His To Ruin: The Mafia Don’s Favorite Sin

ISABELLA One call was all it took to shatter everything I knew about my world. I stand in front of Cozy Cups, my favorite café, a warm cup of coffee in one hand and the other tucked deep in my pocket. I am soaking in the familiar sights and sounds of New York City when my phone buzzes. I pull it out and see the name: Dad. I freeze. My Dad doesn’t call and he usually texts when he has to, keeping things short and distant. Calls mean something is wrong. I stare at the screen a second too long, unease curling tight in my chest, before I force myself to answer. “Hello?” There is silence. Then a deep and unfamiliar voice speaks. “Isabella…” I stiffen. That isn’t my father. And it isn’t my brother either. The voice is cold, calm, and threatening at the same time. “Who…who is this?” I stammer. “The man who will slit your father’s throat and make your entire family vanish if you don’t follow my instructions.” The words make my legs grow weak. I grip my phone tighter, heart pounding. “What do you wan—” “Your father needs you home. In an hour, not a minute more.” “I don’t understand—” The call ends. “Hello? Hello?” I keep saying, but the line is dead. I lower the phone slowly, my hands trembling as my thoughts spiral. Whoever that man is, he used my dad’s phone which means my father was close enough for him to take it. Close enough to be hurt. Or worse. I look around in panic, dropping my cup of coffee and moving closer to the road. The street feels different now, like eyes are on me. I have no time to think, so I flag down a taxi and jump in. “Madison Avenue,” I blurt. “Please, it’s an emergency.” The driver takes off. The taxi ride feels like it lasts forever, even though I keep looking at the time, watching the minutes slip away. My thoughts are everywhere, chasing the same question over and over. What kind of trouble has my dad landed in now? What went wrong this time? I know the life he leads: the whispered conversations late at night, the way he locks his office door when certain visitors come over and the number of guns in the house. I have spent my entire life keeping my distance from it, thinking it couldn’t touch me if I stayed far enough away. Music is my escape. It always has been. I went to music school, graduated, and I am set to start my master’s in Switzerland next semester. I thought I had made it out clean, and untouched. So how did I end up here, racing back toward the very world I fought so hard to escape? My palms feel clammy. I wipe them on my jeans and glance at the time again. Fifty-five minutes have passed. I am cutting it close. When the taxi finally pulls up to the villa, I barely wait for it to stop before shoving a handful of bills at the driver and jumping out. I sprint toward the house, my heart pounding in dread, but as soon as I get to the entrance, I skid to a halt when I see three black Rolls-Royces parked in the driveway. I don’t recognize them, and I know my father doesn’t own cars like that. My stomach twists as I figure that the cars belong to whoever threatened me on the phone. I run to the front door and push it open, stepping inside. What I see makes my heart drop. My Dad is kneeling in the middle of the living room, his head bowed, blood dripping from his mouth and staining his shirt red. My mum is beside him, tears streaming down her face, and her shoulders shake with sobs. My brother, Anton, is there too. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. The family accountant is on his knees as well, his expression caught somewhere between terror and resignation. A shiver runs through me as I take in the men surrounding them. They are dressed in black suits with dark sunglasses hiding their eyes and they stand perfectly still. I take a shaky step forward, my legs barely holding me up. “Dad… What’s going on here?” “Your father owes me a debt.” Someone cuts through before he can answer. I know that voice. It’s the same one from the phone. The voice guides my eyes across the room and two bodyguards, each built like walls of muscle, step aside. And there he is: Luca Moretti. I recognize him instantly, and my heart slams against my ribs. For a moment, I can’t breathe. What the hell is he doing in our house? Luca just sits there, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers lazily tapping the arm of the chair. Thick black hair frames his face that looks carved from stone, and a thin scar cuts above his left eyebrow. Then there are his blue eyes: cold and impossible to escape. He wears a black suit tailored to perfection, but there’s nothing refined about Luca. He is a predator wrapped in silk, a wolf barely pretending to be a man. Everyone knows his name. His face is splashed across the news, and etched into the city’s darkest history. People speak his name with respect, fear, and a hint of awe. Some say he built the DeLuca Empire with flesh and blood, that his hands are soaked in more sins than any man could count. They call him the King of New York—the man who owns the city’s pulse, its secrets, its very soul. But those are the generous names. Others call him the devil. I think that’s also too kind because to me, a man like him is worse—something hollowed out by power, driven by hunger and an endless need for control. If Luca Moretti is in our home, then my father hasn’t just made a mistake. He hasn’t misstepped or miscalculated. He has dined with the devil himself. Luca’s gaze snaps to mine, his lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smile, and goosebumps mask my skin. Slowly, he rises from the chair, stepping toward me and the room seems to shrink around him. He is tall, the heels of his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor as he closes the distance between us and stops in front of my Dad. Dad doesn’t look up, his chest heaving, and his face twisted in pain. Luca grabs his jaw, his fingers digging in cruelly, forcing his head up. My mum lets out a broken sob, her hands shaking as she watches. “Please,” she begs. “Please, let him go.” “Don’t hurt him,” I plead, my own voice cracking as tears blur my vision. Luca lifts his free hand and presses one finger to his lips. The command is clear: shut up. And I do just that. He takes out a small blade and begins to run it lightly across my dad’s forehead, just enough to leave a thin, red line. My dad whimpers while my mum’s cries grow louder. “I welcomed you into my home, Enzo,” Luca says. “I dined with you even when everyone called you panzone.” His mouth curls around the insult, his expression hardening. “I trusted you with my business. And trust is hard to come by these days, Enzo.” He tilts my father’s head higher, forcing their eyes to lock. “And what did I receive as compensation?” My dad’s eyes are wide now, his face dripping with blood and sweat. He looks small, broken and his lips tremble as he speaks. “Please, Don Luca. I—I will repay you. I swear.” Luca remains utterly still, like a predator that already knows how this ends. His grip on my father’s jaw tightens as he studies him. “Haven’t I been merciful?” he demands. “Not everyone loses me two million dollars and lives to see the next day.” My father’s eyes dart around the room, searching for a shred of mercy. “I was understanding, Enzo,” Luca continues, his gaze darkening even more. “Because you told me you have a family. Because you told me you have a daughter.” Tears burn behind my eyes, my throat tightens until it hurts, and a plea slips out before I can stop it. “Please,” I whisper, my hands coming together instinctively. My father is shaking violently now, his entire body quaking as panic takes over. “I—I can pay you back,” he stammers. “Soon. I promise. I just need more time. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. My accountant…he’s the one who—” The words spill out in a rush, excuses tripping over each other. He points a trembling finger at the accountant kneeling beside him and the man stiffens, his mouth opening as if to defend himself. But Luca’s expression doesn’t change. His eyes are cold, and detached. Without a word, he extends his hand and one of his men steps forward, placing a small pistol on his palm. “No!” The scream rips out of me before I even know I am speaking. The click of the gun being c****d is deafening. Time slows, and my heart thunders in my ears. I brace for the shot, my mind already reeling at the thought of my father— The gun goes off. A deafening shot echoes, but it is the accountant who crumples to the ground, lifeless. I flinch, a scream caught in my throat. My knees buckle, and I have to grab the edge of a sofa to stop myself from collapsing. I stare at the dead man in horror, watching his blood pool on the floor. Luca turns his attention to me, and I hold my breath. “You must be curious as to why you’re here,” he says in a smooth voice, as if he hasn’t just ended a man’s life in cold blood. He inhales deeply, his eyes raking over my frozen form. Without waiting for a reply, he says, “You’re here, Isabella, because your father used you as collateral for his debt.”