Chapter 4
683 Words
It started with a drink in the shadows.
The bar was hidden behind an old butcher shop in downtown Catania. Quiet. Discreet. Only the bold or the stupid entered uninvited. Romano was already waiting when she arrived, back straight, eyes locked on the door before she even stepped in. He rose when he saw her.
“You’re late,” he said with a crooked smile.
“You’re impatient,” she replied, settling across from him. She wore no makeup tonight just her, stripped back, and somehow even more dangerous.
Their conversation started slow, talking about neutral things like music, old poetry, and politics, things that tiptoed around their bloodstained legacies. But it grew. Heated. Honest. Beautiful in ways she hadn’t expected.
There was something about the way he looked at her not as a pawn or a daughter or a reputation but as a woman. An equal.That night didn’t end with a kiss. But it ended with her wanting one.
The second time, he took her to the coast. They walked barefoot on the beach, shoes in hand, the mafia left far behind for just a few hours. He let her talk about music. She let him talk about his mother. They argued about classic novels and who was more dangerous.
The third time, he taught her how to throw a knife blindfolded.
The fourth time, he let her teach him piano.
Isabella began to fall helplessly in Romano and always enjoyed his company.
She walked into the mansion that night humming. Her hair still smelled like sea salt and the leather of his jacket, and her lips couldn’t stop curling upward. She laughed to herself at nothing. Her heels tapped lightly, rhythmically, through the grand hall.
She didn’t notice Jacob Moretti standing by the staircase, glass of wine untouched in his hand. Or Isaac, who stepped out from the study, eyes narrowing.
“What’s with the smile?” her twin asked cautiously.
She blinked, thrown. “Can’t I be happy?”
“You’re never just happy. You’re plotting when you smile like that.”
She winked. “Maybe I am.”
She floated upstairs like someone who had finally found her freedom.
A few days passed.
Jacob Moretti watched her during morning combat. Her knife cuts weren’t clean. Her focus faltered. Her posture was off.
He said nothing.
That evening, in his private study, he poured himself a drink and turned to Isaac.
“She’s not herself.”
Isaac hesitated. “She’s… distracted.”
“Is it a man?”
Isaac looked away.
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Who is it?”
“I’ll ask her,” Isaac said. “I’ll handle it.”
Later that night, Isaac burst into her room without knocking.
“Isabella.”
She jumped. “Do you mind?”
“What’s going on between you and Luca Romano?”
Her silence was the answer.
Isaac’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you insane?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Yes, you are! Do you know what he is? What does he do? His family”
“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know,” she snapped. “I know exactly who he is. And he’s not who you think.”
“Dad will kill him. He’ll kill you.”
She stepped closer, defiant. “Let him try.”
Isaac’s voice dropped. “You’re in love with him.”
Isabella didn’t answer.
But she didn’t deny it.
Her training continued, but something was off. She missed cues. Slipped on footwork. Her father's patience wore thin.
Late one night, Jacob pulled Isaac aside.
“She’s slipping. I see it.”
Isaac hesitated.
Jacob looked him in the eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Isaac swallowed hard. “She’s still seeing him. Romero. They’re in love.”
The silence that followed was volcanic.
Jacob turned to the door. “I want a guard on her. Discreet. Every time she leaves. I want eyes. I want proof.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“And when I have it, I’ll end this.”
- Writer
