ISABELLA

Chapter 30

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She sat curled against the leather seat, arms wrapped around herself, staring at him with wide, shaken eyes. Finally, she broke the silence.

“How…” her voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. “How did you know I was in danger? You showed up—like you knew exactly what was happening.”

Leo didn’t take his eyes off the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight, jaw clenched,

“I always know,” he said simply, his tone hard, unyielding. “It’s my job to know. Especially when it comes to you.”

She shifted, frowning at him. “That’s not an answer, Leo. How did you know?”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Then, with a low exhale, he said, “Because they were never after your house. They were after you.” His gaze flicked to her, sharp, piercing. “Today was only the beginning.”

Isabella’s breath hitched. “Me? Why? I’ve never done anything—”

“You don’t have to,” he cut her off coldly. “You were born into it. That blood in your veins? It’s enough to make you a target.”

She blinked at him, confusion mixing with fear. “What are you talking about?”

Leo tightened his grip on the wheel. “The attack wasn’t random, Isabella. Even your parents’ deaths… that wasn’t an accident either. Someone wanted them gone. And now, they want you gone too.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, her mind spinning. “That… that can’t be true,” she whispered. “My parents… they told me—”

“They told you what you needed to hear to keep you safe,” Leo said firmly. “But lies don’t protect you forever.” He glanced at her again, softer this time, though his voice was still edged in steel. “That’s why you’re with me now. Because I don’t deal in lies. I deal in truth. And the truth is—they won’t stop until they have you.”

Her lips trembled, tears stinging her eyes, but she shook her head. “So what now? I’m just supposed to… live in fear? Hide behind you?”

Leo’s jaw flexed. He slowed the car only slightly, enough to turn his face toward her. His eyes burned with intensity, cold yet terrifyingly sincere.

“No,” he said. “You don’t hide behind me. You stay beside me. Where I can see you. Where I can protect you. Because if they want you…” His hand tightened on the wheel until his knuckles whitened. “…then they’ll have to go through me first.”

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Leo was the first to move. He got out, walked around, and opened her door himself. His hand was firm as it guided her out, his eyes scanning the mansion windows as though danger could be lurking behind the curtains.

“Go straight to your room,” he ordered, his voice calm but commanding. “Matteo will make sure you’re settled.”

She wanted to protest, to demand more answers, but something in his tone made her stop. She nodded weakly, brushing past him and following Matteo toward the staircase. Her silk hair trailed behind her like a shadow as she disappeared into the corridors of the mansion.

As soon as she was gone, the silence cracked.

A voice boomed from the other end of the hall—harsh, sharp, filled with disapproval.

“Leo!”

Don Salvatore

“What the hell were you thinking?” Don Salvatore’s voice echoed through the marble hall. “Bringing her here?”

Leo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. He walked past the foyer into the open space, facing his father head-on.

“She was under attack,” he said evenly. “You would rather I leave her to die?”

“This house is not a sanctuary for outsiders,” Salvatore shot back, his tone like venom. “Especially not for a girl whose bloodline could drag enemies straight to our doorstep.”

Leo’s eyes darkened. “She was already marked. I saw it. They came for her tonight. If I hadn’t been there—”

“—If you hadn’t been there,” Salvatore interrupted, pointing a finger at him, “this would not be our problem.” His voice rose with anger. “You’ve just put this family, this empire, in the crosshairs of something far older and far bloodier than you can imagine.”

Valentina stepped forward slightly, her hand brushing against her husband’s arm as if to soothe him, though her eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. “Salvatore, maybe the boy thinks with his heart now instead of his head.”

Leo’s glare flicked toward her for half a second, cold enough to cut glass, before returning to his father.

“I don’t care what history you’re hiding,” Leo said through clenched teeth. “The Russians, the Rossis, whoever the hell they are—they came for her. That makes it my problem. And if this family has a problem with it, they’ll go through me first.”

A tense silence fell. The weight of his words hung in the air, sharp as a blade.

Don Salvatore studied his son for a long, dangerous moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he said quietly, almost too quiet to hear:

“You are playing with fire, Leonardo. And when it burns this house down, remember—it was you who opened the door.”

Leo didn’t respond. He simply turned, his coat brushing against him as he walked toward the stairs where Isabella had gone. His father’s warning echoed behind him, but he didn’t look back.

