Gifted To The Don The Real Mafia Heiress Returns Chapter 11
The Puppet
For half a month after, the city bleeds paperwork instead of blood.
My father’s old loyalists crawl out of the dark. Businessmen my uncle squeezed dry. Widows of made men Vittorio had killed for asking questions six years ago.
They line up outside the Ricci compound gates every morning, chanting the same thing.
“Take the seat. Take the seat, Isabella. Rebuild the Colombo Family. Sit in your father’s chair.”
I sit in the study and listen to it come through the walls, feeding another letter into the fireplace and watching it curl.
Dante pours my tea, doesn’t say a word for or against.
He knows better than anyone how much I hate this house. This city. This chair.
“Dante.”
“Miss Colombo.”
“Matteo Colombo. The far cousin. The quiet one.”
He knows the name.
Grandson of an old retired capo who died clean. From a branch of the family Vittorio never bothered with — no blood ties to my uncle’s line at all.
Reputation for being decent and boring. Which is exactly what a puppet needs.
Dante’s hand stops on the teapot for one heartbeat. He gets it.
“I’ll send for him tonight.”
—
Three days later, the ceremony to crown the New Don of the Colombo Family.
Matteo, standing in a suit two sizes too big, hands shaking as every capo in the city kisses his ring.
I don’t go. I watch from the top-floor terrace.
Matteo looks like a boy in his father’s clothes.
Dante, the real one in charge stands one step behind him — tall, unbowed, black three-piece, that famously blank face.
Every capo in the room knows exactly who they’re actually kneeling to.
The ceremony ends. Dante doesn’t stay for the after-party. He comes straight back to me.
He sends everyone else away. Then he walks to my room — and he waits.
He knows I’m leaving. He knows there’s no place for him where I’m going.
He has no claim on what comes next.
I push the door open.
He’s standing at the window with his back to me. His shoulders go tight when he hears the door but he doesn’t turn.
“Dante.”
His head drops.
“Miss Colombo.” A pause. “Safe travels.”
I walk over. Stop behind him. Look at those hands hanging at his sides, clenched so tight the knuckles are white.
“You told me once a world without me in it was hell.”
He goes still.
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
He turns, slowly.
I touch between my brows. The scab is gone. All that’s left is a faint pink line and, under it, the birthmark. Same as it was.
“I’ve got holdings all over the country. Real estate. Wineries. A couple of clean casinos. I need someone to keep the books. Handle the bad neighbors. Kill the occasional problem.”
I tilt my head. “You interested?”
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
He looks at me like I’ve just handed him a life he didn’t think he was allowed to want.
Then he drops on one knee. Head bowed just enough. One fist over his heart.
“Yes.” Rough. Steady. “Miss Colombo.”
I laugh, quiet, and walk past him toward the sunlight in the hall.
He follows.
From this day forward, I know there will always be a shadow at my back.
He is also the most loyal, most dangerous man of them all.