“Raus aus meinem Haus!” schrie die Verlobte die Haushälterin an – doch Sekunden später kam der Mafia-Boss herein, offenbarte, wer sie wirklich war, und ließ alle im Raum sprachlos zurück

Rosa was right. In the brutal arithmetic of the underworld, an unacknowledged blood heir to the Moretti throne was a target. If the Romano family discovered that Alessandro’s heart and lineage were tied to a servant girl rather than their polished, ruthless daughter Isabella, the truce between New York and Chicago would evaporate in a single afternoon.

Before Alessandro could speak, the clicking of heavy wooden heels echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

Isabella Romano stood on the landing, wrapped in a floor-length dark green silk robe. Her icy blue eyes swept down over the scene in the hallway—the maid standing upright, the child resting peacefully, and Alessandro standing so close to them that his shadow enveloped them both.

“Is there a reason my fiancé is playing guardian angel to the kitchen staff?” Isabella asked, her voice dripping with venom as she slowly descended the stairs, her manicured fingers gliding over the polished mahogany banister. “Or should I call my father and tell him the Moretti estate has turned into an orphanage?”

Alessandro didn’t move an inch. He slowly turned his head to look at her, his expression freezing into a mask of pure iron.

“Isabella,” Alessandro said softly, his voice deathly quiet. “Go back to your room.”

Isabella stopped three steps from the bottom, her brow furrowing as she registered the total lack of warmth or compliance in his posture. “Excuse me? I am the daughter of Vincent Romano. I will not be ordered around like a dog because a dirty little street rat dropped a button.”

“You touched the child’s shoulder when you screamed at her,” Alessandro said, taking one slow, heavy step toward the stairs. “I saw it from the balcony.”

Isabella laughed—a sharp, cold sound that rattled off the high ceilings. “I pushed her away! She was touching my silk robe with her sticky little fingers! If you think I’m going to live in a house where servants’ bastards run wild through the halls—”

CLANG.

Alessandro’s hand hit the iron banister beside her head so hard the heavy structure groaned. The air in the hallway instantly plummeted into a freezing, suffocating stillness.

“Listen to me very carefully, Isabella,” Alessandro whispered, leaning down until his dark eyes were inches from hers. “If you ever raise your voice to that child again, if you ever look at her mother with disgust, or if you ever cross the threshold of that kitchen without my permission… I will personally send you back to Chicago in a pine box, and your father will thank me for saving him the embarrassment of your funeral.”

Isabella froze. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her pale as bone. For six months, she had seen Alessandro as a stoic, business-minded Boss who treated their engagement as a necessary transaction. She had never seen the devil beneath the suit.

Sie machte einen halben Schritt zurück, ihre Brust hob und senkte sich heftig, ihre Arroganz zerbrach unter dem Gewicht seiner absoluten, durchgeknallten Bedrohung.

“Du bist verrückt”, hauchte Isabella, ihre Stimme zitterte. “Mein Vater wird davon erfahren.”

“Ruf ihn”, antwortete Alessandro, richtete seinen Rücken auf und richtete seine Manschetten mit furchteinflößender Eleganz. “Sag ihm, Don Moretti hat die Bedingungen unserer Vereinbarung neu bewertet.”

Ohne ein weiteres Wort drehte sich Isabella um und floh die Treppe wieder hinauf, ihr Seidenmantel wehte hinter ihr wie ein dunkles Banner.

Alessandro wandte sich wieder Rosa zu. Seine Augen wurden sofort weich, der kalte Killer verschwand, als er einen Schritt zurück zu seiner Tochter machte.

“Mr. Bruno”, rief Alessandro in den stillen Flur.

Der alte Butler trat sofort hinter einer gewölbten Tür hervor, als hätte er auf den Befehl gewartet. “Ja, Don Alessandro?”

“Bringt Rosa und Lily in die Ostflügel-Suiten im dritten Stock”, befahl Alessandro geschmeidig. “Setze vier meiner persönlichen Sicherheitsleute an ihre Tür. Niemand darf ohne meine schriftliche Freigabe rein. Nicht Isabella, nicht ihre Leibwächter, nicht die Familienanwälte.”

Rosas Augen weiteten sich vor Alarm. “Alessandro, nein! Die Diener werden reden – die anderen Familien werden es wissen!”

“Lasst sie reden”, knurrte Alessandro leise und streckte die Hand aus, um mit dem Daumen sanft die weiche Wange seiner Tochter zu berühren. “Meine Tochter wird nie wieder auf einem Speisekammerboden schlafen.”