Dangerous Secrets: My Mafia Stepbrother

He was a true chameleon, Isabella noted, her mind a tumultuous sea of thoughts.

“Isabella, come, eat something. You hardly touched your meal earlier,” Grazia coaxed, her hand tenderly enclosing Isabella’s. It felt like a lifeline, drawing Isabella back from the precipice of a terrifying abyss.

“Are you alright? You seem pale,” Grazia observed, her gaze brimming with concern.

Isabella shook her head, her lips parting to respond, but her words choked in her throat as her eyes locked with Emanuele’s, lurking in a shadowy corner. His gaze was predatory, stalking her every move as if he were a beast primed to pounce on its prey at the slightest misstep.

“No, it’s nothing,” Isabella barely managed to murmur.

Grazia, oblivious to Emanuele’s unnerving presence, continued, “I’m sorry for the fright earlier. I’ll have the gardener tidy up tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Grazia, I think-”

Emanuele interjected abruptly, his tone brusque and his words laced with thinly veiled contempt. “I think Isabella isn’t quite comfortable here, am I right?” His eyes scanned her, lingering on her face, her lips, and her neck before descending to her chest, taking in every detail with an intensity that was disconcerting.

His gaze felt intrusive, as though it could pierce through her clothing and expose the secrets of her body.

Flustered and deeply uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Isabella felt a wave of shame wash over her. Emanuele’s gaze was like a serpent’s forked tongue, slithering over her skin, leaving a trail of his lingering scent that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

If not for Grazia’s comforting grip on her hand, Isabella feared she would be swept away by the tide of Emanuele’s overwhelming presence.

Emanuele disregarded Grazia, his smile a chilling sight as he advanced towards Isabella, his large hand abruptly descending on her head.

His breath, laced with the lingering scent of tobacco, filled Isabella’s senses.

“You look good in white,” he said, and his next words were almost a whisper, nearly at Isabella’s lips, “That way, you’ll make the finest whore.” His tongue and breath seemed poised to invade her slightly parted lips.

He was reminding her again of that alley where their sweat and blood had mixed, her white blouse made transparent by sweat, and the barely visible bra beneath it.

He had already viewed all these as the seduction of a whore, marking her as his prey without her knowing.

Yes, Emanuele had decided, even if he did not kill her, he would keep shaming her, torturing her, driving her to degradation and madness!

Her fate was doomed when she saw him wounded! This could not be tolerated!Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

Isabella’s discomfort swelled to an unbearable crescendo, her anger flaring as she tried to push the man away. “Unhand me!” She demanded. Emanuele merely tightened his grip on her scalp, feigning a casual ruffling of her hair. To any onlooker, it appeared as nothing more than a brotherly gesture towards his sister.

Was this the result of some demonic spell?

“Grazia, do tend to this lady. She’s as skittish as a kitten,” Emanuele dismissed nonchalantly, disregarding Isabella’s icy stare as he melted into the garden’s shadows.

Grazia seemed wholly oblivious to the palpable tension between them. “Emanuele has such an unusual way of extending a welcome, doesn’t he, Isabella? Why are your palms so damp?”

“My apologies, Grazia… I need some hot tea,” Isabella responded hastily, desperate to escape the suffocating ambiance. She gulped down a large glass of water, hoping it would quell her racing heart.

Was that devil still lurking?

Through the towering window, Isabella spotted Emanuele’s silhouette. He stood in the garden, a phone pressed to his ear. His tall frame cast a looming shadow in the soft light, reminiscent of Lucifer himself, shrouding Isabella’s world in darkness.

Could she ever escape this demon’s grasp? Isabella was engulfed in an overwhelming sense of despair.

This didn’t feel like an estate; it felt more like an impending prison.

God, show this devil his reckoning!

Fortunately, Emanuele had to excuse himself from the dinner due to some business, allowing Isabella a brief respite.

It wasn’t just Emanuele’s intimidation; it was also her paralyzing claustrophobia.

Typically, those suffering from claustrophobia struggle with small, confined spaces, but for her, it extended beyond physical confines to emotionally stifling situations. In such states, her claustrophobia would intensify, making her far more susceptible to fear than most.

The roots of her condition traced back to the degradation she endured at her uncle’s home during her childhood.