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In Isabella’s room,

She turned again, restless. The clock on the wall ticked past two a.m.

Then—a knock. Soft. Firm.

Her breath caught. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.”

The door opened before she could answer. Leo stepped inside, his eyes were shadowed, sleepless, and something about the way he carried himself told her he hadn’t closed his eyes all night either.

“You’re awake,” he said flatly, closing the door behind him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, sitting up and clutching the sheet against her chest. “Too much happened.”

He nodded once, as though he understood all too well. He moved further inside, pulling a chair closer to her bed, but instead of sitting, he leaned against it, folding his arms. His gaze settled on her—not harsh, but searching.

“I know you have questions,” he said quietly. “About why they came for you. About what this really means.”

Her lips parted. “Leo… what’s happening to me? Why were they after me? My family has nothing to do with this world—”

“Yes, they do.” His interruption was sharp, but not cruel. “They always did.”

Her brows furrowed, her voice trembling. “What are you talking about?”

Leo took a long breath, his jaw tightening as though he hated the words he was about to speak. “Your parents weren’t who you thought they were.”

She froze, every muscle locking in place. “Don’t—don’t say that. I know my parents. I grew up with them—”

“You grew up with their lies,” Leo cut in, his voice dropping lower. He finally sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes boring into hers. “Your father wasn’t just some businessman who moved to California. He was Russian. Deep in the old Bratva networks before he ran. Your mother too. They changed their names to Rossi when they wanted out, tried to live quietly as Italians. But people like that don’t just walk away.”

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. “No… no, that’s not true.”

“I wish it wasn’t.” His voice softened slightly, but his stare remained steady. “But the Russians—they never forgave. The Italians never trusted. That’s why there’s always been blood between them. And now, you… you’re the last Rossi standing.”

She shook her head, tears brimming. “So… my parents… they were killed?”

“Yes,” Leo said bluntly, not sugarcoating it. “Targeted. Taken out because of who they were. And tonight proved it—whoever came to your door wasn’t random. They knew who you are. They know what blood runs in your veins.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the reality dug its claws into her.

Tears slid down her cheeks. “Why are you telling me this?”

Leo leaned forward, his voice rough, his eyes unblinking. “Because now you understand why you can’t go home. Why you can’t walk the streets like you used to. They won’t stop until they finish what they started. And that means—” he exhaled, almost reluctantly, “—you stay here. With me.”

Silence swallowed the room. Her tears fell quietly onto the sheets, but his words anchored in her chest.

Isabella stared at him, vulnerable yet defiant. “And if I don’t want to?”

His eyes darkened, his voice low but firm, carrying the weight of command. “You don’t have a choice, Isabella. This is survival.”

The dam inside her broke.

Her breaths turned shallow, uneven. She shook her head violently, pressing her palms against her temples as tears spilled harder. “No, no, no… this isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

“Isabella—”

“Stop!” Her voice cracked, hoarse with pain. “You don’t get it! You don’t understand—I watched them die! I stood there at the funeral, telling myself it was an accident, that at least it wasn’t anyone’s fault. That somehow, I could survive it if I believed that lie. And now you’re telling me they were murdered? That their lives—my life—has been nothing but one big f*****g game to people like you?”

Her sobs came hard and violent.

Leo sat frozen, his jaw tight, his fists curling against his knees. He wasn’t good with comfort—he never had been—but watching her like this did something to him he couldn’t explain.

He leaned forward, his voice quieter, steadier. “Isabella… look at me.”

She didn’t. Her shoulders shook harder.

Something in him snapped. He stood, moved to the bed, and without asking, pulled her hands away from her face. She fought him for a second, weakly, before collapsing against his chest with a strangled sob.

And Leo trained to never show weakness—wrapped his arms around her.

“Breathe,” he muttered against her hair, low and rough. “Just breathe.”

Her fists clutched at him, clinging like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. “Why me?” she choked. “Why won’t they just leave me alone? I didn’t ask for this—I just wanted a normal life—”

Leo closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of her hair, fighting the heat that stirred in his chest. “Normal doesn’t exist for people like us,” he murmured.

That word—us—made her still for half a second, but then she cried harder, pressing into him.

When her sobs finally softened into broken breaths, she lifted her head slightly, just enough to look up at him.