The Italian Princess

Chapter Nine: Who's the Boss?

Isabella

The dinner with Marco's family was steeped in an undercurrent of tension, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. I noticed a palpable change in Marco, a certain reticence that wasn't there before. Leaning closer, I whispered, "Everything okay?"

He nodded, a gesture devoid of his usual warmth. It was in that moment of strained silence that Mr. Santos, Marco's father, turned the tide of the conversation. "Bella, I have a job for you," he said, his voice cutting through the tension.

His words caught me off guard, but I maintained composure, meeting his gaze with a smile. "Marco has ten vans of cocaine being imported this evening. The gang handling it isn't entirely reliable. Can you go have his back tonight?" His smile was more a challenge than a gesture of warmth.

"Of course," I replied without missing a beat, a sense of duty overriding my initial shock.

Suddenly, Marco stood up and left the table without a word, his abrupt departure leaving a wake of unanswered questions. After a moment's hesitation, I followed him, determined to bridge the growing gap between us.

Entering his closet, I found him at a hidden compartment, now open, revealing an arsenal of handguns arranged with meticulous care. "Choose one," he said, his voice steady and focused.

I reached for a chrome Beretta, its weight familiar and reassuring in my hand. Marco selected a black one, his movements efficient and practiced. The compartment clicked shut, and we made our way to the car, enveloped in a thick cloud of silence.

The drive was a journey into the unknown, both of us lost in our thoughts. The gravity of the task ahead and the complexities of our relationship hung heavy in the air. This mission was more than a mere assignment; it was a test of loyalty, a dance on the edge of danger that defined our lives. As the city lights passed by, I found myself grappling with a mix of determination and apprehension, the deep inner turmoil mirroring the quiet chaos that seemed to envelop Marco as well.

Marco

As we arrived at the designated meeting spot, Bella reached for the door handle, ready to face whatever was inside. "You don't have to go in. I got this," I told her, revealing the true intent behind my father's request. "My father just wanted to see where your loyalties lie."

Her response was immediate and firm. "I'm here now, and I have your back." I could see the longing in her eyes, a silent plea for me to let my guard down. It was easier to be open when our relationship didn't have a label, when there were fewer stakes involved. I always envisioned a wife as someone I'd need to protect and provide for, but Bella shattered that image. She was independent and strong. I was struggling to redefine my role as her partner.

Inside, we met Chi in the garage, standing by the van. I've known Chi since childhood; he always believed his family deserved more power in the Cartel. "You're late," he greeted me.

"Is it all there?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

"No, it's short by a couple of kilos. We'll cover it on the next shipment," he replied, watching me closely. It was a test, a petty power play, and I wasn't in the mood for games.

"You have one hour to get the missing kilos. We'll be back," I stated firmly, taking Bella's hand as we left.

As we walked away, my mind was racing. This situation was more than a mere transaction; it was a play of dominance, a test of resolve. Holding Bella's hand, I felt a strange mix of frustration and clarity.

As we settled into the car, the tension from the encounter with Chi still hung in the air. Bella's attempt to lighten the mood with a laugh felt out of place given the intensity of the situation.