Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”Because I have to.” Isabella looked at the vial. ”Because I’ve spent fourteen years preparing to be his wife. Because my family expects me to secure this alliance. Because I don’t know who I am if I’m not the woman who marries Dimitri Valentino.”

Catarina studied her for a long moment. ”Then I hope you find what you’re looking for tomorrow night.”

She left.

Isabella stood alone with the vial, her reflection staring back at her from the window.

Tomorrow night.

The Castellano Gala.

Her last chance to change everything.

Or lose everything trying.

Isabella spent the rest of the morning planning.

She pulled up photos of the Grand Belmont Hotel ballroom, the layout, the bar locations, the table arrangements.

Dimitri and Eve would be at Table 12. Front and center. The kind of placement reserved for major donors and VIPs.

Isabella’s table was across the room. Table 47. Still respectable, but clearly not inner circle.

A physical representation of her status: close enough to see them, far enough to be irrelevant.

She studied the timeline.

7:00 PM - Cocktail reception in the gallery

8:00 PM - Guests move to ballroom for dinner

8:30 PM - Welcome remarks and first course

9:30 PM - Auction and entertainment

10:30 PM - Dancing

The cocktail hour would be too crowded, too chaotic. Too many people watching, too many variables.

Dinner was too structured. Dimitri would be seated with Eve, surrounded by other guests at his table.

But after dinner, during the auction, when people were mingling, when drinks were flowing and attention was divided...

That’s when she’d make her move.

Isabella pulled out a small evening clutch....black, elegant, just large enough to hold the vial, her phone, and lipstick.

She’d transfer the compound into a smaller container. Something that looked innocent. A perfume atomizer, maybe. Or a breath spray bottle.

Something she could carry without suspicion.

Then, when the moment came, when Dimitri stepped away from Eve to get a drink or speak to someone or take a call...

Isabella would find a way to dose whatever he was drinking.

It would take seconds. A distraction, a bump, a carefully timed moment when no one was looking.

And then....

Then she’d wait.

Fifteen to twenty minutes for the effects to start.

She’d watch from across the room as Dimitri began to feel the warmth, the sensitivity, the growing arousal.

She’d watch him try to hide it, try to control it, try to maintain his composure even as his body betrayed him.

And when it became too much, when he needed relief desperately enough to override his hatred of her....

Isabella would be there.

Offering herself.

Reminding him that she was willing. Available. His, if he wanted her.

It was manipulation. Coercion. Essentially assault.

But Isabella couldn’t think about that.

Couldn’t let herself examine the morality of what she was planning.

Because if she did, if she really looked at what she was about to do...

She might not be able to go through with it.

And she had to go through with it.

For her family. For the alliance. For the fourteen years she’d invested.

For the woman she’d been raised to be.

Even if it destroyed the woman she might have become.

***

By early afternoon, Isabella had the plan mapped out completely.

The vial was secured in a false-bottom compartment in her clutch.

Her dress was ready, a stunning silver gown that shimmered like moonlight, elegant and seductive without being obvious.

Her hair and makeup appointments were booked for tomorrow afternoon.

Everything was in place.

Isabella sat at her laptop, reviewing the guest list one final time.

Six hundred people.

Including Dimitri and Eve.

Including her.

And including.....

Isabella’s eyes caught on a name near the bottom of the list.

Enzo Valentino + Guest

Her blood ran cold.

Enzo was attending?

Since when?

She grabbed her phone, pulled up their text thread. No mention of the gala. No indication he’d secured an invitation.

Which meant he’d done it quietly.

Without telling her.

Why?

Isabella’s mind raced through possibilities.

Maybe he’d decided to attend to support their organization’s visibility. To network with potential allies.

Or maybe....

Maybe he knew about the drug.

Maybe his surveillance on Catarina had picked up the reactivated order.

Maybe he was planning to stop her.

Isabella’s hands shook as she set down her phone.

If Enzo knew, if he tried to warn Dimitri...

Everything would fall apart.

She’d be taken by Marco. Or killed. Probably killed.

But if Enzo knew and hadn’t warned Dimitri yet, maybe he was planning something else.

Or maybe....

Maybe Enzo was planning to be there as her safety net.

To extract her if things went wrong.

To save her from Dimitri’s wrath.

Because that’s what Enzo did. Protected her. Even when she didn’t deserve it. Even when she was destroying herself.

Isabella closed her laptop, pressed her hands to her face.

She was going through with this.

Even knowing Enzo might be there watching. Even knowing he’d be heartbroken. Even knowing it would destroy whatever fragile partnership they’d built.

She was doing it anyway.

Because she didn’t know how to stop.

Didn’t know how to let Dimitri go.

Didn’t know how to be anyone other than the woman who’d spent fourteen years preparing to be his wife.

Her phone rang.

Her mother.

Isabella answered. ”Madre.”

”Tomorrow is the gala.” Her mother’s voice was crisp, businesslike. ”Are you prepared?”

”Yes.”

”Your father expects results, Isabella. The Valentino alliance is critical. Whatever it takes to remind Dimitri of his obligations to our family....do it.”

”I will.”

”Good.” A pause. ”You understand what’s at stake if you fail?”

Isabella closed her eyes. ”I understand.”

”Then make us proud.” Her mother’s voice softened infinitesimally. ”You were born for this, Isabella. Raised for this exact purpose. Trust your training. Execute your plan. And bring Dimitri Valentino back where he belongs.”

The line went dead.

Isabella sat in the silence, her mother’s words echoing.

You were born for this.

Fourteen years of training. Of preparation. Of being molded into the perfect mafia wife.

And tomorrow night, she’d either fulfill that purpose...

Or destroy herself completely.