At the tender age of six, she lost her father to a tragic car accident. Her mother, jobless and penniless, was forced to take her to live with her uncle’s family. Her uncle, however, exploited the compensation money from her father’s accident, turning particularly cruel towards them.

Her mother was spared the worst of it, being away for work most of the time. But Isabella bore the full brunt. Her uncle’s family compelled her to take on all household chores, even farm work, whenever her mother was away. If she failed to complete the tasks, they denied her meals and banished her to the fetid cowshed for the night.

Her cousin, Chloe, was particularly vile, often assaulting her for the slightest perceived disrespect, pinching her arms, whipping her, leaving her hanging from a tree all day, or even shoving her down the stairs.

The most traumatic incident was when Chloe lured her into the storeroom under the pretense of moving items for her aunt, only to trap her inside. Despite Isabella’s desperate pleas and pounding on the door, Chloe remained unmoved.

She was confined to that cramped storeroom for two harrowing days without food or water, until her mother was due back home, at which point Chloe finally released her.

After that horrific episode, Isabella developed claustrophobia and a deep-seated fear of Chloe.

Her uncle’s family also warned her not to speak out. Especially Chloe, who told her she was nothing but a lowly bitch and threatened to kill her if she told her mother anything about the family.

Only the heavens could fathom how she managed to endure those tumultuous years.

College, thankfully, offered her an escape, a reprieve from the torment. She worked part-time jobs on weekends, earning her keep, and was no longer obliged to return to her uncle’s oppressive home, a fact that provided her a sliver of relief.

Though she maintained a veneer of normalcy most times, her claustrophobia lurked beneath the surface, ready to unleash its terror when provoked.

However, distanced from her uncle’s family, particularly Chloe, Isabella’s episodes were few and far between.

But tonight, she had experienced that suffocating sensation multiple times, all induced by her stepbrother Emanuele, this horrifying executioner!

Isabella closed her eyes, succumbing to exhaustion.

In that moment, Leo raised his glass and announced, “Welcome Isabella to our grand family. We shall live in harmony.”

Harmony? The image of Emanuele flashed in Isabella’s mind.

Just today, their first encounter, he had already pushed her to the brink of despair and reignited her claustrophobia! This was not a family; it was a living nightmare!

As Isabella wallowed in exhaustion, Leo’s voice echoed again, his gaze now fixed on her.

“Isabella, henceforth, you will accompany Emanuele and Grazia to media events each week, to display our family unity. It is crucial that people see us standing as one.”

Every week? She could barely endure this one evening, and she was firm in her resolution to sever ties with the Lombardi family. She had no desire to be a mafia princess; her aspiration was to become a reputable doctor, not to be shackled to these monsters!

And if that man discovered that she, an outsider, was infiltrating their family, he would undoubtedly torment her mercilessly, driving her to her demise.

A suffocating sensation spread in her throat, and Isabella resisted.

“I… I don’t frequent social events and am not adept at socializing.”

“No worries, your mother and Grazia will guide you,” Leo assured, his tone dismissive. “Also, it would be best if you visit us often.”

“But my work keeps me occupied, and even on weekends, I’m swamped with overtime. Plus, there’s school…”

“Then we’ll arrange a family dinner every weekend, no excuses,” Leo decreed firmly.

“But…”

“Isabella!” Sophia interjected, silencing Isabella, “Please comply with your father’s orders, alright?”

Isabella caught the pleading look in her mother’s eyes, as if begging her not to complicate matters further.

The words of refusal that were on the tip of her tongue suddenly seemed impossible to utter.

In the end, Isabella nodded in resignation; she had no choice but to acquiesce.

“Sophia, your mother, is already a part of our family, and you will join us, becoming a member of the Lombardi family. I promise you, you’ll hold the same stature as Grazia!” Leo expressed his satisfaction at Isabella’s reluctant compliance. Emanuele and he shared a certain similarity then, a thirst for control.

It was almost a decree, a proclamation made without any regard for Isabella’s wishes, that henceforth, she would be a mafia princess, shackled by the unyielding chains of duty.

Perceiving the atmosphere growing tense, Grazia, holding Isabella’s hand, attempted to reassure, “Isabella, don’t feel overwhelmed. I’ve always longed for a sister! It’s wonderful that you could join us!”