The Mafia’s Redemption: Fierce Love

I discovered through whispers, not from him. Our anniversary—four years together—meant nothing to Luca. Not when Isobella Calderon, his mistress, came calling.

The post that lit up the evening, showcased with all her arrogance on social media, was meant to humiliate me. Isobel had taken to flaunting their so-called intimacy for all to see. There she was, clinging to him like a well-practiced illusion of grace at some private villa estate, surrounded by the elite of the DiLorenzo family’s inner circle. But it was Luca’s smile—rare, unguarded—that cut deeper than her possessive gaze. The smile I hadn’t seen in years.

The caption dripped with cruelty.

Thank you, Boss, for making me your number one.

Of course, the comments came rolling in, praising their chemistry. “Isobel and Luca are perfect together,” they said, “He should ditch the nobody.”

The nobody being me.

The shame followed me everywhere—work, family gatherings, even the women’s restroom at Ribaldi Enterprises, where I overheard two secretaries gossiping over lunch.

“Did you catch Isobel’s post last night?” one giggled, sounding like a teenager.

“Of course! She’s glued to Luca these days. They’re unstoppable, the new power couple.”

Their laughter echoed as I rushed out, the bitter taste of betrayal rising like bile. I told myself I wouldn’t check the post again, but I did. Over and over. The moment those pictures and videos went live, I knew I was nothing more than a forgotten promise.

——

3:15 PM. Luca: "Something came up. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.

That was all he sent me—no apology, no explanation. Just like that, he cancelled our anniversary dinner.

I read the message again, letting the frustration rise before I finally responded with a curt:

Safe trip.

A long sigh escaped my lips as I set the phone down on the counter. I had just come back from finishing a grueling day of running deliveries, trying to meet deadlines for the first job that meant anything to me in months. Exhausted, I collapsed on the bed and tried to forget. I knew I shouldn't have pinned my hopes on Luca’s empty promises, yet I had anyway. For what? A cheap reminder that he would never change?

We’d been together since senior year at Monticello Academy. Four years of watching him rise from the dangerous son of a cartel enforcer to the heir apparent of the DiLorenzo syndicate—the cold, feared Luca Marcelli.

I, on the other hand, was Elena Montoya, a nobody from the outskirts of New Brighton. Not the daughter of powerful families or influential businessmen. My family scraped by, living far from the criminal world that Luca ruled. But somehow, I got swept into it.

I had no illusions about what this relationship meant to Luca’s world. For his associates, I was merely a placeholder—a sheep in a pride of lions. For the vultures online, Luca should have been with Isobel, the Calderon heiress with ties so deep in the cartel. Together, they embodied every fantasy the underworld adored—a power couple made of steel and silk.

When Luca first made our relationship public, it sent shockwaves through the city. The kingpin’s ruthless heir with an ordinary woman? My inbox flooded with insults, and worse. Some people pretended to be curious, but most spat venom. Still, Luca stood by me. Even Isobel, or so I thought, had been supportive of us. At least until the rumors grew stronger, until pictures of them together—always without me—started surfacing.

Like her recent post, with the tag:

Big thanks to Luca Marcelli @King_Luca! It was a last-minute thing, but you pulled through as always. And Elena @Elena_Montoya, you’re a gem for lending your man to me tonight. Good luck finishing your project! I owe you!

The attached photos made my stomach churn—an opulent hilltop villa, the remnants of a decadent meal, and Luca laughing beside Isobel as though the world outside their gilded life didn’t exist.

I blinked at the video, watching Luca laugh—truly laugh—for the first time in years. That cold exterior he always showed to the world, the one that kept everyone at arm’s length, had vanished in the presence of Isobel Calderon. I never got that version of him. Not since our early days, when we were still reckless teenagers running through the city streets at midnight, untouchable and carefree.

Now, the comments below twisted the knife deeper:

@UnderworldRoyalty: "Luca and Isobel look like they’re meant for each other. Why isn’t this official yet?”

