ISABELLA

Chapter 7

Leonardo’s POV

Today was no different. I strode through the marble corridor, shirt hanging loose over my frame, the weight of last night still heavy in my chest. The scent of espresso drifted from the kitchen, mingling with polished wood and expensive perfume.

A pair of maids carrying laundry baskets froze as I passed. Their eyes dropped instantly to the floor, knuckles white around the fabric. Fear rolled off them in waves. I didn’t bother to acknowledge it. Fear was natural. Necessary.

“Leonardo!”

I turned my head as she descended the wide staircase, a silk robe tied loosely at her waist, her long hair falling in dark waves over her shoulders. Even half-awake, she carried herself like a queen. The maids in the foyer straightened at once, their movements sharpening, quicker, desperate not to be caught in her gaze.

“Where were you last night?” she demanded, crossing her arms as she stepped onto the marble floor. “Don’t tell me you were out chasing ghosts again.”

I exhaled slowly, my jaw tightening. “Business.”

Aria arched one perfect brow. “Business that ends with blood on your hands, perhaps?”

The maids behind her stilled. I shot them a cold look, and within seconds they scattered, whispering apologies as they vanished into adjoining halls. Aria, of course, didn’t flinch. She never did.

“You should mind your own affairs,” I muttered, turning toward the grand study.

She followed anyway, bare feet silent against the floor. “My affairs are tied to yours, fratello. Or have you forgotten we carry the same name?”

I pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside, the study bathed in sunlight streaming through tall windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, but the room wasn’t for reading. It was for deals, for strategy, for power plays written in ink and sealed with blood.

Aria slipped into one of the leather chairs, curling her legs beneath her like she owned the place. “So,” she said, her voice sweet but sharp. “Tell me what mess you’ve gotten us into this time.”

I poured myself a glass of whiskey despite the early hour. “A man thought he could run with what’s mine.”

“And?” Her eyes gleamed, already knowing the answer.

“He doesn’t breathe anymore.”

Aria’s lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite approval. “Efficient as always.”

I sank into the chair opposite her, rolling the glass in my palm. “Riccardo sent his men after my shipment Again.”

“Riccardo is a fool,” Aria said flatly, reaching for her phone on the table. She scrolled, her nails tapping against the glass screen. “But he’s a useful fool. The kind we keep around until we don’t need him anymore.”

My silence was the only agreement she needed.

The weight of the room pressed down, the unspoken truth between us thick in the air. We were Delucas. Every move we made echoed across the city. Every mistake was a war waiting to happen.

Finally, Aria set her phone down and studied me, her gaze unnervingly perceptive. “But I can see it in your face, Leo. Last night wasn’t just business. Something happened.”

I leaned back, my eyes narrowing. She always knew too much.

And she was right. Something had happened. Something I couldn’t yet put into words.

A pair of eyes, wide with fear, watching me when they shouldn’t have.

But I said nothing. Not yet.

“Drink your whiskey,” Aria said softly, almost kindly. “And when you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be here.”

Later that afternoon, I retreated to my office.

.Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, the remnants of Riccardo’s earlier visit still sour in my lungs. My jacket hung over the back of the chair, and the weight of my pistol pressed against my waistband like a constant reminder of who I was.

A knock sounded on the door. Three sharp raps.

“Come in,” I said.

Matteo stepped inside, my right-hand man, the only one whose loyalty I never had to question. Broad shoulders, dark suit, expression always unreadable. He closed the door behind him and stood, hands clasped loosely in front of him.

“Well?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, fingers drumming against the armrest.

He didn’t hesitate. “I found her.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched. “Where?”

“She lives on the south side,” Matteo said smoothly, pulling a folded slip of paper from his jacket. He placed it on the desk in front of me. “A decent house. She stays with her aunt and two cousins. Quiet life. No record, no debts. Nothing that ties her to anyone important.”

My gaze lingered on the paper, though I didn’t reach for it yet. I already knew her face, every detail of it burned into my mind since that night outside the club. The way her breath caught when she saw me, the fear that widened her eyes—pure, unguarded, real.

“Her name?” I asked, my voice low.

Matteo hesitated for the briefest second, then answered, “Isabella Rossi.”

The name settled heavy on my tongue. Isabella. Simple. Beautiful. Dangerous.

I leaned forward, finally taking the paper into my hand. The address stared back at me in Matteo’s precise handwriting. I folded it carefully, tucking it into my jacket pocket.

“She’s no one,” Matteo continued cautiously, as though to remind me. “A girl with no ties. Not the kind of person we need to worry about.”

I exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “That’s what makes her dangerous.”

Matteo frowned. “Leo—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “Keep an eye on her. Discreetly. I want to know where she goes, who she sees, what time she breathes in and what time she breathes out.”

His hesitation was gone. He only nodded. “Understood.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, I leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the shadows crawling along the ceiling.

Isabella.

A girl with nothing.

A girl who should have meant nothing.

And yet, she had seen me.

In my world, no one saw me and lived to tell the story.