luca angrier than ever.
“Continue,” he ordered.
“Beat her until she talks, or until she dies.
I do not care which comes first.
” Isabella closed her eyes as the next blow came down.
And in the darkness of pain, she thought of Sophia.
Thought of her mother, thought of Vincent and his rare smile.
If she had to die here, at least she would die without betraying the man she loved.
Vincent knew something was wrong.
When Isabella did not answer the phone the fifth time, she always answered.
Even when she was trying to keep her distance from him, she always picked up because it was work.
He called Marco.
And within 10 minutes, Marco had checked the security cameras in the parking garage and discovered the image that made Vincent’s blood run cold.
Isabella was being dragged by two masked men into a black van and then vanished.
Vincent stood in his office staring at the security screen.
And Marco saw something he had never seen in 8 years of serving his boss.
Fear.
Vincent Moretti, the man who had killed without his hands ever shaking, who had faced the most dangerous enemies without flinching, was trembling, his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white and those gray eyes burned with a fire Marco knew someone would die for.
“Find her,” Vincent said, his voice shaking as he struggled to contain his rage.
“Turn all of Chicago upside down if you have to.
I want to know where she is within 1 hour.
” Marco nodded and disappeared, leaving Vincent alone in the dark office.
He stood there with both hands braced on the desk, his head bowed, and for the first time in his life, he prayed.
He did not know whom he was praying to.
He had abandoned faith.
The day his father died, but now he was willing to beg anyone who might be listening.
As long as Isabella was still alive, the office door opened and Natasha stepped in, her face as cold as ever, but with a flicker of curiosity in her icy blue eyes.
I hear your janitor was kidnapped,” she said, her tone ut utterly unconcerned.
Why are you so frantic? She is just an employee.
Vincent lifted his head and looked at Natasha.
And in that moment, he did not bother pretending anymore.
Because she is not just an employee, he said, his voice cold as steel.
She is the woman I love.
Natasha stood there as if slapped, her eyes widening in shock.
But Vincent had no time to explain or apologize.
He walked past her as if she did not exist and stepped outside where Marco was waiting with the information he needed.
Luca, Marco said, his voice thick with fury.
Your brother, he is back and he is holding her in an old warehouse outside the city.
We have a man inside who tipped us off.
Vincent said nothing.
He simply got into the car and ordered them to drive there immediately.
20 minutes later, he stood before the iron doors of the warehouse.
Surrounded by 20 men from the Moretti family, all armed to the teeth, he did not wait for a signal.
He kicked the doors open and stormed inside like a hurricane.
Gunfire erupted.
Luca’s guards fell one by one, and Vincent advanced like a demon from hell, unstoppable.
He found Isabella in a room at the end of the corridor.
And when he saw her, his heart was torn apart.
She was seated on a chair, hands and feet bound, her face swollen and bloodied.
Yet those brown eyes were still open, still looking at him with something that looked like relief.
“You found me,” she whispered horarssely.
Vincent rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he untied her, and he wanted to say so many things, but no words would come.
Then a voice sounded from behind them.
“How touching, big brother!” Luca stood in the doorway, a gun aimed straight at Vincent.
She did not say a single word.
You know that no matter how much she was beaten, she would not betray you.
“I have to admit, you found yourself a good woman.
Too bad you are both going to die here,” Vincent rose to his feet, positioning himself in front of Isabella like a shield.
“You have gone too far, Luca,” he said, his voice low and heavy with sorrow.
“We are brothers, brothers.
” Luca laughed, his mad laughter echoing through the room.
“Father never saw me as his son.
You never saw me as your brother.
I was always your shadow, always behind you, always forgotten.
Now I will take back everything that belongs to me.
He raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.
Vincent drew and fired, the bullet tearing through Luca’s chest before he could pull the trigger.
Luca collapsed, gray eyes identical to Vincent’s, staring wide in shock as he looked at his brother one last time before the light faded from them.
Vincent stood there looking at his brother’s body, and he felt no triumph, only emptiness and pain.
Then he turned back and gently lifted Isabella into his arms, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“I am here now,” he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking.
“I am sorry.
I am sorry I let you be hurt.
I will never let this happen again.
” Isabella said nothing.
She simply buried her face against his chest.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to be protected, to be loved, to be safe in the arms of the man she had been trying to run from for so many days.
Isabella woke in an unfamiliar room, soft light filtering through cream colored silk curtains, and it took her a few seconds to realize she was lying on a massive bed with the softest sheets she had ever touched.
Her body achd everywhere, her ribs tightly bandaged, her face still swollen, but she was alive, and that was the only thing that mattered.
She turned her head and saw Vincent sitting in the chair beside the bed, his head bowed, his hand gripping hers as if afraid she would disappear the moment he let go.
She did not know how long he had been there, but the dark circles beneath his eyes and the rough stubble on his jaw told her it had been days.
She stirred slightly, and Vincent woke at once, gray eyes snapping open before softening when he saw her watching him.
“You are awake,” he said, his voice from exhaustion and emotion.
“How long have I been here?” Isabella asked.
3 days,” Vincent replied.
“The doctor said you broke two ribs, suffered a mild head injury, and have countless bruises, but you will recover fully.
” He paused, and Isabella saw his eyes glisten.
“I am sorry.
I failed to protect you.
That was not your fault,” Isabella said gently.
Vincent shook his head, then did something she never expected.
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, took both her hands, and looked straight into her eyes with every feeling he had held back for so long.
I love you, he said, his voice trembling.
I have loved you since the first night you dared to smile at me when I could have killed you with a single nod.
I loved you when you told Sophia a fairy tale over the phone at 4 in the morning.
I loved you when you saw through my loneliness that no one else ever noticed.
And I do not want to lose you.
I cannot lose you.
