“You Have Nothing,” They Told Her—Then the Mafia Boss in a Wheelchair Suddenly Stood Up for Her

She also understood that, despite Livia’s repeated unkindness, she still cared about her cousin.

Before she could explain, a waiter approached Alessio and leaned down to whisper something.

Alessio’s expression remained controlled.

Marco leaned closer.

Valentina tightened her grip on her glass.

Isabella noticed a dark stain on the waiter’s left cuff.

It was reddish brown.

Blood.

The waiter stepped away too quickly.

He moved toward the service corridor, pressing 1 hand against his ribs beneath his jacket.

Alessio noticed Isabella watching him.

“What is it?”

She hesitated.

“The waiter is bleeding.”

Marco immediately moved toward the corridor.

The waiter ran.

Guests screamed as guards pursued him.

Alessio turned his chair sharply.

The sudden movement pulled at his brace.

Isabella saw his body tense.

Without thinking, she placed a hand against the side of the wheelchair to steady it.

“Don’t twist,” she said.

Alessio looked at her.

Then he stopped moving.

A short time later, Marco returned with the waiter and 2 guards.

The man had a knife wound in his side.

He was frightened and losing blood.

He collapsed to his knees before Alessio.

“Please,” he gasped. “They made me do it.”

Marco gripped his collar.

“Do what?”

The waiter looked toward Isabella.

“Not him,” he whispered.

“Her.”

Isabella went cold.

Alessio’s voice became quiet.

“Explain.”

“They said the Romano woman would be easy to get near. The big 1. The 1 no 1 watches.”

He struggled to speak.

“They said put the envelope in her bag before midnight.”

Livia’s face drained of color.

Isabella stared at him.

“What envelope?”

“I don’t know. I swear. They gave it to Carlo Viscari.”

Alessio looked toward the doors through which Carlo had been removed.

Then his attention shifted to Isabella’s silver purse lying beside her untouched dessert.

Marco picked up the purse and opened it carefully.

Inside was a sealed black envelope.

Isabella stared.

It had not been there before.

“That isn’t mine,” she whispered.

Livia stepped backward.

“Bella, what did you do?”

Isabella turned toward her.

“What?”

“I told you not to get involved.”

The accusation came so quickly that Isabella almost failed to recognize what Livia was doing.

Alessio did not.

“Enough.”

Marco handed him the envelope.

Alessio opened it with a silver knife from the table.

Inside were a photograph, a hotel key card, and a note written in block letters.

He read the note twice.

Valentina looked toward him.

“Alessio?”

He raised his eyes to Isabella.

“Someone planned to frame you for helping an assassin enter my private suite tonight.”

Isabella stood abruptly.

The chair scraped against the floor.

“I didn’t. I would never—”

“I know.”

She stopped.

Alessio held her gaze.

“You just risked public humiliation to stop my pain. Then you noticed blood on a waiter trained to hide it.”

His expression remained certain.

“You are many things, Isabella Romano, but careless is not 1 of them.”

Her eyes filled.

Alessio turned toward Marco.

“Lock every exit.”

The guards obeyed.

Guests began protesting.

Valentina stood.

“No 1 leaves this ballroom until my son knows which coward tried to use this woman as a weapon.”

Isabella looked across the room.

Only an hour earlier, people had avoided standing near her.

Now the ballroom had been sealed because someone had attempted to make her responsible for an assassination.

Alessio turned toward her.

“Sit beside me.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because whoever chose you thought no 1 would defend the woman everyone rejected.”

He rested his hand on the armrest.

“They were wrong.”

Isabella sat.

For the first time that evening, she felt that the most powerful man in the ballroom believed her.

The ballroom doors closed 1 after another.

Each lock sounded clearly across the marble hall.

Guests who had spent the evening exchanging pleasantries with powerful criminal families began to understand that they were no longer free to leave.

Moretti guards collected telephones from men who attempted to make calls. Women gripped their purses, jewelry, and the arms of their husbands.

The string quartet had stopped.

Approximately 300 people remained inside.

Isabella sat beside Alessio at the head table, her silver gown wrinkled from kneeling beside his wheelchair.

The black envelope lay open before them.

The photograph showed the private elevator leading to Alessio’s suite upstairs.

The key card bore the Bellamir Hotel crest.

The note explained the intended deception.

Plant the card. Blame the Romano woman. No one will question it. She is invisible enough.

Isabella read the final words repeatedly.

Invisible enough.

The people behind the plot had chosen her because they believed nobody would defend her. She lacked the influence of the families around her and had already spent the evening being treated as an unimportant assistant.

