Pregnant by the Mafia Boss

12

L I L I A N A

I sat in the comfortable seat of the private jet, staring out of the window as the landscape below transformed into patchworks of green and brown.

The honeymoon had finally drawn to a close, but the tension between Marcello, Isabella and me hadn't eased.

If anything, it had intensified, like a storm brewing on the horizon, threatening to unleash its fury at any moment.

Isabella sat across from me, her posture relaxed yet her eyes sharp with unspoken mockery.

Each time she lifted her glass of champagne, she always lifted a little too high like giving a toast to my misery.

Marcello, seated beside me, seemed lost in his thoughts, occasionally glancing out the window or checking his phone with a furrowed brow.

The silence between us was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

I could feel Isabella's gaze on me, a weighty presence that I couldn't ignore.

I clenched my fists in my lap, trying to ignore the bitter taste of resentment that rose in my throat.

The past month had been a whirlwind of emotions, betrayal, heartache, and now a boiling rage that threatened to consume me whole, as I found myself trapped in a web of manipulation, with Isabella as the puppeteer pulling the strings.

"Enjoying the view, Liliana?" Isabella's voice cut through the silence like a knife, her tone sweet yet laced with venom.

I turned to face her, my jaw clenched tightly to keep my emotions in check, but I remained silent.

"Not speaking to me, huh? You are so childish."

"What do you want?" I said through gritted teeth.

Isabella chuckled softly, a sound that tugged on my nerves.

"Oh, nothing," she said casually, her eyes glinting with malice. "Just admiring the scene."

I felt Marcello shift beside me, his discomfort obvious. He glanced between Isabella and me, a silent demand for us to keep the peace, but Isabella did not care.

"How was your wedding night? If I remember correctly, Marcello called me over a hundred times-"

"Isabella, enough," Marcello interjected finally, his voice strained with frustration. "Let's just try to enjoy the flight."

Isabella shrugged nonchalantly, but her eyes never left mine.

"Of course," she replied smoothly, her smile widening into a smirk. "I wouldn't want to disturb the newlyweds."

The word hung between us like a bitter pill, a reminder of the charade we were living.

Marcello glanced at me briefly, a silent apology in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the passing landscape.

We sat in silence for another hour as Marcello was taking an important phone call until the call finally ended.

"My father wants to have dinner with us next week." Marcello dropped a bomb on me since his father wasn't at our wedding.

"Okay." I muttered, not saying anything else.

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence until the jet descended toward our destination, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me, mingled with dread.

The honeymoon was over, but the real challenge lay ahead, which was to make this marriage look as real as possible.

As we came down from the jet, Isabella fell into step beside Marcello, her laughter ringing hollow in my ears as he wore a large smile on his face.

I watched them walk away together, the distance between us widening with each step, and I knew that no matter how hard I tried to bury the past, its ghost would haunt me for as long as I remained trapped in this loveless marriage.

I was the other woman in my own marriage.