Owned by the Oath

Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: Shadows of Trust

The footsteps grow louder, each one a hammer against my racing heart. I back away from the door, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet of Luciano’s guest suite, my eyes darting to the balcony. The night air whispers through the open doors, but the estate’s grounds are a maze of guards and gates—no escape there. Santino’s message burns in my mind: Isabella, run. He’s not what he seems. Who’s “he”? Luciano? Someone else? And why does Santino, a name tied to my father’s death, know I’m here?

The door creaks open, and I brace myself, fists clenched, ready to fight. But it’s not Luciano or one of his goons. It’s the maid—her name’s Clara, I think—her mousy brown hair tucked under a cap, her eyes wide with fear. She shuts the door quickly, pressing a finger to her lips.

“Miss De Luca,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You can’t tell anyone I told you about the message. They’ll kill me.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” I ask, keeping my voice low, stepping closer. Her fear is real, contagious, and it makes my skin crawl. “Clara, right? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She glances at the door, her hands twisting. “I don’t know much, I swear. I just overheard the guards. The phone they found—it was your brother’s. The message was on it, locked with a code only you’d know. Something about your dad.”

My breath catches. “My dad’s dead. What code?”

Clara shakes her head. “I don’t know! But they’re saying Santino’s not just a name—it’s a signal. Someone’s playing games with the boss. And you’re in the middle.”

Before I can press her, the door swings open, and Luciano fills the frame, his presence like a storm rolling in. His blue eyes lock on Clara, then me, and I see the suspicion flare. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm, but his scarred hands flex, ready for violence.

Clara squeaks, backing toward the wall. I step in front of her, my chin up. “She was just checking on me,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Your orders, right? Make sure I’m comfortable in my cage?”

His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “Clara, out. Now.”

She scurries past him, head down, and I feel a pang of guilt. She’s risking her life to help me, and I don’t even know why. Luciano shuts the door, the click loud in the silence. He’s still in his suit, but his tie’s loosened, and his dark hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it. It makes him look almost human—almost.

“You’re making friends already,” he says, crossing his arms. “Careful, Isabella. Not everyone here is your ally.”

“Like you are?” I shoot back, my heart pounding. “You promised Matteo would be safe, and now he’s gone. Cartel hit, blood on the floor, and some cryptic message about Santino. You’re the one who needs to start talking.”

He steps closer, his height forcing me to tilt my head back. His scent—leather, cedar, danger—wraps around me, and I hate how it makes my pulse race. “You think I planned this?” he asks, his voice low, edged with anger. “You think I’d let a cartel hit my own safehouse? I’m the one keeping you alive, bella.”

“Stop calling me that,” I snap, but my voice wavers. His closeness is overwhelming, his intensity pulling at something deep inside me. “And don’t act like you’re my savior. You’re the reason I’m here, tied to your damn deal.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re here because your father betrayed me. Because his blood debt falls on you. But I’m starting to think you’re more than just a debt.”

I jerk back, my cheeks burning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He straightens, his gaze raking over me—my messy hair, my torn shirt, my defiance. “It means you’re trouble. The kind I don’t need but can’t stop wanting.”

My stomach flips, and I hate it. Hate how his words spark heat in me, how his eyes make me feel seen in a way I’ve never been. But Matteo’s out there, and Santino’s message is a warning I can’t ignore. I need to play this smart, not let my body betray my mind.

“Then let’s make this clear,” I say, stepping into his space, my voice steady. “I’m here for Matteo. Not for you. Tell me about Santino. Why’s his name tied to my father? And don’t give me half-answers.”

Luciano’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’ll shut me down. But he surprises me, leaning against the bedpost, his voice low. “Santino was a ghost in the cartel. A dealmaker who played both sides—my family, your father’s people. Five years ago, he brokered a truce between us and the Mexicans. Your father was part of it. Then he turned, fed intel to our enemies. Santino vanished the same day your father died.”

My heart stutters. “You’re saying Santino set him up?”

“I’m saying Santino’s a name nobody trusts,” Luciano says, his eyes searching mine. “And now it’s back, tied to your brother’s disappearance. If you know something, Isabella, tell me now. Before this gets uglier.”

“I don’t,” I say, but my mind races. The code Clara mentioned—something only I’d know. Papa used to leave me notes, riddles in Italian, hidden in books. Cuore mio, find the truth in the words, he’d say. Could Matteo have found one? Is that why he’s gone?

Luciano watches me, like he can see the gears turning. “You’re holding back,” he says. “Don’t. My patience has limits.”

“Then give me something,” I counter, my voice rising. “You want my trust? Tell me why you’re so sure I’m lying. What’s Santino to you?”

His face hardens, and for a moment, I see that flicker again—pain, buried deep. “Santino cost me someone I loved,” he says, his voice rough. “My sister, Elena. The truce he brokered? It was a trap. She died because of it. So don’t think I’m playing games, Isabella. If Santino’s back, I’ll burn this city to find him.”

My breath catches. His sister. The rawness in his voice—it’s real, and it shakes me. I want to push, to ask more, but the weight of his grief stops me. Instead, I say, “I’m sorry. But if Santino’s after Matteo, we’re on the same side. Let me help find him.”

He laughs, a bitter sound. “Help? You’re my captive, not my partner.”

“Then why tell me about your sister?” I challenge, stepping closer. “You don’t strike me as the sharing type, Luciano. Unless you want me to trust you.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t deny it. “Get some rest,” he says, turning for the door. “Tomorrow, we start your… education in my world.”

“Education?” I scoff. “You mean breaking me.”

He pauses, glancing back, his smile dangerous. “If I wanted you broken, bella, you’d already be there.”

The door closes, and I’m alone again, my heart pounding. His words linger, stirring a mix of fear and something else—something I don’t want to name. I cross to the balcony, staring at the dark grounds, my mind racing. Matteo’s phone, Santino’s message, a code only I’d know. I need to get to that phone, to figure out what Papa left behind. But Luciano’s watching me, and so is someone else—someone who knows I’m here.

A soft buzz interrupts my thoughts. My eyes dart to the bedside table, where a small black phone sits, half-hidden under a pillow. It wasn’t there before. My hands tremble as I pick it up, the screen glowing with a new message. No sender, just text: Cuore mio, the truth is in the ledger. Find it before he does.

My blood runs cold. Papa’s words. His nickname for me. But he’s dead—or is he? The ledger—Luciano’s, maybe, the one he keeps locked away. The door creaks again, and I shove the phone under the pillow, my heart in my throat. A shadow moves in the hallway, tall and lean, not Luciano’s broad frame. It’s Marco, his snake tattoo glinting in the dim light, his smirk sharp as a blade.

“Trouble sleeping, princess?” he says, stepping inside, his green eyes locked on me. “Or are you already planning to run?”

I freeze, the phone’s weight burning under the pillow. He doesn’t know about it—does he? But his gaze is too knowing, too hungry, and I realize I’m not just trapped in Luciano’s cage. I’m in a game I don’t fully understand, and Marco’s playing, too.