If the card were found in her purse, the conspirators expected everyone to accept her guilt without investigation.

Alessio picked up the note.

His face remained composed, but Isabella noticed the stillness in his shoulders.

Valentina stood behind her son’s wheelchair.

She placed a hand against the carved back of Isabella’s chair.

The gesture was deliberate. In front of the entire ballroom, she was making it clear that Isabella now had the protection of the Moretti family.

Several guests noticed.

Marco brought the wounded waiter into the center of the ballroom and forced him into a chair.

A physician attending the gala was instructed to keep the man alive.

Alessio looked at the waiter.

“Who gave you the envelope?”

“Carlo Viscari,” the waiter answered.

“Where is Carlo?”

Marco stepped forward.

“He was removed through the west corridor. My men are searching.”

Alessio examined the guests.

“Someone helped him.”

Nobody spoke.

Isabella noticed Livia standing a short distance away.

Her cousin had not taken a seat. She was pale, with 1 hand resting against her throat.

Earlier, Livia had looked completely at ease among the wealthy guests.

Now she appeared frightened.

“I didn’t know about any envelope,” Livia said suddenly.

No 1 had accused her yet.

Valentina turned toward her.

“Interesting thing to deny before being asked.”

Livia opened her mouth but said nothing.

Isabella watched her.

She could accept that Livia was vain, selfish, and ashamed of being associated with a cousin who did not fit the room’s preferred appearance.

But the possibility that Livia had participated in an attempt to frame her for an assassination was far more difficult to understand.

Alessio turned toward Isabella.

“Tell me what you saw before the waiter came to my table.”

She hesitated.

A room full of people was watching her.

Her instinct was to withdraw and allow the armed men to conduct their investigation.

Then she remembered the note.

She placed her hands together in her lap.

“He came from the service corridor,” she began. “But he was breathing hard before he reached us. Not from running. From pain.”

Alessio nodded.

“Go on.”

“His cuff was bloody. He tried to keep that side turned away from the guards.”

She paused.

“But he looked at my purse before he looked at you.”

Marco’s eyes sharpened.

“You noticed that?”

“Yes.”

Someone at the back of the ballroom muttered that her recollection was convenient.

Alessio raised 1 finger without turning.

A guard moved toward the speaker.

The muttering stopped.

Isabella continued.

“The envelope was already in my purse before he reached the table. He wasn’t coming to plant it. He was coming to warn someone.”

The waiter lifted his head.

“Yes,” he said desperately. “Yes, signorina. I swear I changed my mind.”

Marco seized his jaw.

“Why?”

“Because they stabbed me when I said I wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“Who stabbed you?”

The waiter looked toward Livia.

She recoiled.

“No. Absolutely not.”

He shook his head.

“Not her. The man beside her earlier. Tall, gray beard, red pocket square.”

Isabella examined the guests.

Several men wore dark suits.

Only 1 wore a red pocket square.

Vittorio Salvi.

He was a wealthy importer, an old acquaintance of the Romano family, and 1 of the men who had greeted Livia by kissing her hand when she arrived.

He stood near the champagne table beside his wife.

His face was carefully blank.

Alessio looked toward him.

“Vittorio.”

Salvi smiled.

“Don Moretti, surely you’re not taking the word of a wounded waiter and a seamstress over a family friend.”

Isabella knew that Salvi had chosen the word seamstress to diminish her.

She loved sewing and respected the skill required to make and repair clothing. Her father had taught her that work done with one’s hands deserved respect.

But Salvi spoke as though the occupation disqualified her from being believed.

Alessio’s eyes darkened.

“Careful.”

Salvi lifted both hands.

“I only mean grief has made the girl dramatic. Her father died poor, did he not?”

He looked toward Isabella.

“Debt makes people desperate. Perhaps she planted the envelope herself and then pretended innocence.”

Isabella felt sick.

Salvi was attempting to turn her financial circumstances into evidence against her.

Livia whispered, “Vittorio, stop.”

Alessio heard.

He turned toward her.

“What does he have over you?”

“Nothing.”

Valentina leaned forward.

“My dear, you’re a poor liar for someone so practiced at performing.”

Livia’s eyes filled with tears.

“He promised to help my family.”

Isabella stood.

“What family? Your father’s company is fine.”

Livia looked at her.

“No, Bella, it isn’t.”

She swallowed.

“My father has been borrowing for months. We owe Salvi nearly everything.”

Isabella stared at her cousin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Livia laughed bitterly.

“And what would you have done? Sewn us out of debt?”

