ISABELLA

Chapter 35

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From the lounging chairs, Valentina’s glass clinked against the table as her grip tightened. Her painted nails tapped sharply against the rim, betraying her annoyance. Sabrina, on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide her glare; her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Even Don DeLuca’s eyes narrowed, his disapproval heavy in the silence—but Leo didn’t glance his father’s way, didn’t give him the satisfaction of hesitation.

He only looked at Isabella.

The world around them could have burned, and he wouldn’t have cared.

“Come,” he murmured, resting his hand lightly at the small of her back as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Stay with me.”

And just like that, he guided her further into the courtyard, ignoring every single pair of eyes fixed on them.

Leo guided Isabella to a shaded chair not far from where the men were standing. His hand lingered at her back a moment longer than necessary before he finally pulled away, his eyes scanning her face.

“Sit,” he said firmly but not unkindly. She obeyed, smoothing her hands nervously over her jeans as if to ground herself.

He crouched slightly in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint smudge of gunpowder on his jaw. “Have you eaten?”

She nodded. “Yes, I had something earlier.”

His lips curved into that rare smile—the one that wasn’t cold or calculated, the one that reached his eyes. “Good.”

For a second, he simply looked at her, as though making sure she truly was alright. Then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back and glancing at the men waiting for him. Riccardo had his arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled irritation; Matteo had that amused smirk tugging at his lips, and even Don DeLuca’s expression was unreadable as he studied his son’s every move.

Leo turned back to Isabella once more, softer this time. “Watch me,” he said. “See how it’s done.”

She blinked, taken aback by his sudden request, then gave a small nod.

Satisfied, Leo walked back toward the shooting line. One of the men handed him a gun, and without missing a beat, he took his stance. Isabella’s eyes followed him, her chest tightening at the sheer confidence in his movements. He raised the weapon, aimed, and fired.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Each shot hit its mark dead-center. The men behind him murmured their approval, Riccardo rolled his eyes but stayed silent, and Isabella… she found herself leaning forward in her seat, lips parted, caught between awe and fear.

Leo holstered the gun with practiced ease, then turned his head just slightly, his gaze locking with hers.

He didn’t need to say anything—his eyes asked the question: Are you watching? Do you see me?

And Isabella, without even realizing it, nodded again.

Leo holstered his gun and stepped toward Isabella again, each stride deliberate, commanding. He stopped just a few feet from her chair, eyes scanning her face like he was measuring her courage.

“Come,” he said, low and sharp, “I’ll show you how to hold it.”

Isabella blinked, startled. “M-me?”

“Yes, you,” he replied, his lips tilting ever so slightly, almost teasing. “If you want, you can try. Watch and learn.”

Her stomach twisted with nerves. Her hands went to her lap, twisting the fabric of her shirt. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to—her pulse was racing not just from fear but from the intensity radiating off him.

Before she could respond, Riccardo’s voice cut through the air, sharp and disapproving. “Leo, it’s dangerous. She shouldn’t—”

“She can handle it,” Matteo interjected, crossing his arms. His smirk suggested amusement more than concern, but there was agreement in his tone. “You’re asking for trouble if she’s not ready.”

Leo’s eyes flicked to both of them, cold and unwavering. “She’ll be fine,” he said simply, his voice carrying authority that left no room for argument.

Riccardo opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could, Don Salvatore’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Let her try.”

Every head turned. Don DeLuca’s eyes were sharp, assessing both Isabella and his son. “She’s our guest,” he continued, his voice calm but heavy with expectation. “And she has the right to see what we do here, to learn. If she falters, it’s a lesson. Nothing more.”

Leo’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Isabella, who was still frozen in her chair. He extended his hand toward her, his other hand brushing lightly over the space between them as if to give her courage.

“You trust me?” he asked softly, though there was a sharp edge beneath it.

Her heart pounded. She wanted to say no, to run, but something in his eyes held her in place. The intensity, the danger, the protection—it was intoxicating.

She nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Good,” Leo said, his lips curling into a rare smile, one that made her chest ache. “Step up here.”

Isabella rose, tentative but determined. Her hand brushed his briefly as she passed, sending a shiver up her spine.

“Stand like this,” Leo instructed, positioning her feet and guiding her hands on the gun. Every touch was precise, intentional, yet electric. “Breathe. Steady. Focus on the target, not the noise around you.”

Riccardo muttered something under his breath about reckless bravery, Matteo smirked, and Don DeLuca observed silently.

Leo’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Now, fire when you’re ready.”

Her finger trembled over the trigger. The gun felt heavier than she expected, but his calm, commanding presence anchored her. She took a deep breath, aimed, and fired.

Bang.

The bullet hit the target. Dead center.

Leo’s eyebrows lifted, impressed. “Not bad,” he said quietly, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Again. This time, focus on control, not just force.”

And so, she fired again and again under his watchful eye, each shot a mixture of fear, exhilaration, and something else she didn’t yet fully understand—a dangerous thrill that came from being this close to him, in his world, under his protection.

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The echo of gunfire faded as the group headed inside, the heavy doors shutting behind them with a resonant thud. The cool air of the mansion enveloped them, calming the heat of the sun and the adrenaline that still pulsed through Isabella’s veins.

Leo didn’t let go of her hand. Not a single inch. Each step he took, he guided her, fingers interlaced with hers, strong and possessive. His gaze flicked to her, noting every small tremor, every little sign that she was overwhelmed—but also exhilarated.

Matteo, walking slightly behind them, leaned toward Leo and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. A signal. A meeting.

Leo’s lips twitched, barely a smile. He leaned down just slightly, brushing his mouth against hers in a soft peck that made her heart stutter.

“Later,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, only for her to hear. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Isabella could only nod, swallowing the lump of anticipation in her throat. He let go of her hand just long enough to signal Matteo, then turned toward the study, his stride commanding and unyielding. Riccardo and Don Salvatore followed, their expressions serious, prepared for the business at hand.

Valentina glided upstairs, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, leaving only Isabella in the main hall for a brief, suffocating moment. And then… Sabrina appeared.

Sabrina’s lips were curved in that practiced, icy smile. Her eyes flicked over Isabella as though she were inspecting a foreign object, one that had no right to exist in their world. “So,” she said smoothly, stepping closer, heels echoing ominously, “you’re the girl Leo’s been… paying attention to.”

Isabella’s stomach knotted. She opened her mouth, trying to say something polite, something harmless, but Sabrina’s voice cut her off before she could form a word.

“You don’t belong here,” Sabrina continued, voice low but sharp, like a knife’s edge. “This world, this family… it isn’t yours. And Leo… he belongs to me. He always has. Always will.”

Isabella’s pulse spiked. The words weren’t just mean—they carried history, territorial claims, the kind of confidence born from knowing the power one holds.

“I… I’m not trying to—” Isabella began, but Sabrina tilted her head, a cruel smirk forming.

“Don’t speak,” Sabrina said, her eyes glittering with venom and certainty. “Just remember your place. You’re lucky he even tolerates your presence. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Isabella’s fingers tightened. She wanted to shout, to argue, to defend herself—but the weight of this world pressed down on her. It was bigger than her, stronger than her, and Sabrina’s confidence was a sharp reminder of that.

“I’ll remember,” Isabella said finally, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her.

Sabrina laughed softly, a sound that grated against Isabella’s nerves. “Good girl. That’s all I ask.” With a final sharp glance, she turned and glided away, leaving Isabella alone with her thoughts—and with the heavy, lingering aura of Leo’s protection that still clung to her like a shield.

Isabella exhaled slowly, letting the tension seep out of her body. This was her reality now. Dangerous. Unpredictable. But somehow… intoxicating.

And somewhere deep down, a small, stubborn part of her admitted it: she wasn’t entirely unhappy to be in this world, even if it meant standing against someone like Sabrina.

Because Leo was here.

And he was hers.