THE WAY WE WERE BEFORE

ISABELLA'S POV

The ballroom glows with warm golden light, the chandeliers shining soft reflections on the marble floor. Powerful mafia families move through the room, exchanging fake smiles and empty pleasantries. Their guards stand in the shadows, watching out for any incoming danger.

I walk in beside my family in my beautiful black gown. The dress hugs my figure, and I could sense that a lot of people in the room had their eyes on me. Anyways, I am used to it; people have always had something to say about me. My father always said it was the price of our name. I remember when I turned eighteen, and my father threw a grand party to celebrate. The estate was filled with guests, business colleagues, enemies pretending to be friends, and, of course, their ever-watchful wives. I could hear their whispers as I walked past. "Why is this young girl putting on such a revealing dress? They keep spoiling these kids until they end up completely " One of the wives whispered. Even then, I had learned to ignore them, to let their words roll off me like water. But that night, as I danced under the chandeliers, I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what I did, I would always be a topic of conversation.

At the bar, I notice two men. The first one has his arms placed casually on the deck, smiling sheepishly as he speaks to the other. The second, taller and more imposing, has a drink in his hand, with a bored expression.

His suit fits perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders. Even from across the room, I can feel his commanding presence. His dark blue eyes scan the ballroom, sharp and unreadable, as if assessing everyone around him.

Vincenzo Romano.

I've heard of him, of course. Everyone has. The youngest Don in Italy's history, known for his ruthlessness and various killings and kidnappings. His reputation precedes him, nobody dares cross his path. Beside him, his younger brother Matteo leans against the bar, gesturing as he speaks. Whatever he's saying, it's ignored; Vincenzo doesn't even glance his way.

My gaze shifts back to my father, who is engaged in conversation with Nicolo Romano. I recognize him immediately. Even with his back partially turned, his stiff posture and commanding aura never go unnoticed. My father catches my eye and gestures for us to join him, while Nicolo does the same to his sons.

I walk through the crowd effortlessly, smiling and nodding along the way. A woman from the Marcello family stops me, her lips curving into a sly smile. "That dress is quite daring, don't you think?"

I smiled at her, tilting my head slightly. "Well I don't think so, I love to stand out and look unique." My voice was polite, but there was a sharpness she didn't miss. Her face stiffened, and with a small huff, she stepped aside.

I walked over to my father, who was already shaking hands with Vincenzo. "Ah, Vincenzo," he said, turning to me. "I want you to meet my daughter."

My father's words make me uneasy, but I keep a polite smile and step forward, stretching out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Vincenzo," I say warmly.

He barely looks at me, gives my hand a quick shake, and lets go. "I'm sure it is," he mutters before turning back to his drink.

His response felt like a slap, but I refuse to let it show. "The gala is breathtaking, don't you think?" I ask, studying him closely, trying to see what he is really all about.

He shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "It serves its purpose."

I force a tight smile, murmuring under my breath. "Such a Jerk."

Before I can step back, Vincenzo's brother Matteo approaches, his demeanor an immediate contrast to Vincenzo's. He smiles warmly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "So, how was your first impression of my brother?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I can't help but laugh softly, despite my annoyance. "If I had to guess, I'd say he doesn't like small talk." I tried to seem unoffended.

Matteo chuckles, the sound light and carefree. "Yeah, well, he's not much for small talk. But that's what makes him Vincenzo Romano, I suppose. Always serious, always calculating." He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Too bad he's not as charming as me."

I arch a brow, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. "That's one way to put it."

Matteo shrugs nonchalantly. "I like to think I'm a bit more approachable. But that's probably why I'm the one who gets to enjoy these events while Vincenzo broods in the corner." He leans in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "No need to worry about him. He's all business, always has been."

Before I can respond, Matteo spots someone across the room and gives me a playful salute. "Duty calls. But don't worry, I'll be around if you need more entertaining company."

As he walks away, I find myself chuckling softly. Matteo is undeniably charming, but my mind drifts back to Vincenzo. He hasn't moved, hasn't looked my way again. He seemed lost.

I glance at him one more time, trying to see if I can get an eye contact or any contact whatsoever but then as I looked it dawned on me that Vincenzo Romano is not someone I'll ever get along with.

The rest of the evening unfolds in the same calculated chaos these galas always bring. Waiters walking to and fro through the crowd with trays of champagne, the soft tone played from the speakers, providing an elegant backdrop to the low murmur of voices.

At one point, I find myself speaking with a wealthy arms dealer's wife, who spends several minutes telling the virtues of her new villa in Lake Como. I nod politely, pretending to care, while my mind drifts back to Vincenzo.

"This guy doesn't care about your existence, just move on" I thought to myself. I can feel his presence even when I'm not looking. It's ironic that I crave his arrogant ass than his very charming brother; a proper recipe for disaster.

Later in the evening, Matteo crosses my path again, offering a wink and a quick quip about the absurdity of the Marcello family's outfits. His humor is a welcome reprieve, and for a brief moment, I find myself genuinely smiling.

The night feels endless, conversations never stopped, smiles and grins unending. By the time my family is preparing to leave, I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. As I walk toward the exit, I steal one last glance at Vincenzo. He's still at the bar, his drink untouched now, his gaze distant.

He doesn't look at me. I guess I don't fit into his type of girls.

And I don't care. Or at least, that's what I tell myself.