ISABELLA

Chapter 13

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By late afternoon, I found myself standing outside a strip club of all places.

I know how that sounds—but I was desperate. A job was a job, and the ad said waitress. Nothing about stages or poles. Just drinks. Just tips. Some money. That’s all I needed.

I hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open. Inside, the air was thick with stale smoke, perfume, and the sour tang of spilled liquor.

The place looked quieter than I expected, empty tables scattered around, a few stragglers at the bar. The stage was bare, lights dimmed.

A man was waiting for me near the back office. I knew immediately he was the boss. His gut strained against a button-down shirt, his hair thinning, and a thick gold chain gleamed against his chest. The grin on his face made my stomach twist.

“So you’re Isabella,” he said, eyes dragging over me slowly, like I was merchandise on display. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

I forced a polite smile, holding my bag tightly. “Yes, sir. I saw the ad for a waitress position. I’m fast, I’m reliable, I can work late hours.”

He waved dismissively. “Mm-hmm. But sweetheart, with looks like that, you’re wasted carrying drinks.”

I frowned. “The job posting said waitress.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “In my club, the girls who look like you make a lot more money if they know how to… please the customers. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

His hand brushed against my arm. I stiffened immediately.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

But he only chuckled, his hand sliding lower, fingers grazing my hip. “Relax. You’re beautiful. Men would pay fortunes just to have you smile at them. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to use what you’ve got.”

I jerked back, but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer, his breath hot and sour on my cheek. My pulse hammered in my throat.

“You’re mine now, bella,” he whispered. “Whether you like it or not.”

Panic flooded me. I opened my mouth to scream—

—but then the door slammed open.

I didn’t even have time to register what happened before the boss was yanked backward, crashing against his desk.

Standing over him was Matteo? Leo’s right hand.

Not calm, polished Matteo in his tailored suits. This was another version of him entirely—eyes blazing, jaw tight, violence pouring off him like heat.

“You touched her,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The boss sputtered, blood already dripping from his nose as Matteo’s fist cracked against his face. Again. Again. The sound of bone and flesh colliding echoed in the small office, and I could only stand frozen, my heart racing.

“Please—please—” the man begged, scrambling backward.

Matteo didn’t even hesitate. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a sleek black pistol. The sight of it made my breath catch, but the next moment—

Pop!

A muffled shot rang out, almost too quiet, but the boss’s scream was loud enough to shake the walls. He clutched his thigh, blood soaking through his pants as he writhed on the floor.

I stumbled back against the wall, my hand over my mouth.

Matteo finally turned to me, his chest heaving. His voice was sharp, clipped. “If it were Leo here, he’d have cut his head clean off.”

I froze, my mind spinning.

Leo.

That meant—Matteo wasn’t just there. He was watching me. For Leo.

Before I could even form the words, Matteo grabbed my wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough that I couldn’t pull away—and dragged me out of that suffocating office, out of the club, into the sharp bite of air.

Only then did he stop, his grip loosening just slightly. He turned to me, his eyes still dark, but calmer now.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Isabella,” he said, his voice lower, almost strained. “Men like him… they see you as prey. Leo knew it. That’s why I was here.”

I swallowed hard, my legs shaking beneath me, my thoughts a mess.

I don’t even remember how we got to the car. One minute, I was still shaking outside that club, the smell of blood clinging to me, and the next, Matteo had pushed me gently—but firmly—into the passenger seat of a sleek black car.

The silence was suffocating. My hands trembled in my lap, my chest tight. Matteo didn’t look at me once, his eyes fixed on the road, jaw clenched hard.

“Breathe,” he muttered suddenly, his tone clipped but not unkind. “You’re safe now.”

I didn’t answer. My throat was too dry to form words. Safe. That was laughable. A man had just tried to force himself on me, and another man shot him without blinking. Safe wasn’t even in my vocabulary anymore.

Instead of taking me home, Matteo pulled up in front of a quiet coffee shop tucked away on a side street. He killed the engine, got out, and came around to open my door. No questions, no explanations. Just a silent order in the way his eyes flicked toward the shop.

I followed him inside, my legs still shaky. The warmth and soft smell of coffee should have comforted me, but it didn’t. I felt exposed, like the walls had eyes.

We sat at a small corner table, and for a moment, Matteo said nothing. He just pulled out his phone, typed quickly, then pressed it to his ear.

And that’s when I heard it.

Italian.

Fast, sharp, and cold.

“Leo,” Matteo said first, his voice lowering. “Un uomo ha provato a toccarla… sì, Isabella. Ho dovuto sparargli alla gamba. Un bastardo schifoso.”

(A man tried to touch her… yes, Isabella. I had to shoot him in the leg. A filthy bastard.)

There was a pause, and then Leo’s voice burst through the speaker so loud I could hear even from across the table, his words harsh and furious:

“Cazzo! Perché non l’hai fermata prima che entrasse in quel posto di merda?!”

(f**k! Why didn’t you stop her before she walked into that shithole?)

Matteo didn’t flinch, just muttered, “Me ne sto occupando. È con me ora.”

(I’m handling it. She’s with me now.)

More sharp words from Leo, too fast for me to catch all of them, but the tone was enough—rage, sharp and unrestrained. Then the line went dead.

By the time Matteo slid the phone back into his jacket, my heart was pounding so loud I thought he’d hear it. He finally looked at me.

“Drink something,” he said simply, nodding toward the menu. His voice was calmer now, almost normal.

But I couldn’t. I was frozen. Because there was one thing Matteo hadn’t told me.

Leo was coming.

I don’t know how I knew it. I just… did.

And I was right.

Less than thirty minutes later, the bell above the door chimed. The air in the café shifted, like even the walls straightened themselves at his presence.

Leo walked in.

Immaculate suit, dark eyes sharp as blades, his aura filling every corner of the little shop. Heads turned, whispers rippled. But his eyes—his eyes found me instantly, locking onto mine like he’d tracked me across the entire city.