1.Poor Café Girl Helped a Mafia Mother — Next Morning, Four Bodyguards Came For Her

One month later, the Marino estate had transformed.

The dreary grounds were blooming with fresh white hydrangeas, terraced stone walkways, and vibrant green lawns designed by Bella. She had poured her soul into the landscape architecture project, working closely with contractors paid for by the Marino trust.

She lived in a beautiful, sunlit guest house on the grounds, surrounded by books, security guards, and the warmth of Rosa, who treated her like a beloved daughter.

And then there was Marco.

Every evening at 7:00 PM, Marco would walk down to the gardens. He would sit on a stone bench, watching Bella work, sipping his scotch, listening to her talk about plants, light, and architectural history.

The cold, ruthless mob boss melted away whenever he was near her. He laughed. He listened. He looked at her as if she were the only bright light in a dark, violent world.

On a Friday morning, a massive black box wrapped in silk ribbon arrived at Bella’s door.

Inside was a floor-length red velvet gown, delicate diamond earrings, and a handwritten note in dark ink:

Tonight is the Annual Harbor Gala at the Drake Hotel. My mother requests your presence. I require it. — M.

At 8:00 PM, the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was packed with Chicago's high society—politicians, judges, corporate tycoons, and senior syndicate leaders.

When the double doors opened, Marco Marino walked into the room.

He looked striking in a black tuxedo. But what made the entire room freeze was the woman on his arm.

Bella looked stunning. The red velvet dress hugged her curves gracefully, her dark curls pinned up with diamond clips, her hazel eyes sparkling under the crystal chandeliers.

Murmurs rippled through the ballroom.

"Who is she?" a senator whispered.

"Is that Marino's new fiancé?" a corporate developer muttered.

Marco didn't care about the whispers. He held Bella’s hand firmly on his arm, leading her through the crowd like a queen.

"Are you nervous?" Marco asked, leaning down to speak softly against her hair.

"Terrified," Bella confessed, smiling brightly. "Everyone is staring at me."

"They are staring because you are the most beautiful woman in this room," Marco said plainly, his voice filled with absolute conviction.

Before Bella could answer, a heavy, older man with a thick moustache and a gold watch stepped into their path, flanked by three large bodyguards.

Dominic Moretti.

The head of the rival South Side family—the man who had sent the hitmen to Bella’s apartment.

"Marco," Moretti sneered, raising his glass of champagne. "I see you brought a guest. The famous coffee girl."

The air around Marco instantly turned sub-zero.

"Watch your tongue, Moretti," Marco said, his voice dropping into a deadly register.

Moretti laughed, stepping closer, looking at Bella with arrogant contempt. "She’s pretty, Marco. But a street girl in a red dress doesn't make her royalty. She doesn't belong here."

Bella felt a sudden surge of pride. She stepped forward, standing right beside Marco, her chin lifted high.

"Mr. Moretti," Bella said clearly, her voice echoing over the quieted circle of onlookers. "I spent five years serving coffee to men like you. The only difference between you and the drunkards on 4th Street is that their suits cost less."

The surrounding guests gasped.

Marco’s face broke into a broad, triumphant grin. He let out a dark, delighted laugh that vibrated through his chest.

Moretti’s face flushed blood-red. "You little—"

"Step back, Dominic," Marco commanded, taking half a step forward, his shadow engulfing the older man. "If you speak to Miss Marino again, I will strip your family of every shipping dock from here to Detroit by midnight."

Moretti swallowed hard, looking into Marco’s cold, lethal eyes, and backed away into the crowd without another word.

Marco turned to Bella, his eyes burning with intense admiration and love.

"Signorina Marino," Marco whispered, offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"