Isabella

My entire life was a sham, nothing more than a sleight of hand to convince outsiders the Parisi family was perfect. Because on paper, we sparkled like diamonds when the light hit them just right. Even our house on Long Island was pristine, cared for by maids and chefs my father paid for with his dirty blood money.

I parked in the circular driveway out the front of our house, which was more like a waterfront estate, surprised to find my father’s car. He was almost never home in the daytime, a sure sign something was wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, I clutched my purse in my hand and stepped inside, hoping I could sneak up to my bedroom without my dad noticing. No such luck.

“Isabella,” my father called from the den.

I stopped breathing, remaining eerily silent, until he called my name once more. Rolling my eyes, I said, “Yes, Daddy?”

“Come in here, please.” His voice was stern, a low rumble that shot fear through my body.

He was angry with me.

What the hell did I do now?

It was as if I could never meet his impossible standards. I set my purse on the entryway table and shrugged off my jacket.

Carmella appeared from the hallway and was at my side, holding out her hand for me to give the jacket to her. “How was your spa appointment?”

I handed her my jacket and purse. “It was nice, I think. Well, it was until I got into a fight with this asshole who keeps bothering me.”

“Chris Rizzoli,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

I nodded. “Yeah, he won’t leave me alone. He’s been following me since I got home last week.”

Carmella cupped my shoulder with her free hand and flashed a tiny smile for my benefit. “Maybe you should tell your father. He could talk to you know who about him.”

She meant Giovanni DeLuca, Stephan’s father.

I shook my head. “Definitely not. I don’t want either of them involved.”

After my father had found out about the Tiffany necklace, he called the headmistress at a boarding school in Connecticut and had me sent away. I was forbidden from ever speaking to Stephan again. My father made it clear he would ruin Stephan’s life if I didn’t do as he’d asked.

“Isabella,” my father yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the house. “Get. In. Here. Now.”

My body trembled from his harsh tone.

Carmella patted me on the back and said, “You better go before Mr. Parisi comes out here to collect you.”

“I’ll come find you later,” I promised, and then set off toward the den.

Carmella was the closest thing I had to a mother. She’d raised me when my own mother was incapable of spending a second of her time with me. Too busy pretending to be a politician’s wife, my mom was planning another brunch or stuffy dinner party with her snooty friends, all while she was sleeping with the wealthiest men in Manhattan behind my father’s back. She was an embarrassment to our family, one I tried to avoid at all costs.

I wasn’t a factor in her life. From the second I was born, Carmella was the person who held me in her arms, nursed me back to health when I was sick, and even helped me apply my first coat of makeup. Every important life event was shared with Carmella.

“Daddy, you’re here,” I said entering the den, putting on my invisible mask and fake persona. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Not at all.

He glanced up from the computer on his desk, eyeing me suspiciously, as if he knew how unpleasant this was for me. “What’s this I hear about you hanging out with Stephan DeLuca?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, confused, and sat in one of the oversized chairs across from him. “I wasn’t hanging out with Stephan.”

“No?” He removed a stack of photographs from the manila envelope on his desk and slid them toward me. “Then what are these?”

I studied the pictures, unsure of how he’d know I was with Stephan, when I’d only seen him two hours before. “I ran into him on my way home. It’s not a big deal.” Gritting my teeth in anger, I added, “And how did you get these? Are you having me followed again? You promised to stop doing that.”

“This re-election campaign is not going as smooth as I would have liked. I can’t afford any slip-ups, Isabella. It’s bad enough you decided not to attend graduate school in the fall.”

“Oh, what a massive disappointment,” I shot back. “I don’t need a Master’s degree. Four years was enough for me. Would you let me work for at least a year before you start breathing down my neck?”

“You will work on my campaign until I figure out what to do with you.”

“Do with me? Would you listen to yourself? For your information, I was not hanging out with Stephan. He helped me.”

“Why would you need his help?’

“Because Chris Rizzoli won’t leave me alone.”

My father sank into his oversized executive chair and rested his forearms on the leather. “You should have come to me about this. I could have dealt with that low life.”

“How would you have dealt with a thug like Chris? Have him arrested on some bogus charge?”

He shrugged. “Whatever means necessary.” His tone lacked any emotion, as did his face. “In fact, I’ll have him dealt with right now.”

I wanted to slink out of my chair and run away when my father unlocked his drawer and removed the burner phone he used for emergencies. When he raised it to his ear, I knew who he was calling—Giovanni DeLuca. My heart ached when I thought of Stephan and how he’d saved me from Chris earlier. He was all grown up now, not the boy I’d remembered from high school.

Chris Rizzoli had been bugging me for the past week. Almost every time we ran into each other, it was when I was in town to run a few errands, almost as if he had been watching me.

“Gio,” my father growled into the phone. “We have a situation I need you to take care of for me.”

It pissed me off to no end that my father could maintain his private friendship with Giovanni DeLuca, and yet I wasn’t allowed to as much as look at Stephan or his brothers. Not that I wanted anyone but Stephan to notice me.

Something changed inside me the day Stephan gave me the choker with a small feather charm at its center. I was his back then. I still wanted that now. And the necklace I still wore around my neck, beneath my shirt, only proved it. My father had taken it away from me, but I stole it back.

After he hung up with Giovanni, my father fixed his gaze on me, pinning me down with his evil eyes. “Alanna will be over later to fit you for a dress. The entire family is attending a charity gala. I expect you to be on your best behavior around Stephan DeLuca.”

“That’s in the past,” I assured him, even though I would never shake Stephan from my thoughts.

“Good.” He forced a closed-mouth smile. “Let’s keep it that way.”