ISABELLA

Chapter 18

Isabella’s POV

The moment the tail lights disappeared, Nico turned to me with the slowest grin I’d ever seen.

“Well, well, well…” he drawled, folding his arms. “Tell me I didn’t just see Leo DeLuca—the actual heir to the entire DeLuca empire—personally drop you off at our front door.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him. “It’s not like that, Nico.”

“Oh no?” He followed me inside, grin widening. “Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that. Fancy car, mafia prince himself opening the door for you… if I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were on a date.”

I froze halfway through the living room and spun on him. “It wasn’t a date!”

Nico smirked, plopping onto the couch like he had all the time in the world to torment me. “You’re right, of course. He just—what? Randomly decided to be your chauffeur for the day? Very casual. Very normal.” He winked.

I huffed, crossing my arms. “He showed up at the café, okay? It wasn’t planned.”

Nico leaned back, propping his feet up. “Uh-huh. And then he decided to drag you into his car and bring you home? Sounds super platonic.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, hand over his heart. “My poor little cousin… falling into the arms of the most dangerous man in the city. What would aunty say?”

“Stop it,” I muttered, cheeks burning.

But Nico wasn’t done. “No, really, Isa. Out of all the guys in the world, him?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “Does he send you flowers, or just bullets with little hearts on them?”

I snatched a throw pillow off the chair and hurled it at him. “You’re impossible!”

He caught it easily, laughing so hard it echoed through the house. “Impossible, maybe. But don’t think I didn’t notice the way you looked getting out of that car. You’re flustered, Isa. And that’s not just because of the drive.”

I turned away, hiding my face. He was insufferable. Worse—he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Dante’s POV

I leaned back in the leather chair, fingers tapping against the mahogany table as I scanned the room. The deal wasn’t complicated—guns, money, silence. My father wanted me here to represent the Moretti name, to prove I could stand on my own without him holding my hand.

The man across from me, an Eastern supplier with shifty eyes, was sweating like a pig. I smirked. People always got nervous when they realized they were talking to a Moretti. Our reputation did most of the work for us.

“Relax,” I drawled in Italian, swirling the glass of whiskey in my hand. “We’re not here to cut your throat. Unless, of course, you give me a reason.”

He nodded frantically, sliding a folder across the table. “Everything you requested. The shipment can arrive within the week.”

Good. Another win for me. My father would be pleased, though he’d never admit it out loud. He was a hard bastard, and I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the son he wanted—ruthless, sharp, untouchable.

But even as the deal fell neatly into place, my mind wandered.

Isabella.

Her name was like a wound that wouldn’t heal. She had blocked me everywhere—calls, messages, socials. I told myself I didn’t care. That she’d come crawling back like they always did. But she didn’t. Months had passed and I was still locked out.

What the hell had gotten into her? She didn’t even know.

…She couldn’t know.

No, it wasn’t possible. That night meant nothing. A mistake. A warm body in the wrong bed. If Isabella had found out, she would’ve burned the whole damn city down with her anger, and she hadn’t. She just vanished from me. Silent. Cold.

I clenched my jaw. Women didn’t walk away from me. They begged. They cried. But Isabella—she cut me out like I was nothing. And it infuriated me more than I’d admit.

And now, I heard whispers. Whispers that she was in Italy. That she was seen with the DeLucas.

The DeLucas.

I slammed the glass down, whiskey splashing. The supplier flinched, but I didn’t care.

Of all the people in this cursed city, Isabella had to fall in the orbit of the bastards I hated most. Leo DeLuca. That arrogant, cold-blooded son of a b***h. My father’s oldest rival’s heir.

A bitter smile twisted across my lips.

“Looks like fate wants to play a game,” I muttered under my breath.

If Isabella thought she could run to the DeLucas for safety, she was dead wrong. She belonged to me once—and I’d make sure she belonged to me again.

No matter who stood in the way.