Reclaiming my Name

The first time someone tried to kill Isabella Romano, she was carrying a bag of groceries and worrying about how she would pay her rent. It was supposed to be an ordinary night. She had finished her shift late and was walking home beneath the weak glow of the streetlights when she noticed the black car. It had been following her for three blocks. Isabella tightened her grip on the grocery bag. She turned left. The car turned left. Her heart skipped. She walked faster. So did the car. “Okay… don’t panic.” She glanced over her shoulder. The car stopped at the end of the street. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the driver’s door opened. A man stepped out. Isabella’s stomach dropped. She didn’t know him. But the way he looked at her told her that he knew exactly who she was. She ran. The grocery bag fell from her hand, oranges rolling across the pavement. “Hey!” She didn’t look back. Her shoes slapped against the sidewalk as she sprinted toward the main road. Footsteps followed. Fast. Too fast. She reached into her pocket for her phone. Nothing. She had left it at work. “Damn it!” A hand suddenly grabbed her arm. Isabella screamed and fought back. “Let me go!” The man pulled her toward the alley. She kicked him. He cursed and loosened his grip. Isabella ran again. A gunshot exploded behind her. She screamed. The bullet struck the wall beside her. She stumbled but kept running. Someone was trying to kill her. The thought was impossible. She had no enemies. She had no powerful family. No money. No connections. She was just Isabella. An orphan who had spent her entire life trying to survive. So why was someone hunting her? Another gunshot rang out. Then a black car appeared from nowhere. It stopped directly between Isabella and her attacker. The back door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Dressed completely in black. His expression was calm despite the gunfire. He looked at Isabella. “Get in.” She stared at him. “What?” “Get in the car.” “I don’t know you!” The man behind her raised his gun. The stranger immediately pulled his own weapon. “Isabella.” Her blood froze. He knew her name. “How do you know my—” “Get in!” The gunman fired. The stranger returned fire. Isabella ducked. The man grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the car. The door slammed shut. “Drive.” The driver accelerated. Isabella pressed herself against the seat, breathing heavily. The stranger sat beside her. She stared at him. He looked completely composed. Not even a hint of panic. “Who are you?” He didn’t answer. “Where are you taking me?” “Somewhere safe.” “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” “You don’t have a choice.” Her anger overcame her fear. “I absolutely have a choice!” He finally turned toward her. His eyes were cold. But there was something else hidden behind them. Concern. “You can either trust me for the next twenty minutes,” he said quietly, “or you can get out and let the men behind us finish what they started.” Isabella looked through the rear window. The black car was following them. Her stomach twisted. She turned back. “Who are they?” “I don’t know yet.” “You’re lying.” “No.” “Then how do you know they want me dead?” The man’s jaw tightened. “Because I’ve been watching them watch you.” Isabella stared at him. “You’ve been watching me?” “Yes.” “For how long?” He didn’t answer. Her fear returned. “Are you one of them?” “No.” “Then who are you?” He finally gave her an answer. “Dante Moretti.” The name meant nothing to her. But the driver’s reaction told her it should have. Dante looked out the window. “From this moment forward, you don’t go anywhere alone.” Isabella laughed nervously. “You can’t be serious.” “I am.” “And why exactly would I listen to you?” “Because you’re in danger.” “I don’t even know why.” Dante looked at her. “You will.” ⸻ Twenty minutes later, the car stopped outside an enormous iron gate. The gates opened. Isabella stared. Beyond them stood a massive mansion surrounded by high walls, security cameras, and armed guards. Her mouth fell open. “This is your house?” “Yes.” “I can’t stay here.” “You can.” “No, I can’t.” Dante opened the door. She remained seated. “I’m not a prisoner.” “You aren’t.” “Then let me leave.” Dante looked at her for several seconds. “You’re free to walk through that gate.” Isabella blinked. “Really?” “Yes.” She stepped out. She took three steps. Then stopped. Beyond the gates was darkness. The streets she had known her entire life suddenly felt different. Unsafe. She turned back. Dante was watching her. He didn’t tell her to stay. He simply waited. Isabella hated that. She hated that he was right. Slowly, she walked back toward him. “What happens if I stay?” “I’ll keep you alive.” “And what do you want in return?” “Nothing.” She narrowed her eyes. “No one does something for nothing.” Dante’s expression became unreadable. “Then consider it a debt.” “I don’t owe you anything.” “Not yet.” The words sent an unfamiliar chill through her. Dante turned toward the mansion. “Come inside.” Isabella followed reluctantly. ⸻ The following morning, Dante placed a uniform on the table. Isabella stared at it. “What is this?” “Your clothes.” She looked from the uniform to him. “Why are you giving me a maid’s uniform?” “Because you need a reason to stay in this house.” Her eyebrows rose. “You want me to work here?” “Yes.” “As a maid?” “Yes.” She stared at him in disbelief. “You rescue me from an assassin and then offer me a job cleaning your mansion?” Dante took a sip of coffee. “It’s the safest explanation for your presence here.” “And if I refuse?” “You can leave.” She knew what he meant. She could leave the mansion. But someone outside was hunting her. Isabella looked down at the uniform. “What aren’t you telling me?” Dante’s eyes met hers. “A lot.” At least he was honest. She picked up the uniform. “Fine.” His eyebrow lifted. “Fine?” “I’ll work here.” “For how long?” “Until I figure out who wants me dead.” Something flickered in Dante’s eyes. “Good.” Isabella turned toward the stairs. Then stopped. “One more thing.” “Yes?” “If you’re going to keep secrets from me, don’t expect me to trust you.” Dante’s voice was quiet. “I don’t expect you to trust me.” She looked back. “Then what do you expect?” His gaze held hers. “For you to stay alive long enough to discover who you really are.” Isabella frowned. “What does that mean?” But Dante had already turned away. She didn’t see the expression that crossed his face. Regret. Because he knew something Isabella didn’t. The woman standing in his mansion wasn’t simply an innocent stranger. She was Isabella Romano. The last surviving heir of a family that powerful men had spent years trying to erase. And now that someone had found her… Dante knew it was only a matter of time before they came for her again.