Chapter 6

Isabella arrived home, the familiar scent of her mother's cooking wafting through the air, comforting in its familiarity. She stepped through the front door, her tiredness temporarily forgotten as her mother, Sofia, rushed to greet her.

"Isabella! Oh, my darling, you're home," Sofia exclaimed, enveloping her daughter in a warm embrace. She kissed her forehead, murmuring the childhood nickname, "Bella mia."

Isabella hugged her mother back, savoring the moment of peace. But her respite was short-lived. She turned to see her father, Don Marino, leaning against the corridor with his ever-present bodyguard by his side. His expression was stern, but there was a hint of relief in his eyes.

"Dominic called and told me what transpired today," Don said, his voice laced with aggravation. Isabella nodded, a pang of guilt tightening her chest. She knew she had gone against her father's wishes, and she braced herself for the inevitable lecture.

"I can't keep thinking you are my little girl anymore," Don continued, his tone softening. "You are your father's daughter— strong, stubborn, and I surely know you did this stunt to piss off Dominic."

A smirk played on his lips as he approached her. Despite his words, his eyes shone with pride. He pulled her into a tight hug, his rough exterior giving way to the father who loved his daughter fiercely.

Isabella smiled, feeling the weight of the night's events start to lift. "I just wanted to prove I could handle myself," she murmured against his chest.

Don pulled back, holding her at arm's length. "And you did, Piccola. But you need to remember, this world is dangerous. I can't lose you."

Sofia joined them, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Let's all sit down for dinner. I made your favorite— spaghetti," she said, guiding them to the dining room.

They sat around the large wooden table, bowls of steaming spaghetti in front of them. The atmosphere lightened as they ate, the familiar comfort of home easing the tension.

"So, you took down one of Russo's guards all by yourself, huh?" Don said, a twinkle in his eye.

Isabella shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "He wasn't that tough. Just a bit slow on the uptake."

Don laughed, shaking his head. "You're something else, Piccola. Just don't get too cocky."

Sofia chimed in, her voice stern but affectionate. "Isabella, don’t be overconfident. And remember, being strong is not just about fighting. It's also about knowing when to step back."

Isabella rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yes, Mama. I know."

The banter continued, the warmth and love in the room a stark contrast to the cold and danger of the outside world. Isabella felt a deep sense of belonging, the bond with her family grounding her in a way nothing else could.

As the plates emptied and the conversation lulled, Isabella's thoughts returned to the night's events. She looked at her father, her expression serious. "Papa, there's something you need to know. Russo left us a message."

Don's demeanor shifted, his attention fully on her. "What did he say?"

Isabella recounted the video, Russo's taunting face and threatening words. She described how he had anticipated their move and mocked their alliance.

Don's face darkened, his anger palpable. "That bastard. He thinks he can scare us off with his games."

"We can't let him get away with this, Papa," Isabella said, her voice determined.

"We won't, Piccola. But we need to be smart about this. Russo is cunning, and he knows our weaknesses. We need to be one step ahead."

Isabella nodded, her resolve hardening. She knew the road ahead would be dangerous, but she was ready to face whatever came her way. With her family by her side and her newfound alliance with Dominic, she was prepared to take on the world.

—

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the training room, casting a warm glow on the mats as Isabella moved fluidly, her fists flying in precise, controlled jabs. Sweat glistened on her brow as she danced around the ring, her focus unwavering.

"Come on, Isabella, you can hit harder than that!" her trainer, Marco, called out, dodging her punches with ease.

Isabella rolled her eyes but pushed herself harder, landing a solid hit on Marco's padded glove. "You know, Marco, if you spent as much time training as you do talking, you'd be a world champion by now."

Marco laughed, stepping back to give her a moment's rest. "And if you spent less time thinking up comebacks, you might actually land a hit on me."

Isabella smirked, wiping her forehead with the back of her glove. "I'm just trying to make you look good, old man."

"Old man? I'm only ten years older than you, and I'll have you know I can still—"

Before Marco could finish his sentence, the door to the training room swung open, and Dominic walked in. His presence commanded attention, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before settling on Isabella.

"Take a break," Dominic told Marco, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Marco nodded, stepping aside as Dominic approached the ring. Isabella watched in confusion as Dominic pulled off his shirt, revealing his chiseled torso. He climbed into the ring, his movements fluid and confident.

"Today, you'll be training with me," Dominic said, his voice calm but firm.

Isabella's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's this about, Dominic?"

He smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Consider it a lesson. Let's see what you can do."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she faced Dominic. They circled each other, the tension palpable. Dominic moved with the grace of a predator, his every step calculated. Isabella matched his movements, her eyes locked on his.

They exchanged a few quick blows, Dominic easily parrying her attacks. "Is that all you've got, Piccola?" he taunted, a playful grin on his lips.

"Just warming up," Isabella shot back, ducking under his swing and landing a punch to his side.

Dominic grunted but barely flinched. "Not bad. But you'll need to do better."

They continued to spar, the intensity increasing with each passing moment. Dominic's experience was evident, but Isabella held her own, her determination shining through. They exchanged quips and jabs, the banter flowing as naturally as their movements.

"You call that a punch?" Dominic teased, dodging her fist.

"Want to feel a real one?" Isabella retorted, aiming another blow.

Dominic caught her arm, his grip strong but controlled. Before she could react, he flipped her onto the ground, the air rushing out of her lungs as she hit the mat. She grunted, glaring up at him as he chuckled and started to walk away.

But Isabella wasn't done. With a determined glint in her eye, she hooked her foot around his left leg, yanking it out from under him. Dominic lost his balance, falling to the ground beside her with a surprised yelp.

She quickly scrambled to her feet, standing over him with a triumphant smirk. "Not so easy, is it?"

Dominic looked up at her, a mix of irritation and admiration in his eyes. He laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. "Well played, Piccola. Well played."

He got to his feet, dusting himself off. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that."

"Is that all you got for me?" she asked, grinning.

Dominic shook his head, still smiling. "No, there's more. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

They exchanged a look, a newfound respect between them. Isabella realized that beneath his tough exterior, Dominic saw her as more than just a nuisance. She was a fighter, and he respected that.

"Same time tomorrow?" Dominic asked, raising an eyebrow.

Isabella nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Same time tomorrow."

As she watched him leave the ring, she couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. She had proven herself once again, and this time, Dominic had taken notice. She was ready for whatever came next.