I found out I was pregnant at the same time 13

Isabella’s POV

The moment my real parents, Bianca and Enzo, took me to their home, I realized they hadn’t been exaggerating.

They were the most powerful mafia family in the North, their influence stretching across the globe—hundreds of times greater than what Vincent Falcone had built.

I had been stolen years ago by one of my father’s rivals during a brutal war over a drug plant development project. My father exacted revenge on the one responsible, but by the time he sought me out, I had already vanished.

But my birth parents never gave up searching for me. They just never imagined I had been raised by another mafia family—one much smaller than theirs.

At first, my father’s men didn’t believe in me. To them, I was too soft, too delicate to be Enzo’s daughter.

Even my own father told me, “As long as I’m here, you don’t need to worry about running a mafia. Just enjoy your life.”

But I wanted to prove myself.

So I trained.

Every morning, before the sun rose, I was up, sparring with my father’s top men. They went easy on me at first—until I knocked one of them out cold with a well-placed strike. After that, they stopped underestimating me.

I studied our businesses, memorizing the key players and power dynamics. I learned how deals were made—and how enemies were destroyed. My father watched me with silent approval, but he still kept his distance, unsure if I was truly ready to embrace my birthright.

Until the day I made my first move.

I intercepted a shipment that belonged to one of the Falcone allies. It wasn’t just about revenge—it was about sending a message. I was no longer the woman Vincent Falcone abandoned. I was a Rossi, and I was ready to claim my place.

When my father found out what I had done, he merely smirked. “You have my blood in you, after all.”

But my victory was short-lived.

Because that night, standing outside the Rossi estate, was Vincent.

Drenched from the rain, his suit clinging to his body, his eyes burning with something dangerous.

He had come for me.

And he wasn’t leaving without a fight.

But as I stared into his desperate gaze, something was different. This wasn’t the same Vincent Falcone who had abandoned me. The arrogance was gone, replaced by something raw. Regret. Desperation.