ISABELLA

Chapter 28

The car was silent, except for the low hum of the engine. Isabella sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms folded, staring out the window as the city blurred past. After Riccardo’s teasing earlier, her thoughts were tangled, and the last thing she wanted was more of Leo’s unreadable stares.

But of course, Leo didn’t do silence well.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” he said finally, his voice low, smooth, but edged with command. “Too quiet.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” she muttered, still refusing to look at him.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip. “You always have something to say to me, Isabella. Even when it’s rolling your pretty eyes.”

Her jaw tightened. She stayed quiet.

Leo’s gaze flicked toward her for a brief second, and there it was again—that cold, obsessive focus that made her chest tighten with both fear and something dangerously close to anticipation.

When he pulled up in front of her house, he parked sharply, the car jerking to a stop. He turned to face her fully now, one arm draped over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

“This is the last time I drop you off like this,” Leo said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument. “Next time, you’ll be staying where I can see you.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping, rough with possession. “You don’t walk away from me, Isabella. Not to this house. Not to anyone. Understand?”

Her heart stopped in her chest. She wanted to protest, to throw the door open and slam it shut in his face—but when her eyes locked with his, the words caught in her throat.

Instead, she muttered, “Goodbye, Leo,” and reached for the door handle.

“Isabella.” His voice froze her hand mid-motion.

She turned back slightly.

His gaze lingered on her lips before meeting her eyes again. “Behave.”

She slammed the door and stormed up the walkway, her cheeks burning.

From the driver’s seat, Leo watched her until she disappeared inside, his jaw tight, his chest heavy. He hated letting her walk away. But the obsession gnawing at his insides told him soon… she wouldn’t be walking away from him at all.

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The heavy front doors opened, and the weight of the house shifted instantly. Leo had felt tension before, but this was different—the air was thick, sharp, as though everyone was holding their breath.

In the grand hall, standing like shadows waiting for him, were three people he hadn’t expected to see for weeks.

His father. Don Salvatore Deluca.

The man who built an empire with blood and fire, standing tall even with age weighing on his shoulders. His presence filled the room before he even spoke.

Beside him, Valentina Deluca—the perfect picture of elegance and venom, her hand resting lightly on Salvatore’s arm as though she owned both him and the house. Her eyes sharpened when they landed on Leo, but the faint smirk tugging at her lips made his blood heat.

And then… her.

Sabrina.

Childhood friend, carefully molded into the perfect mafia princess, standing there in a tailored dress and flawless curls. She looked radiant, polished, and smug—as if she already knew the reason she was back in this house.

Leo’s jaw locked.

Aria was perched on the stairs, tense, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Riccardo leaned against the wall, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers, his eyes narrowed in silent warning. The entire mansion was on edge, the storm in the making impossible to ignore.

Salvatore’s voice broke the silence. Deep, commanding.

“Leonardo.”

Leo straightened, his features a mask of cold calm. “Father.”

“You weren’t here to welcome us back,” Valentina cut in smoothly, her tone laced with disapproval. “That’s unlike you.”

Leo ignored her, his eyes still locked on Salvatore. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“We came back early,” his father said simply, though his gaze flickered toward Sabrina in a way that told Leo everything.

Sabrina smiled faintly, stepping forward as though the house still belonged to her too. “It’s been a long time, Leo.”

Leo’s lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. “Not long enough.”

Aria smirked from the stairs, though her eyes darted nervously between Leo and their father. Riccardo exhaled smoke slowly, muttering under his breath, “Here we go.”

The Don’s gaze hardened. “Enough.”

His attention settled on Leo, sharp and assessing. “We have matters to discuss. And this house has been left unchecked for too long.”

Valentina’s eyes gleamed, her voice dripping with sugar-coated poison. “And with all the rumors spreading, I think it’s time you start… behaving, Leonardo.”

Leo didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Instead, he shifted his gaze back to Sabrina, who stood with her chin high, watching him like a hunter waiting for the right moment.

Leo’s POV

He sat behind the desk like a king on his throne, his sharp gaze cutting into me as I shut the door.

“Sit.”

I didn’t. I leaned against the wall instead, arms crossed. He hated when I did that, which is exactly why I did.

“You’ve been reckless,” he started, his tone heavy with command. “Careless. Deals handled sloppily, enemies provoked. Do you know what kind of whispers I’ve been hearing, Leonardo?”