The remark hurt.

But after everything that had happened, Isabella no longer felt compelled to retreat.

“No,” she replied. “I would have told you not to sell me to cover it.”

Livia flinched.

Across the room, Salvi began moving toward a side door.

Marco noticed.

He nodded to 2 guards, who immediately blocked the exit.

Alessio turned back toward Isabella.

“Why use you?”

She understood.

“Because if the key card was found in Livia’s purse, people would investigate carefully. She matters to them.”

She looked toward the envelope.

“If it was found in mine, everyone would believe I was desperate for attention, money, or revenge.”

Salvi gave a cold smile.

“An intelligent theory.”

“No,” Isabella answered. “A familiar 1.”

The ballroom remained silent.

Alessio spoke without taking his eyes off Salvi.

“Search him.”

Salvi stiffened.

“You have no right.”

Alessio answered quietly.

“I have every right I can enforce.”

Marco searched Salvi’s jacket.

From an inner pocket, he removed a small silver phone, another hotel key card, and a folded receipt from a private medical supplier.

He examined the receipt, then handed it to Alessio.

Alessio read it.

His expression changed.

“What is it?” Isabella asked.

“A duplicate order for a brace lock.”

Isabella immediately looked toward Alessio’s leg.

She remembered the metallic crack, the twisted lower strap, and the unnatural angle of the brace.

The incident had not been an accident.

“The strap didn’t just slip,” she said.

“No,” Alessio answered.

Marco seized Salvi by the collar.

“You tampered with his brace.”

Salvi did not respond.

Valentina went pale.

“You put my son in pain in front of this room.”

Salvi swallowed.

“It was only meant to humiliate him. To make him look weak. The envelope was insurance.”

Alessio looked directly at him.

“Insurance against whom?”

Salvi glanced toward Livia.

“The Romanos needed money. Carlo needed revenge. The Rosettes wanted access. Everyone wanted something.”

Isabella began assembling the separate details.

Someone had tampered with Alessio’s brace before the gala.

When the equipment failed, the resulting pain was supposed to humiliate him publicly.

During the confusion, a key card would be placed inside Isabella’s purse.

Later, when an assassin entered Alessio’s private suite, the conspirators intended to present the card as evidence that Isabella had helped arrange the attack.

Her poverty, appearance, and lack of social standing were meant to make the accusation believable.

The conspirators had assumed she would be easy to sacrifice.

Alessio moved his wheelchair toward Salvi.

“You chose her.”

Salvi was sweating.

“She was convenient.”

“No,” Alessio replied. “She was kind.”

He held Salvi’s gaze.

“You mistook that for weakness because men like you only understand kindness when you can use it.”

Isabella felt tears gathering.

He had described precisely what the conspirators had attempted to do.

Salvi tried to recover his composure.

“Don Moretti, we can discuss terms.”

Alessio looked almost bored.

“There are no terms for a man who attacks my body and frames an innocent woman.”

He turned toward Marco.

“Take him downstairs. Keep him alive. I want every name before dawn.”

Salvi began shouting.

Marco and the guards removed him.

His wife fainted into another woman’s arms.

For several seconds, the nearby guests hesitated before offering assistance.

Livia remained beside the table, trembling.

Tears ran down her face.

“Bella, I didn’t know it would go this far.”

Isabella looked at her.

“How far did you think it would go?”

Livia wiped her cheeks.

“Salvi said Carlo would make a joke. That Alessio would be embarrassed. That you might be blamed for getting too close.”

She struggled to continue.

“But nothing dangerous. He said no 1 would truly hurt you.”

Isabella stared at her.

“You were willing to let me be humiliated.”

“I was desperate.”

“So was I when my father was dying,” Isabella said. “I did not sell you.”

Livia began sobbing.

In the past, Isabella would have moved toward her automatically.

She would have embraced her, reassured her, and found some way to make the situation less uncomfortable.

This time, she remained where she was.

Livia looked up.

“Do you hate me?”

Isabella thought about the cousin who had introduced her as something resembling an assistant, laughed along with people who dismissed her, and accepted the possibility of her public humiliation to protect her own family.

“Not yet,” she said softly.

“But I’m tired of loving people who survive by shrinking me.”

Livia recoiled.

Isabella sat because her legs were trembling.

Valentina watched with approval.

Alessio turned his wheelchair toward her.

“You saved me twice tonight.”

Isabella shook her head.

“I adjusted a strap and noticed blood.”

“Do not make courage sound small because you’re uncomfortable owning it.”

She looked at him.

The strain of the evening had begun showing in his face.