@EyesEverywhere: "Has anyone noticed how Luca only smiles with Isobel? Never seen him like that with Elena."

@CartelGossip: "Poor Elena. She’s holding onto a fantasy."

I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling, though I tried. Alone in the bedroom of the empty penthouse, I curled up, fighting the sobs that escaped my chest. I shouldn’t have looked, I shouldn’t have let this get to me, but it did. It always did.

Isobel was everything Luca needed, everything I couldn’t be. This was the life I signed up for—the heartache, the betrayals, the reminders that Luca would never truly be mine.

I clutched my phone and called him. He answered after one ring.

“What is it, Elena?” His voice was steady, the cold detachment of a man who had long since stopped caring. The sounds of the party in the background—laughing, music, fireworks—filled the silence between us.

“Where are you?” I asked, choking back my tears, my voice a fragile thread.

“Business meeting,” he replied, his tone flat. “What’s going on?”

I could hear the fireworks crackle again, another reminder of the celebration I wasn’t part of.

“Are you crying?” His voice remained detached, and the lack of concern stung worse than anything else.

I closed my eyes, took a long, trembling breath. This was the moment I’d been dreading for months.

“Luca… we need to end this.”

2

A distant crackle of fireworks briefly interrupted the silence on Luca’s line, followed by a heavy sigh.

“Elena, not this again,” his voice carried a hint of weary irritation.

What did he mean by ‘not this again’? He had broken his promise, and now I was being blamed for feeling hurt?

Anger surged within me at his response, and I snapped back, “I know exactly where you are and what you’re doing right now, Mr. Marcelli! Social media is a legit thing, you know! Maybe you should ask Isobel not to post your pictures so freely if you don’t want everyone to see them!”

With that, I ended the call and set my phone to silent.

Rising from the bed, I walked to the closet where I had stashed my suitcase. As I opened it, my gaze landed on the red gift bag tucked away behind my suitcase. I had bought it last week—a deep navy-blue custom dive bag, the exact shade of the ocean at dawn, Luca’s favorite time for diving.

I ignored the gift bag and pulled out my suitcase, quickly packing my belongings. I was determined to leave this lavish penthouse tonight. After all, it was Luca’s, and I would be the one vanishing from his life since I was the one who initiated the breakup.

Two hours later, I had finished packing. I called a cab, loaded my things, and headed to a smaller, more affordable apartment in the suburbs where I had lived a few years ago.

***

It had been two years since I last stayed in this apartment. My parents had given it to me shortly after I secured a position as a writer at Dream Creatives. Initially, I had chosen to stay here to avoid burdening Luca with my needs in the city.

To make a long story short, Luca decided it would be more practical for me to live with him. He had a chauffeur to take me wherever I needed, and we could see each other more often if I lived with him.

Luca insisted on this arrangement. Lacking a solid argument against it, I agreed and had been living with him ever since.

A pang of regret struck me, a sharp reminder of the growing distance between us.

It felt tragic that I only noticed how often Luca was with Isobel after moving in with him. It made me question: what was the point of living together?

As I stumbled into my old apartment, weighed down by exhaustion, I left my belongings in the living room. I headed to my bed, pulled off the plastic cover from the mattress, grabbed a clean sheet from the linen closet, and collapsed into sleep.

Luca and I—the two of us were physically close, yet our hearts seemed to drift apart with each passing day. How did things end up like this?

When the alarm jolted me awake the next morning, I reached for my phone out of habit.

Luca had left messages:

[Elena, don’t be envious. I saw Tattle and as Isobel’s post shows, it was a last-minute business meeting. Isobel asked for my help with a deal involving an overseas company.]

[Stop being immature. We’re both adults. Come home when you’ve settled down.]

So now I was immature?

Luca’s message had effectively ruined my mood—first thing in the morning!

I tossed my phone onto the bed and ignored it as I shuffled into the combined living room and kitchen. Grabbing a bottled drink I’d left out from yesterday, I tried to shake off the frustration that Luca’s words had stirred up.

