The Fleeing Princess

The first time I crossed paths with Adrian Moretti, I thought I could break him.

Turns out, I was the one who shattered.

He wasn’t just the cold, calculating underboss of the Russo crime family—he was the man my father assigned to “discipline” me, to smooth out my reckless edges.

“He’s supposed to tame me?” I scoffed, eyeing the man in the tailored black suit, his expression carved from stone. “He looks like a goddamn accountant.”

In our world, the Moretti family ruled the city’s underground. Adrian wasn’t just another soldier.

He was the family’s most trusted enforcer—cold, precise, untouchable.

And I, Isabella Russo, the spoiled mafia princess, was not about to take orders from him.

So I fought him.

On his first day, I set fire to his lavish villa, watching flames devour the marble walls and glass ceilings until the estate collapsed into ashes.

He only looked at me once, his voice flat and merciless:

“Send the bill to Miss Russo’s paycheck.”

The next day, I switched his board presentation with a porn reel.

He didn’t flinch. He recited the entire plan by memory and closed a multimillion-dollar deal, leaving the room in stunned silence.

The third day, At a high-profile business gala, I slipped a powerful aphrodisiac into his drink, hoping he’d lose control and make a scene.

But I was the one carried into a penthouse suite, ruined until my knees gave out under his brutal, relentless control.

Everyone in New York whispered that Adrian was disciplined, untouchable—a gentleman in tailored suits.

But only I knew the truth—at night, when his control snapped, he was fire and steel, merciless in the ways he made me surrender.

The backseat of his Rolls.

The mahogany table in the conference room.

Against the glass window of his skyscraper office, the city burning below.

I should have hated him.

Instead, I craved him like a drug.

Until the night I learned the truth.

Adrian Moretti wasn’t just the Russo family’s enforcer.

He’s true name is Leon Moretti—the heir to the entire empire.

The man I was promised to since birth.

The man I had hated, desired, and belonged to in every way—was the very heir I was supposed to marry.

It should have been perfect.

But my chest felt hollow.

I dialed my father. My voice was steady, though my hand shook.

“I’ll give the engagement to Elena,” I said. “But I have conditions.”

On the other end, his voice lit up with joy. “Anything, Isabella. Just say it.”

“I want two hundred million.”

Silence. Then an outraged bark. “You’ll bankrupt us!”

I laughed coldly. “Don’t play dumb. The Morettis offered three hundred. You’ll pocket a hundred, Elena gets the title of Mafia princess, and I disappear. That’s profit, not loss.”

Silence again. Then, a sharp breath. “Deal.”

But my mother’s voice cut in, wary, sharp as glass. “And how do we know you won’t change your mind?”

The distrust sliced deeper than I expected.

I forced my voice calm. “In two weeks, I’ll be gone. Out of the country. You’ll never see me again.”

There was a pause. Then, quiet satisfaction on the other end. “Good girl.”

I hung up, my chest burning.

I once was the family’s little princess. Until they brought Elena home.

Elena.——The daughter who had been stolen as a child, only to be found years later. Broken. Fragile. Perfect for their guilt to cling to.

And me?

The master bedroom my mother promised would one day be mine—given to her without a word.

The family heirloom necklace, passed from daughter to daughter for generations—clasped around her throat as if I’d never been born.

Even my place at the university abroad, the future I’d spent years preparing for—handed to her like it was nothing, while I was told to stay behind and be “grateful.”

Whenever I protested, I was told: “She suffered so much, Isabella. You’ve had everything. Can’t you let her have this?”

Piece by piece, I was hollowed out.

Even the marriage contract my grandmother had signed with the Moretti family—mine since birth—was being stolen, handed to Elena like a prize.

I’d smashed things, screamed, fought until my throat bled. But in the end, they had sent me away.

To Adrian——To be broken, reshaped, “tamed.”

And the cruelest part?

It worked.

Because against all reason, I had fallen for him.

Not just for the man who pinned me against cold glass and whispered my name like a command.

But for the man who shielded me from predators in the clubs. Who took bullets meant for me. Who carried me through five miles of mud after a landslide buried us alive on a trip up north.

The man whose sharp, proud profile was burned into my soul.

I loved him.

God help me, I loved him.

So when I planned to confess, I carried a gift to his study, my heart pounding.

And then I heard his voice.

“Leon, how long are you going to play this role? Pretending to be an underboss, working for scraps, when you’re the heir to everything?”

A friend’s voice, mocking, carried through the crack in the door.

Adrian’s reply was flat, cold. “Without Elena, I’d be dead. I owe her everything.”

“You can’t be serious. You have Isabella. She’s your fiancée. The whole city thinks—”

A low, humorless laugh cut him off.

“She’s just a spoiled girl. Reckless. Immature. Not fit to be my wife.”

The words drove through me like knives.

I stood frozen, the gift box slipping from my hands, shattering on the floor.

So that was the truth.

The man I had given my body, my heart, my soul—his thoughts had always lingered on Elena.

And me?

I was nothing but a lesson. A distraction.

A body to punish, to tame, to use.

My throat closed. My chest burned.

Adrian—Leon—whatever name he wore, he was never mine.

And in that moment, I knew.

Not only was I done with the engagement.

I was done with him.

Forever.

My eyes burned red, tears clawing at me, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

The bathroom door suddenly opened and Adrian came over. When he saw my eyes, he paused for a moment and asked, "My princess, why are you crying?"