The Mafia Boss Searched Everywhere for His Pregnant Wife Who Walked Away

The private suite on the top floor of the Moretti penthouse smelled of ozone and expensive cedar.

Marcus had driven them through the rain in silence, dropping them off at the private underground garage before disappearing into the night to dismantle the Sinclair security network.

Isabella sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, a mug of hot tea cooling between her hands.

Adrien stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering skyline of Boston, his back turned to her.

"You should have stayed with your mother," Adrien said quietly.

Isabella set her mug down on the glass coffee table with a sharp click. "Is that what this is? You dragged me out of an alley just to send me away somewhere else?"

Adrien turned around.

His coat was gone, revealing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the dark, corded muscles of his forearms.

"I didn't drag you back here to hide you," Adrien said, walking slowly toward her. "I brought you back because nowhere in this city is safe while the Sinclairs think they can use you to break me."

"I don't care about the Sinclairs, Adrien!" Isabella stood up, her anger finally overriding her fear. "I care about the fact that there was a contract on your desk terminating our marriage to make room for another woman!"

Adrien stopped two feet away from her.

He didn't try to touch her. He kept his hands at his sides, his fingers curled into tight fists.

"I never signed it," Adrien said.

"You signed the shipping agreement!"

"I signed a commercial lease for the North End warehouses," Adrien said, his voice hard, driving the words home. "Vanessa took that signature, scanned it, and spliced it onto a forged family alliance drafted by her father’s legal team. Marcus caught it yesterday afternoon. That's why I missed our morning appointment—I was at the federal prosecutor's office filing wire-fraud charges against her father."

Isabella stared at him, her breath catching in her throat.

"You... you were filing charges?"

"Do you think I would trade three years of my life, and the mother of my child, for a fleet of cargo ships?" Adrien stepped closer, his gray eyes searching her face with raw, unfiltered desperation. "Bella, look at me."

She looked at him.

For the first time since she had walked into that foyer and seen Vanessa standing under the chandelier, she saw the exhaustion etched into the corners of his eyes. The pale skin. The tremor in his hand.

"I missed our appointment because I was trying to secure a trust fund for our daughter before the Sinclair board could freeze our assets," Adrien whispered, his voice breaking on the edge. "I was trying to protect you. And I did it behind your back because I was arrogant enough to think I could handle the wolves before they ever reached our door."

Isabella’s lower lip quivered.

She looked down at her left ring finger—bare, cold, empty.

"You should have told me," she whispered. "A partnership isn't you fighting everyone alone while I sit at home waiting for a phone call that might never come."

"You're right," Adrien said, dropping to one knee on the Persian rug in front of her.

Isabella gasped softly, stepping back.

Adrien reached into his vest pocket.

He pulled out the silver band she had left on the marble table.

"I am a Moretti," Adrien said, looking up into her eyes, his voice steady and resolute. "My family built this city on blood, secrets, and silence. But you... you are the only real thing I have ever had."

He held the ring out on the palm of his hand.

"I won't ask you to trust the empire," he said softly. "I'm asking you to trust me. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you will never have to walk away again."

Isabella looked down at the ring.

The city outside rumbled with the distant sound of thunder, washing the rain against the reinforced glass.