What about Natasha? Isabella asked, her voice catching.
The arranged marriage? I ended the engagement.
Vincent replied without hesitation.
I told her I could not marry someone I did not love when my heart already belonged to another.
She was not pleased.
But I do not care.
No political deal, no alliance, no empire matters more than you.
Isabella looked at him and for the first time she did not run, did not retreat, did not pretend she felt nothing.
She lifted her hand and touched his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath her palm, and said the words she had held inside for so long.
I love you, too.
They needed no more words.
Vincent bent down and kissed her, gentle and careful as if afraid to hurt her.
And Isabella felt as though every wound in her body was healing in that instant, but their happiness did not last.
Natasha Vulkoff was not a woman who accepted rejection.
She flew back to New York and told her father that Vincent had humiliated the Vulkoff family, betrayed the agreement between their houses, and chosen a janitor over his daughter.
The Russian mafia boss was enraged, and Natasha used that fury to form an alliance with what remained of Luca’s faction.
men seeking revenge for his death.
Three weeks later, when Isabella had recovered enough to walk, she sat in Vincent’s office reviewing financial reports as part of her daily work, and she saw what others missed.
An abnormal flow of money from New York into accounts in Chicago, broken into small transfers to avoid detection.
But Isabella was used to spotting dishonest numbers, she told Vincent, and Marco confirmed it the same night.
Natasha was financing an attack on the Moretti Empire planned for Christmas night when everyone would be off guard.
Vincent did not wait for them to strike first.
He led his men to the warehouse where Natasha and her allies were gathering and a brutal battle erupted.
Gunfire echoed.
Blood spilled across concrete.
And in the chaos, Natasha tried to slip around to the rear.
Isabella had followed Vincent despite his orders because she could not remain behind while the man she loved faced danger.
and she did not see Natasha approaching from behind with a gun in her hand.
“Die!” Natasha screamed, her eyes crazed with hatred.
“If I cannot have him, then neither can you.
” Isabella turned, saw the barrel aimed at her face, and knew she was about to die.
But before Natasha could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang out from the side, and she fell with a bullet through her chest.
Vincent stood there, smoke still curling from his weapon, his eyes on Natasha’s body without a trace of regret.
No one touches what is mine, he said.
Then pulled Isabella into his arms amid the wreckage and bodies, and she knew he had chosen her.
Chosen her over everything, and she would never let him regret that choice.
After that night’s battle, the Moretti Empire stood stronger than ever.
Its final enemies swept away.
Gianna Costa was exposed as the insider who had fed information to Luca and paid for her betrayal by being expelled from Chicago and banned for life from setting foot on Moretti territory.
Vincent chose to abandon many illegal operations and move toward legitimizing the empire because he did not want Isabella to live in fear.
Did not want their future children to grow up in darkness the way he had.
One month later, Sophia underwent her final heart surgery at the best hospital in Chicago.
And this time, the operation was a complete success.
The doctor said she would be able to live a normal, healthy life.
And when Isabella heard those words, she cried like a child in Vincent’s arms.
Everything she had sacrificed, every sleepless night, every pain she had endured had finally found its meaning.
Her sister would live, and that was the only thing she had ever prayed for.
3 months later, Vincent took Isabella to a familiar address on the south side.
She stood before her childhood home, the place where she had grown up, where her father had been killed, where her mother had passed away, and she no longer recognized it.
The house had been completely restored from a crumbling ruin into a warm home with a green garden and a white fence like something out of the fairy tale she used to tell Sophia.
“What are you doing?” Isabella asked through tears.
Vincent did not answer.
He knelt in the yard where Isabella had once sat alone crying after her father died and opened a small box revealing a sparkling diamond ring.
“I want to rebuild your dream in the very place where you lost it,” he said, gray eyes filled with love.
I cannot promise a perfect life, but I promise to stand by you everyday, to fight for you everyday, to love you until my last breath.
Isabella Reyes, will you be my wife? Isabella cried and laughed at the same time, nodding because she could not find words.
And when Vincent slipped the ring onto her finger, she knew her life had changed forever.
The wedding was held in the backyard of the new house.
Not a lavish ceremony with hundreds of powerful guests, but an intimate celebration with those who truly mattered.
Sophia was the maid of honor, healthy and radiant in a pale pink dress.
Marco stood beside Vincent as best man.
And for the first time in his life, the cold-blooded killer shed tears as he watched his boss find happiness.
Isabella walked into the ceremony in a simple white wedding dress, not solemnly, but almost dancing, waving to everyone, stopping to straighten a child’s tie.
And when she reached Vincent, he was smiling, a smile Chicago had never seen before.
Five years later, Isabella sat in the office of the Second Chance Foundation, looking out the window at a group of teenagers learning computer programming.
The foundation was her and Vincent’s shared dream, a place to help children from poverty like she once was, giving them opportunities she never had.
The door opened, and Vincent walked in, carrying their three-year-old son, while their 5-year-old daughter ran in and leapt into her mother’s lap, saying that Daddy promised ice cream today.
Her brown eyes identical to Isabella’s shining with excitement.
Isabella looked at her small family, at the man who had once been the most feared mafia boss in Chicago, now fussing over his daughter and wincing as his son pulled his hair, and she smiled.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked Vincent.
“I thought you would kill me.
You almost did.
” Vincent laughed.
“But you killed me first in a different way.
” “How you killed the cold part of me, and I’m grateful for that everyday.
” The story of Isabella and Vincent is proof of a simple yet profound truth that talent can be hidden anywhere.
Love can bloom in the most unexpected places, and life can change in a single moment if we are brave enough to seize the opportunity.
Isabella was once an invisible janitor, but she refused to let circumstance define her.
And Vincent was once a lonely kingpin, but he learned that true strength does not come from fear, but from love.
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