I met his eyes, unflinching. “That the son you left behind to carry this empire hasn’t let it crumble.”

His jaw ticked. “This isn’t a game. You’ve been drawing too much attention. And now…” His voice slowed, dangerous. “There’s talk of a woman.”

I stayed silent.

His eyes narrowed. “Do not insult me by pretending I’m blind. You’ve been seen with her. At the boutique. At the dinner. Even in my house. An outsider.”

My fists clenched, but I kept my face blank.

“You think you can drag some girl into this life and it won’t come back to haunt us?” He leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “You will ruin everything I built.”

“I don’t answer to Valentina’s rumors,” I said flatly. “And who I keep at my side is my choice.”

The silence that followed was heavy, dangerous.

He stood, walking slowly around the desk until he was in front of me. I saw the man who raised me, the man who carved steel into my blood. But that softness was gone, buried under power and expectation.

“You are my heir,” he said, his voice sharp. “You will marry Sabrina. You will secure the alliances I set in motion. And you will not throw it away for a girl who doesn’t belong in this world.”

I finally moved, stepping closer, my voice cold enough to cut glass.

“I don’t take orders on who I marry. Not from Valentina. Not from Sabrina. Not even from you.”

I was about to turn away, about to shut this entire conversation down, when my father’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Isabella Rossi.”

I froze.

He spoke slowly, deliberately, like he wanted every word to slice into me.

“Twenty-two years old. Born and raised in California. Parents—killed in a car crash. She survived. Alone. And somehow, she ends up here, in my city… in your life.”

I didn’t move. My fists tightened at my sides, the air leaving my chest like someone had punched me.

“How the hell do you know her name?” My voice came out lower, rougher than I intended.

A thin smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I know everything, Leonardo. Especially when it concerns you. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at her? The way you’re willing to risk everything for a girl you barely know?”

I stepped closer, my blood boiling. “Stay out of her life.”

But my father only chuckled, the sound cold and humorless. “You should have learned by now, son. Nothing in this family stays untouched. If you bring her into our world, she belongs to me too.”

I should’ve walked out. Should’ve slammed the door and told him to go to hell. But when my father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, there was something in his eyes—cold, calculating, but also deadly serious.

“The girl’s name might be Rossi,” he said slowly, “but her blood is not. Her father’s real name was Ivan Orlov. And her mother’s—Anya Vasiliev.”

The names hit me like a f*****g bullet to the chest. Russian. No mistaking it. I felt the floor tilt under me.

He kept going, his voice low, almost mocking. “They took the name Rossi when they fled. Do you understand? They reinvented themselves. Italian on paper, Russian in blood. They wanted nothing to do with the Bratva. They ran to California, built a quiet life. But a man cannot outrun his past forever.”

I shook my head, anger bubbling hot in my throat. “So you’re telling me her whole life—her whole f*****g identity—is a lie?”

My father’s lips curved into something cruel. “A carefully crafted one. Her parents wanted her far away from this world. They didn’t tell her the truth. They thought hiding behind an Italian name would keep her safe. But safety doesn’t exist for people like them. For people like us.”

His words dug into me, sharp, merciless.

“And that accident that killed them?” His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “Not an accident at all. It was targeted. A message, written in fire and twisted steel. The Bratva has long memories, Leonardo. And the Italians… we do not forgive betrayal. Especially not from Russians.”

My hands curled into fists, jaw tight. The image of Isabella’s eyes flashed in my head—so open, so stubbornly innocent. She didn’t f*****g know.

“You mean to tell me,” I ground out, “that someone killed her parents. That they—” My throat tightened. “That they’ll come for her.”

He nodded once, sipping his whiskey like he was telling me about the weather. “She is valuable. Not for who she pretends to be, but for what she is. A Rossi by name, yes. But an Orlov by blood. Both sides will want her. The Italians, to make an example. The Russians, to reclaim what belongs to them. And you—” He smirked, cruel and knowing. “—you’ve gone and made her yours.”

Silence stretched thick, suffocating. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong. But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew. He’d seen it too—the way I looked at her, the way I’d kill for her.

“You’ve chained yourself to her, Leonardo,” he said, his voice softer now, but deadly. “And if you don’t play this right, you’ll bring war to our doorstep.”