The term "immature" kept echoing in my mind, igniting small bursts of anger from within.

Was I truly that immature?

I had lost count of the times Luca had canceled our date plans, postponed his own meetings, or delayed family dinners just because Isobel needed him for her "emergencies."

I couldn’t forget the night Isobel had begged Luca to visit one of Dicelore’s private residences because she was terrified after watching a horror movie.

For heaven’s sake!

Who in their right mind watches something that frightens them so much? Besides, Isobel was never truly alone at the residence. Her staff was always there, ensuring her safety and comfort.

Yet, Luca changed out of his pajamas and into casual clothes. “Isobel needs me,” he said, “so I have to go for a bit.”

I was appalled and tried to argue with him.

But he said, “There’s nothing between us, Elena.” He sighed heavily, deliberately avoiding my name, “Elena,” and rubbed his temple—three signs of his growing irritation. “I’ve told you this before.”

Then, Luca looked directly at me and added, “But if your mind is already made up, is there any point in trying to persuade you otherwise?”

With that, he left the penthouse, taking his own car keys and driving to wherever Isobel was, rejecting his chauffeur’s offer every time.

The day after our arguments, Luca would always find a way to win me back with a surprise romantic date. I could see the effort he put into each ‘makeup’ date and, inevitably, I would always forgive him.

We’d reconcile, our relationship seemingly repaired. Then the cycle would start again, over and over. It became hard to remember our dates without ‘Isobel’ being the trigger, especially after Luca and I went public.

Did he think I was too naive to see the pattern?

Yes, I was easily pleased—I admit that. But it was because I didn’t see the point in constantly arguing with someone I loved so deeply.

Not this time. I finally saw the reason why I needed to stop.

Luca had feelings for Isobel, and it was time I accepted that.

That was why I had to stop falling for him—once and for all.

3

The rich aroma of sandalwood and the sharp tang of grapes filled the air...

It was unmistakable and nearly overwhelming. Luca was waiting for me in the lobby, his scent announcing his presence long before I saw him. It seemed he was here for another one of his 'makeup' visits.

I wrinkled my nose slightly. Did he not feel any embarrassment, flaunting his scent so boldly in such a public space?

I glanced around, surprised by the absence of Luca’s usual entourage of loyal enforcers and admirers. Instead, only a few of my colleagues were nervously peeking around corners, trying to hide their curiosity.

I was slightly curious if he had arranged for extra security to keep the usual crowd from entering the office building. The thought crossed my mind as I descended the stairs, my steps measured, until I stopped just short of him.

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

Luca frowned slightly, then walked over to the passenger side of his car, opening the door with the practiced ease of a bodyguard.

If it weren’t for his impeccably tailored suit and the jet-black hair streaked with a single golden strand—a mark of the Marcelli family—he could easily be mistaken for one of his own men.

“Alessandro invited us to his dinner celebration tonight,” he began, his voice cool. “He’s celebrating a successful deal involving some new shipments—”

I interrupted him. “And?”

A deeper crease formed between his eyebrows. “Get in.”

I crossed my arms, not missing a beat. “I never said I wanted to go with you, did I?”

“Elena…” His voice dropped, taking on a warning tone.

Yet, I didn’t care. I turned on my heel and started walking toward my apartment, leaving him standing by the open door.

There was a time when I would’ve rushed to him, urged him to get back in the car, worried that his reputation might attract unwanted attention. Luca, with his imposing presence and striking features, was the epitome of the Marcelli family's ideal. Back then, I would’ve done anything to shield him from prying eyes.

But now? Now, I no longer cared. Let the world have its fill of him. I wasn’t his partner anymore, and I had no obligation to protect what wasn’t mine.

Beep!

“Elena!”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Luca slowly following me in his car, keeping pace with my steps.

I turned my head back and kept walking, refusing to be swayed. “Stop following me, Luca. We’re done—”

Beep!

“Luca!” I spun around, frustration flaring in my voice.

