She Ran Into a Mafia Boss’s Restaurant to Save His Dying Dog — Then the Ruthless Don Declared She Was Under His Protection

Chapter 6

On the sixth day, Isabella was in the garden when Enzo found her.

She was sitting on a stone bench, Piccolo curled in her lap, watching the sunset. The puppy had gained weight. His coat had started to shine. He lifted his head when Enzo approached, tail wagging, but didn’t leave her lap.

“You’re good with him.” Enzo sat beside her, leaving distance. “He’s never trusted anyone but me.”

“He trusts you because you love him. Dogs always know.”

Silence settled between them — not uncomfortable, but full of things unsaid.

“Marco found them.” Enzo’s voice was flat. “The Los Santos cell operating in our territory. Safe house in the industrial district. Nine men.”

“Are you going to —”

“Call the feds? No. They’d ask questions I don’t want answered. But I can make them leave. I can make sure they never come back.”

He turned to look at her.

“One phone call, Isabella. And you never have to look over your shoulder again.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked almost young. “I was sitting in that restaurant, watching Piccolo die in my arms, and I realized I had nothing. Nothing that mattered.”

He met her eyes.

“You walked past my guns to save something you didn’t even know. Because that’s who you are. And I haven’t met anyone like you in a very long time.”

He stood, pulling out his phone.

“Stay here. In twenty-four hours, the Los Santos presence in this city will be a memory. And you — Isabella Maria Romano — can decide who you want to be next.”

—

The raid happened at midnight.

Isabella heard about it the next morning through Vincent, who delivered breakfast with carefully neutral commentary. “Nine men. All alive. All on a bus heading south with a warning from Mr. Bellini: if any of them so much as mentions a woman matching your description, the next bus won’t have a destination.”

She should have felt relief. Instead, she felt something unfamiliar. Safety.

She was still processing it when Enzo appeared at her door. No suit. No armor. A simple black shirt. He looked tired, but there was lightness in his movements she hadn’t seen before.

“It’s done.”

“I know.” She stepped aside to let him in.

He walked to the window, looking out at the garden where Piccolo was chasing a butterfly. “The offer is still open. The guest house. The job. For as long as you need it.”

“And if I want to leave?”

“Then you leave.” He turned. “But I’m hoping you’ll stay.”

Isabella walked to the window, standing beside him. Below, Piccolo had stopped chasing the butterfly and was staring at the space between his paws with comical confusion.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said quietly. “How to trust. How to stay still. How to believe I’m safe.”

“That’s okay.” Enzo’s voice was rough. “I don’t know how to do most of it either. But I know how to keep someone safe. And I know how to wait.”