ISABELLA

Chapter 14

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He didn’t move at first, just stood at the entrance of the café, his gaze flicking briefly to Matteo before snapping back to me. His presence filled the space so completely it was suffocating.

Then he walked—no, stalked—toward our table, each step precise, lethal, as though he owned not just the shop but the air I was breathing.

Matteo stood immediately, his back straight, shoulders tense. I could feel the electricity between them even before Leo spoke.

And when he did…

“Perché cazzo non l’hai fermata dall’entrare in quel posto?” Leo’s voice was low but razor-sharp.

(Why the f**k didn’t you stop her from entering that place?)

I blinked, my pulse hammering. I caught perché—why—and ferm—something about stopping. I understood enough to know it was about me.

Matteo didn’t flinch. “Non potevo seguirla ovunque senza destare sospetti. Ma ero lì quando contava.”

(I couldn’t follow her everywhere without raising suspicion. But I was there when it mattered.)

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t catch everything, but the tone was unmistakable. Defense. Explanation.

Leo’s eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. “Se fosse successo qualcosa a lei, Matteo… se quell’uomo l’avesse anche solo toccata ancora…” His jaw flexed. “Non avresti visto un altro giorno.”

(If anything had happened to her, Matteo… if that man had even touched her again… you wouldn’t have seen another day.)

My breath hitched. I didn’t know the words, but I knew the threat. Knew it down to my bones.

Matteo inclined his head once, silent now. He didn’t dare push further.

Leo turned then, the storm in his eyes dimming only slightly as he looked at me. And just like that, his tone changed—sharp edges replaced by velvet steel.

“Isabella,” he said softly, sliding into the chair beside me. His presence was overwhelming, but there was something grounding in it too. Like despite the weight of everything, he was a wall I could lean against.

I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. His gaze held me captive.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, warm in a way that made my chest ache. His hand reached across the table, covering mine. Large, steady, unyielding. “Breathe.”

I tried. God, I tried, but the memory of that disgusting man’s hands, his eyes, the way his voice had made my skin crawl—it all came rushing back.

“I… I just wanted a job,” I whispered, my voice breaking despite myself. “I didn’t know what kind of place it was until—until he—” My throat closed.

Leo’s thumb brushed over my knuckles, a small, grounding gesture. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when I did, it was like the room faded around us. “No one will touch you again. Not while I’m breathing.”

I should’ve pulled my hand back. Should’ve told him not to make promises he had no right to make. But I couldn’t. His presence was too much, his words too final, too absolute.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Matteo shift, standing guard more than sitting with us. Leo didn’t look at him again, but I could feel the tension in the air like static.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Leo continued, softer now, almost coaxing. “Not of them. Not of anything. Not while I’m here.”

My lips parted, but no words came. Because the truth was, I was afraid—terrified. But not just of what happened at the club. Not just of strange men and locked doors.

I was afraid of him.

Of how safe he made me feel in the middle of my fear.

Of how much I wanted to believe him.

And of the fact that no matter how much I told myself to keep away, Leo had already wrapped his world around mine—and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

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Leo’s POV

I kept one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against my leg, a rhythm I didn’t even notice until it stopped. My mind was elsewhere—on her.

Shaking. Eyes wide. Still haunted by what had happened at that club. I could feel it in the way her hands trembled in her lap, in the way she stared out the window like the streetlights themselves were some kind of threat.

I didn’t speak at first. Letting the silence stretch, heavy but necessary. Sometimes words only made things worse.

“You’re safe now,” I finally said, voice low but firm. I didn’t need to elaborate; she already knew, down to the deepest part of her gut, that she was safe with me.

Her shoulders twitched slightly at my words. Not a full sigh of relief, not yet, but a start. I’d take what I could get.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, not because I expected her to, but because she deserved the option. My eyes never left the road. I had to keep us both alive until we reached her doorstep.

She shook her head. No words. Fine. I’d let her keep the silence for now.

I glanced at her profile, catching the moonlight on her hair. She was fragile in that moment. Not weak—fragile. Like she could shatter if touched the wrong way. And God help anyone who tried.

I gritted my teeth, tightening my grip on the wheel. That man… I wanted to find him. Wanted to make him understand the consequences of ever looking at her the wrong way again. But I didn’t. Not now. Not while she was in my car. Threats were empty without action, and action had to wait until she was safe.

Her voice broke the silence, soft, uncertain. “I… I can’t believe that happened.”

I didn’t answer right away. How could I? I knew exactly what she meant. The fear, the violation, the helplessness—it was too much to just erase with words.

“You’re going to get home.,” I said finally, my tone clipped, leaving no room for argument. “And when you step inside that door, I swear… nothing will touch you again. Not while I’m breathing.”

She turned to look at me, eyes wide, vulnerable, and I could see the unspoken question there: Can I trust you?

I didn’t soften. Not yet. “You can. And you will.”

The rest of the ride passed in near silence. I drove fast but careful, aware of every car, every pedestrian, every possible threat. Her safety was the only thing that mattered. Everything else could wait.

When we pulled up to her aunty house, I parked and killed the engine. I didn’t move immediately. I just looked at her, a protective weight in my gaze, making sure she knew she was still okay, still intact, still alive.

“Go inside,” I said finally, voice low, almost a growl. “Lock the door. Call me if anything even breathes wrong.”

Her lips trembled, and for a moment, she smiled—small, fragile, but real. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I nodded, refusing to say anything more. Words were weak here. Actions spoke louder. I started the car again, keeping an eye on her as she disappeared into her building, my mind already calculating every next move.

Because no one hurt Isabella and got away with it. Not on my watch.