The car came to a stop with a low screech, sharp enough to make me instinctively cover my sensitive ears. The sound set off a surge of irritation, every nerve in my body heightened. When I finally uncovered my ears, I saw that Luca was still in the driver’s seat, reaching over to open the front passenger door from inside.

Just as I was about to snap at him, a voice rang out from the distance.

“Hey! Isn’t that Luca Marcelli car?!”

My heart plummeted at the realization. Oh no, I was SO not ready to face Luca’s admirers right now!

“Drive!” I hurriedly jumped into the car, slamming the door shut and locking it. My eyes widened as I watched his fans swarm the car with alarming speed.

Where did they even come from?!

“You really want to go with me now?” Luca asked, amusement lacing his tone.

I bared my fangs at him, the remnants of my anger still bristling with the urge to survive. “Just drive!”

Luca chuckled softly, shifting the car into gear. We edged out of the growing crowd, leaving his eager admirers behind as we sped away.

It was then that a thick scent of strawberry hit me, almost cloying in its sweetness.

My eyes scanned the dashboard, searching for a perfume bottle or some kind of air freshener. But as I inhaled again, realization dawned on me—this wasn’t a manufactured scent. It was Isobella’s. Her presence lingered in the car, like an unwanted guest.

I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she had done in here for her scent to be so strong, so pervasive.

Suppressing a scoff, I shot a sideways glare at Luca. “Well, well, I didn’t know you were so fond of strawberry.”

“Hm.” Luca gave a noncommittal grunt as he subtly adjusted the steering wheel.

What was that supposed to mean? The ambiguity gnawed at me, the unanswered question hanging in the air like Isobel’s lingering scent.

After that, silence settled between us. Luca took me first to his favorite tailor, where I changed into a navy-blue dress before we headed to Vito’s for Alessandro’s private celebration.

We were led to a reserved VIP room on the second floor. As the staff opened the door, I noticed Alessandro and Isabella already seated inside. Isabella’s expression flickered with surprise for the briefest moment when she saw me.

“Hey, you two!” Alessandro beamed, waving enthusiastically from his seat.

Isabella pulled her hands off the table and crossed them over her chest. “Hello, Elena, Luca. What took you so long? Traffic?”

I gave a simple shrug, offering her a polite smile before turning to Alessandro.

“It was a last-minute invite, Alessandro. Sorry I didn’t bring a gift, but congratulations on your successful deal!”

Alessandro “Sandro” Vitale was an eccentric with a vibrant personality. In the underworld, he was often hailed as a prodigy. Last year, he embarked on an unexpected deal with a carefully selected team and a hefty budget, leaving many puzzled by his abrupt decision.

However, Alessandro was nothing if not determined. He simply ignored all media talk about his ambition going too far and how the young prodigy might finally lose his title and be considered reckless instead.

I had become acquainted with him through Luca, who often brought me along to his regular meetings with his closest circle—Alessandro and Isabella. It was through these gatherings that I got to know Isabella as well.

“Don’t worry. Sandro found a gem worth millions—literally. He’s got more than enough gifts,” Luca quipped as he guided me to the table.

“Hey,” Sandro retorted, feigning annoyance. “I’d appreciate any gift from a good friend, especially a lovely lady like Elena here. Unlike some picky mob boss!”

Lies. My gaze snapped back to Sandro, narrowing slightly.

I had never seen him use or even acknowledge any of the gifts I’d given him. Not like that gold-framed pair of sunglasses from Isobella that he carried everywhere, even when he didn’t wear them. Or that ridiculous trinket Luca had given him as a joke, which he often brought up for laughs.

It was only then that I fully grasped the truth—Isobella was the same. She and Sandro never really used my gifts, except for the occasional social media post.

A sinking realization settled in my gut. Maybe my suspicions weren’t so far-fetched after all. Perhaps they had never truly accepted me, merely tolerating my presence to save face for Luca.

They had never approved of our relationship, and their coldness toward me was always just beneath the surface.

