Chapter 5

Isabella

I barely sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see my father standing inside the bedroom staring at me with disappointment. Then the image changes into Matteo gripping his wrist while the entire room turns cold around them.

I don’t know which memory unsettles me more.

Morning arrives quietly through the large windows of the bedroom. For a few seconds, I forget where I am. Then the unfamiliar ceiling reminds me immediately.

The De Luca mansion.

My stomach tightens.

I sit up slowly, still wearing the oversized sweater Sofia brought me during the night. It smells faintly like lavender instead of expensive perfume. Somehow that surprises me.

A soft knock sounds at the door.

I instantly tense.

“Come in,” I say carefully.

Sofia steps inside carrying a tray of food. Unlike last night, she’s fully dressed now in black pants and a fitted blouse. She looks elegant without trying.

“You look exhausted,” she says.

“I’m okay.”

She gives me a look that clearly says she doesn’t believe me.

“I brought breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You say that a lot.”

Embarrassment warms my face slightly.

Sofia places the tray on the table near the window before sitting across from me. Unlike Matteo, her presence doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels calm. Easy.

Still unfamiliar.

“You can relax around me,” she says.

I almost laugh at that.

Relaxing around people has never been easy for me.

Especially not in strange places.

Especially not after last night.

Sofia studies me quietly for a moment. “Did you always apologize this much?”

I look down immediately. “Sorry.”

She sighs softly. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Silence fills the room for a few seconds before she speaks again.

“My brother scared you.”

It’s not really a question.

I hesitate carefully. “A little.”

Sofia raises an eyebrow. “Only a little?”

Despite everything, I almost smile.

Almost.

“He killed someone,” I remind her quietly.

“Yes,” she says simply. “That tends to upset people.”

The casualness of her answer catches me off guard.

Maybe people here are too used to violence.

Or maybe I’m too used to pretending violence only exists far away from me.

Sofia leans back slightly. “Matteo looks worse than he is.”

That surprises me.

“Worse?”

“He’s dangerous,” she admits. “But he doesn’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

I think about the way Matteo looked at my father last night.

Cold.

Protective.

Angry.

My chest tightens strangely.

“He hates my father,” I say quietly.

“He hates lots of people.”

That answer shouldn’t comfort me.

Somehow, it does a little.

Sofia notices my untouched breakfast and pushes the tray closer. “Eat before Matteo comes upstairs and starts staring at you again.”

I blink in confusion. “What?”

She smiles faintly. “He’s been acting strange since bringing you here.”

My stomach flips unexpectedly.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Sofia agrees. “It really doesn’t.”

Before I can respond, the bedroom door suddenly opens without knocking.

Matteo walks inside.

The room changes immediately.

But I feel it anyway.

He’s dressed entirely in black again, his expression unreadable as usual. His eyes land on me first before briefly moving toward Sofia.

“You’re awake.”

I nod carefully.

Sofia stands from the chair. “I was just making sure she ate.”

Matteo looks at the untouched food.

Then at me.

“She’s barely touched it.”

I suddenly feel guilty for no reason at all.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re lying.”

I stare at him.

He says things so directly it throws me off balance every time.

Sofia notices too because she looks amused suddenly.

“Well,” she says, grabbing the empty coffee cup, “this feels awkward enough for me to leave now.”

She walks out before either of us can answer.

The silence afterward feels heavier.

I focus on the blanket covering my legs instead of Matteo.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop me from noticing him moving closer.

“You should eat.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You look pale.”

“I always look pale.”

That almost sounds like a joke.

The realization surprises both of us.

I see it briefly in Matteo’s face before it disappears.

He walks toward the window while I slowly pick at the food just to avoid another argument.

“You really don’t trust me,” he says after a moment.

I nearly choke on my tea.

“What?”

“You flinch every time I move.”

Heat floods my face instantly.

“I’m trying not to.”

The honesty slips out accidentally.

Matteo turns toward me fully now.

“Trying not to,” he repeats quietly.

I wish I could disappear.

He watches me carefully for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Did your father ever hit you?”

The question crashes into me so suddenly I stop breathing.

“No.”

Too fast.

Too automatic.

His expression darkens slightly.

“He controls you.”

I grip the tea cup tighter. “You don’t know anything about my father.”

“I know enough.”

Anger flickers through me suddenly. Real anger this time.

“You kidnapped me.”

“Yes.”

“You kill people.”

“Yes.”

“You threaten everyone around you.”

“Yes.”

My breathing becomes uneven again, but I force myself to continue.

“So maybe you shouldn’t act like you’re better than him.”

The words hang heavily between us.

For one horrible second, I think I made a terrible mistake.

Then Matteo does something unexpected.

He nods once.

“You’re right.”

I blink in surprise.

Most powerful men hate being challenged.

My father certainly does.

But Matteo just stands there calmly accepting it.

“That doesn’t change what I said,” he continues quietly. “You’re scared of him.”

I hate that he keeps noticing.

Before I can answer, someone knocks quickly against the door.

Matteo opens it halfway while I stay frozen on the bed.

Enzo stands outside looking serious.

“We found more information about the dead guy,” he says.

Matteo’s expression sharpens instantly. “And?”

“He worked for Romano.”

My stomach drops.

Silence fills the room.

Enzo finally notices me sitting behind Matteo and gives me a brief nod before continuing.

“There’s more.”

Matteo steps fully into the hallway, but I still hear everything.

“The guy wasn’t selling information to random people,” Enzo says quietly. “He was selling information about her.”

Cold fear rushes through me instantly.

About me?

Matteo goes completely still.

Enzo lowers his voice further, but I still catch the next words clearly enough.

“Someone’s been watching Isabella Romano for months.”

The blood drains from my face.

I grip the blanket tightly while panic crawls up my spine.

Because suddenly I remember little things.

Cars parked too long near the bookstore.

Unknown numbers calling my phone.

The strange feeling of being watched while walking home at night.

I thought I imagined it.

I thought I was paranoid.

Then Matteo speaks again, his voice colder than I’ve heard before.

“Find out who ordered it.”

And for the first time since entering this mansion, I realize something far worse than Matteo De Luca may already be hunting me.