The Alliance: The First Book in the Mafia Boss Series

Chapter 2~ Princess

~Isabella POV~

My father and I had a very complicated relationship. I noticed that he would always become angry and unhinged whenever he spoke about my mother. No one dared to ever bring her name up, and I learned to do the same even though I was her spitting image. My auburn curly hair, my bronze-colored skin, my curves, all the way to my greenish blue eyes. All of these became a constant reminder I suspected of a woman who betrayed my father.

There was still a lot of secrecy when it came to my mother. It was literally one day she was there and the next day she was not. I was barely five years old when I lost her. My Aunt Luna told me she died but no one dared speak about how it happened. I did not go to her funeral, nor did I know for sure if she had a funeral.

I knew very fast to keep away from my father, who would use every opportunity to demean me to my face. To the outside world, I was his pride and joy, but those who knew better know me as the forgotten, hated daughter. My cousin, Alto, received more affection from him than I ever received and stood to inherit the family business and not me. Which I was all too relieved about.

My father did not have much use for women. He described us as “conniving cunts who always had an ulterior motive". His hatred for me fueled my need to gain his respect. I knew my way around guns and was a master at the shooting range by the time I turned 16 years old. I could disarm an armed man in under 30 seconds. I could pick a lock with my hairpin and disable any safe in under three minutes.

Dino would let me tag along his various “other projects” after catching me in the back seat of his car too many times to count. Hence, how I received the nickname, “Trouble”. He figured he might as well teach me the ropes than for me to be helpless.

But today, I feel totally helpless. I have one day before, D-Day! I had gone through the necessary procedures and gotten the dress, a shapely mermaid dress that hugged me in all the right places, the venue, cake, flowers, color scheme was picked out by my aunt, Luna. I was unceremoniously, without apology, stood up by my “fiancé” for the food tasting three months ago, so that, too, I left for my aunt to do.

My maid of Honor was my best friend, Nina, who I suspect had a crush on my fiancé and couldn’t quite know why I wasn’t fist-pumping the air with the thought of marrying Victor Bernardi. Nina was not part of my world, so although she saw men with guns, me always needing constant guards around me, to her, she thought it was more of a product of having money and not necessarily the dangerous lifestyle I was a part of.

I didn’t realize I had been looking out the window for the last hour until my phone rang and shook me out of my reverie. It was an unknown number. I was not one to answer unknown numbers but, in our world, it could be a contact of the most importance, so I picked up but didn’t say a word.

I then heard a deep voice. “Is this the Rossi PRINCESS?” The man on the phone made sure to drawl out the word Princess.

I responded abruptly, “It's Isabella Rossi, you have 5- seconds to spit it out.”

“Ouch, is that a way to talk to your husband?” he asked amusingly.

I was stunned, not sure if this could really be Victor. We have been engaged for all this time and I have not heard his voice once or from him directly except for some emails that I suspect were written by his secretary and him sending my dad pictures of that night in the club with Joe or Dave, whatever.

I quickly responded with, “I don’t have a husband.”

The voice chuckled, "This time tomorrow, you will. This is Victor. Can I meet you somewhere today?"

I responded noncommittally, "My day is already packed. I don’t think I ---." He cut me off.

“Meet me at Emilio’s in the VIP lounge at 1 PM. Ask for me when you get there,” he said abruptly, then hung up the phone without waiting for my response.

As I thought about Victor’s conversation with me, if you can call it a conversation instead of a summons, it started to really get on my nerves. He did not bother to talk to me for nearly a year. He didn’t care to help arrange the “Wedding of the Century” as described by the tabloids, and now hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye.

He has a lot to learn about Anna Isabella Rossi. I do not get summoned anywhere! I do not get dismissed and I most definitely do not get hung up on. He may run New York City and even his very powerful, evil Bernardi Mafia, BUT he doesn’t run me.

I decided to go to my office in Manhattan to start my Fall clothing campaign. I bought my fashion design company right out of college with the money my mom left me in my trust. My company was named “Rinascita”, Italian for re-birth. Within 10 months, I had about 25 well renowned clients, famous supermodels on rotation, photographers, 10 personal fashion designers and had many of my own designs featured on New York and Paris runways. My company was featured in the Forbes 500 for new companies to look out for and my Claire Magazine’s spread on the newest young female entrepreneurs was a personal boom to the company’s reputation as a new powerhouse.

I was adamant to keep my own life and accomplishments away from the mafia lifestyle. This was the main reason that I had not knowingly taken one cent from my father. My mother, Claudia Armani Barche Rossi, came from the Armani Barche family whose money came from making ships and not street crime. I knew that there was a very small distinction, especially since I was enjoying a lifestyle that could only have been built by what it is to hold the “Rossi” name.

I was meeting with new up-and-coming designers in a week. I had thought about canceling, as I would be on my honeymoon, but what the f**k, what’s happening tomorrow is a business transaction and the sooner I get that in my head the better I will be. So, I pressed my direct-page intercom to my secretary, Carmen, and told her to keep all my meetings next week as scheduled. She then asked about the 1 pm appointment I pinned for today with Mr. Bernardi at Emilio’s in the VIP lounge, which was coming up in 2 hours.

I took a while to respond but then confidently said, "Call his secretary and cancel it. Tell him I was summoned to another meeting that was much more important."

Carmen hesitated, “Bella, do you really want me to use those words?”

Carmen and I have been friends since high school, and she came with me to start this company with no more than a pipe dream of its success, so she could read through the bullshit and, for the most part, kept me out of trouble.

“You realize the wedding is tomorrow?” she continued.

I retorted, "Yes, I do and, for once, in this whole affair, I am asserting some control. f**k my father, f**k the wedding and most importantly, f**k Mr. Bernardi!"

Carmen amusingly responds, “OK, it’s your funeral and with your dad and the Bernardi’s, there is a very real possibility that it is your funeral.”

Before I let go of the direct-page intercom, I said triumphantly, “YES! And what a glorious way to go!”