ISABELLA

Chapter 10

Leo’s POV

The next morning, I woke up with the weight of business heavy on my shoulders. Being a DeLuca meant there was no such thing as peace, only control. And if you lost that, even for a second, you were dead.

By the time I walked into the meeting hall, every pair of eyes turned to me. The air was thick with smoke and tension, just the way I liked it. Men straightened in their chairs, trying to look braver than they felt. Weak men always gave themselves away in the silence.

“Boss,” one of them muttered, nodding respectfully.

I didn’t bother replying. Respect wasn’t something you asked for—it was something that lived in the room when you entered.

Then Matteo walked in, sharp as always. Dark tailored suit, his tie perfectly in place, not a wrinkle on him. Some called him cold, some called him brutal—but to me, he was reliable. If I told Matteo to bury a man six feet under, he’d ask me if I wanted roses or lilies on the grave.

“Leo,” he greeted, voice calm but clipped as he took his seat beside me.

I leaned back in my chair, lighting a cigar. “Let’s get straight to it.”

On the long table, ledgers and papers were spread open—shipments, ports, bribes, the bloodline of our empire. But today, the focus was the stolen goods. My stolen goods. The room shifted uncomfortably; they all knew what happened. They all knew I made an example out of the thief.

I blew out smoke slowly. “Someone thought it was smart to steal from me. We dealt with him. But that’s not the end of it. I want every name, every contact, every hand that touched my merchandise traced. Nobody steals from the DeLucas and lives to tell the story.”

The room stayed silent. Good. Fear kept men loyal.

Matteo leaned forward, folding his hands. “I’ve already taken steps. Our men in the port are watching movements closely. If there’s a leak, we’ll find it.” His tone was steady, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—told me he was already ten steps ahead.

That’s why he was my right hand. While most men only followed orders, Matteo thought like me. He knew when to be ruthless, and when to wait like a wolf circling prey.

I glanced at him. “And Riccardo?”

The room went colder at the mention of my cousin’s name. Riccardo was family by blood, but family didn’t mean loyalty.

“He’s quiet for now,” Matteo replied smoothly, though I caught the faintest tension in his jaw. “But quiet doesn’t mean harmless.”

I smirked, knocking ash into the tray. “Riccardo wouldn’t dare challenge me. But if he does…” I let the words hang in the air, unfinished. Everyone in the room already knew the answer.

The men shifted again, unease flickering across their faces. That’s when I leaned forward, my voice lower, deadlier.

“Understand this. That thief was just a warning. If any of you think about betraying me, about testing me, I won’t hesitate. I’ll burn everything you love to the ground.”

Silence. The kind that meant they understood.

Matteo’s lips curved slightly, the ghost of a smile, as though he enjoyed watching me remind them who I was. And maybe he did.

“Meeting dismissed,” I said at last, rising from my chair.

As the men filed out, Matteo stayed behind. He adjusted his cufflinks, then gave me a look that said he had more to tell me, something he wouldn’t say in front of the others.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice low.

“I dug deeper into the girl,” he said.

I leaned forward, cigar forgotten, interest piqued. “Isabella.”

He nodded once. “Her story’s… heavy.”

“Go on.”

“She lost her parents in a car crash recently. She was the only survivor.” Matteo’s tone didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe pity, maybe respect. “Since then, she’s been living with her aunt and cousins. Ordinary family. Middle-class. No connections to our world.”

I sat back, exhaling slowly. A tragedy like that leaves scars. It shapes people.

Matteo continued, “There’s more. She had an ex—someone named Dante. Cheated on her. Badly. She doesn’t talk about him, but people close to her know he broke her down.

My jaw clenched. I didn’t know why the thought of some prick breaking her heart made my blood heat, but it did. “Dante?” I repeated, tasting the name.

“Yes,” Matteo said, watching me carefully. “That’s all I could get. He’s… private. No photos, no easy trail. Even getting his surname was impossible. Either he’s clean, or he doesn’t want to be found.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So he’s hiding.”

Matteo gave a small shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just one of those ghosts who slips through life unnoticed. But my gut says otherwise.”

I drummed my fingers on the desk, my mind racing. A man named Dante. A man who hurt her. A man who didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t like it. At all.

“Keep digging,” I ordered. “If this Dante is private, then he has something to hide. And I want to know exactly what it is. Everything. Where he lives, who he talks to, what he’s running from.”

Matteo inclined his head. “Understood.”

I leaned forward, my tone darker now. “And Matteo… if you find him—” I let the silence hang, my eyes locking onto his.

“I’ll make sure he never breaks her again,” he finished, voice sharp as steel.

A faint smirk touched my lips. He always knew what I wanted.

As the door finally closed behind him,

staring at the faint glow of my cigar in the ashtray. Isabella. Parents dead. A broken heart. Living quietly in a world that didn’t know mine.

And somewhere out there… a ghost named Dante.

I felt something unusual. Not business. Not anger. Something else.

Concern.

And I hated it.