“I’m not picky!” Luca’s voice rose slightly in defense as he stopped. “I just don’t see the point in using certain things. That’s why—”

And there it was—the start of Luca and Sandro’s usual banter. Normally, I would have found their back-and-forth amusing, but tonight, I had no desire to linger. My eyes scanned the room for a seat.

The remaining chairs were opposite one another, with Sandro on one side and Isabella on the other.

“Since we’re late, let’s not keep Sandro and Isobella waiting any longer,” I said, settling into my seat, eager to get this over with.

A heavy silence settled over the table. I didn’t bother to glance at Luca to see his reaction.

“Alrighty! Let’s eat!” Sandro’s exuberant voice cut through the quiet as he waved over the waiter.

Soon, the table was filled with a set of dishes and conversation started to flow. I made occasional comments but otherwise remained silent, content to sip my drink and savor the food.

As the evening progressed, I watched Luca peeling shrimps with meticulous care, placing them on a plate beside Isobella. I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. Luca had always despised shrimps, claiming that peeling them was too much hassle.

Yet here he was, serving them to Isobella without a word of complaint.

The sight made me frown. The effort he put into catering to her was starkly different from how he treated me. Luca simply moved on instinct when it came to Isobella.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Sandro suddenly shot a sidelong glance at me before nudging Luca with a playful shove.

“Look at you, Mr. Mob Boss! Don’t just pile all the prawns on Isobella’s plate. Can’t you see this plate over here needs some shrimp love too?” He gestured with his thumb toward the empty plate beside me.

Luca blinked, momentarily dazed as if he had just realized his oversight.

He paused, looking down at the prawns in his hand with an unreadable expression, before he looked at me again.

Luca’s gaze flicked toward me briefly before shifting to the heavily guarded private entrance of the upscale restaurant. His expression was as unreadable as ever, though there was something lurking beneath the surface that unsettled me.

“Another bottle of the house wine,” he ordered calmly, wiping his hands with a linen napkin, his movements deliberate, cold, and precise.

“There’s no need.” I raised a hand, stopping the server before they could comply, as I reached for my glass of water. The coolness of it steadied my nerves. “I’m not in the mood for more drinks.”

Luca’s brows pulled together slightly, the faintest hint of irritation flickering across his otherwise stoic features. “We can try something else. How about the veal?”

“I said no,” I repeated, my tone firmer this time.

His brows knit tighter, his dark eyes locking on mine. “What about the steak? It’s your favorite, Elena.”

“No,” I replied sharply, leaving no room for argument.

Luca froze for a moment, clearly surprised by my sudden defiance. The tension between us hung thick in the air, heavy with unsaid words and pent-up frustration. It was palpable, suffocating.

I broke eye contact first, dabbing at my lips with my napkin as though the simple action could hide the whirlwind of emotions storming inside me.

Turning to Alessandro, I forced my voice to remain steady despite the slight buzz of the wine still lingering in my system. “Sorry, Alessandro, but I need to be at the office early tomorrow. There’s a meeting with a client I can’t miss.”

I pushed back my chair and stood, feeling the weight of Luca’s gaze on me as I tried to maintain my composure. My steps were slow, deliberate, though my heart pounded in my chest.

“Leaving already?” Isobel’s voice, soft yet sharp, cut through the thick silence of the room. “Is this because of me, Elena? You seem upset.”

Her doe-eyed innocence was laced with guilt, but it was the practiced kind—too rehearsed to be real. “Please, don’t be angry, Elena, we really didn’t mean to upset you.”

She always had a way of twisting the situation to make me seem unreasonable, the villain in whatever unspoken narrative she was weaving. I raised an eyebrow, barely hiding my contempt.

“Me? Upset?” I let out a small laugh, the sarcasm dripping from my words. “Don’t flatter yourself, Isobel. I just need some sleep.”

I forced a smile, sliding my chair neatly back into place before turning to leave. Just as I took a step, a firm hand clamped around my wrist.

“You’ve got to stop with this attitude, Elena.”