Chapter Seven – The Devil’s Dinner
1148 Words
(Dual POV: Isabella + Damian)
Isabella
The island looked like something carved out of myth — sharp cliffs, stone walls, and a mansion that seemed to float on the mist itself. From the moment they docked, everything about the Moretti estate screamed wealth, danger, and power.
Guards with rifles stood at every corner. Servants in black moved silently through marble halls. Even the air seemed thick with history — and blood.
Isabella followed Damian into the grand dining room, her pulse steadying only because fear was useless here.
The long table gleamed under crystal chandeliers. At its head sat Don Moretti — poised, predatory. Luca lounged opposite him, his smirk sharp as glass.
The seat between them was empty. Waiting for Damian.
“Sit,” Don Moretti said, voice silk-wrapped steel.
Damian pulled out a chair for Isabella. “She eats with me.”
“Of course,” the Don said smoothly. “Guests should always feel… welcome.”
Luca’s gaze dragged over her, lingering just a second too long. “You’ve got taste, brother. Shame it’ll get her killed.”
Damian’s knife clinked against his plate. “Say that again.”
“Enough,” the Don said mildly, without even raising his eyes. And just like that, the tension fell silent. That was the kind of control this man commanded — power so absolute it needed no volume.
They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the faint clinking of silverware and the distant rumble of the sea.
Then the Don spoke.
“Luca tells me you interfered in Madrid,” he said, cutting into his steak with precision. “And that this… woman,” his eyes flicked toward Isabella, “was involved.”
Isabella’s breath caught. “That’s not—”
“Let her speak,” Damian interrupted.
The Don arched an eyebrow. “By all means.”
She steadied herself. “I was there. I saw what your operation did. I lost people I cared about. And I don’t care who you are — you’ll answer for it.”
Luca’s laughter filled the room, low and cruel. “You’re brave, sweetheart. Stupid, but brave.”
Damian’s voice dropped to a growl. “Watch your mouth.”
The Don raised a hand. “Both of you.” He turned to Isabella, curiosity glinting in his gaze. “You think this is justice? You think you can destroy a man like me with your little recordings and your emotions?”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t need to destroy you. You’re already rotting from the inside.”
Something cold flickered in the Don’s eyes — not anger. Interest.
Then, to Damian’s shock, he smiled. “She reminds me of your mother.”
The room went still.
Luca’s smirk vanished. Damian froze, the word mother like a ghost neither of them wanted to summon.
“You said she died,” Isabella whispered.
“She did,” Damian said softly.
The Don’s eyes glittered. “Did she?”
Damian’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”
Don Moretti rose, slow and deliberate. “I never said she was dead. I said she was gone.”
He stepped around the table until he stood behind Isabella, his shadow long and dark against her.
“Your mother made a choice, Damian. Just as you have. And like you, she chose love over loyalty.”
“Don’t you dare compare—”
“She ran from me,” the Don continued, his voice soft as poison. “With a man who thought he could save her. They had a child.”
The words hung like a blade.
Luca frowned. “What are you saying?”
Don Moretti’s gaze shifted to Isabella. “I’m saying the past has a way of returning to the table… even when it shouldn’t.”
Isabella’s heart stuttered. “No,” she whispered.
But the Don only smiled. “Welcome home, figlia mia.”
His daughter.
The world spun. Damian’s chair scraped back violently. “You’re lying.”
The Don’s eyes glittered. “Am I?”
Luca looked between them, realization dawning like a curse. “You mean—she’s—”
“Your half-sister,” the Don finished smoothly.
The air shattered.
Damian’s hand slammed against the table. “You twisted old—”
“Careful,” the Don warned, voice like ice. “You both inherited my temper. But not my discipline.”
Isabella stood, trembling, eyes wide. “This isn’t possible. My mother died in a car accident—”
“A story we paid for,” the Don said simply. “To keep you hidden.”
Tears blurred her vision. “You’re insane.”
“I’m a father,” he corrected. “And I always protect what’s mine.”
Damian
Shock was an understatement. His mind was a hurricane — the woman he’d risked everything for, the one he loved — could be his blood.
But something didn’t fit.
His mother had died years before Isabella was born. He’d seen the grave. He’d seen the body.
Which meant either his father was lying — or the entire world was about to come undone.
He caught Isabella’s arm, voice rough. “Don’t believe him. He’s playing us.”
The Don smiled faintly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Damian glared. “Until I see proof, you’re just spinning poison like you always do.”
“Then perhaps proof is what you’ll get,” the Don said. He signaled to a guard. “Bring her file.”
A folder landed on the table a moment later. Damian’s stomach twisted when he saw what it contained — photos, birth certificates, old news clippings.
One photograph fell out. A young woman with dark hair and a smile too much like Isabella’s.
“Her mother,” the Don said. “My greatest regret.”
For a second, Damian’s certainty faltered.
Isabella’s knees went weak. “So… all of this…”
“Was destiny,” the Don finished.
“No,” Damian said fiercely, stepping between them. “This ends tonight.”
His gun was out before anyone could breathe.
“Damian—” Isabella gasped.
He pointed it at his father. “I don’t care who she is. You don’t get to use her as a weapon.”
The Don’s smile didn’t waver. “You won’t shoot me, son.”
“Try me.”
The Don sighed. “Luca.”
A single click echoed — and suddenly Damian felt cold metal press against the back of his neck.
Luca’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Told you, brother. You can’t win against blood.”
“Maybe not,” Damian said through his teeth, “but I can still make you bleed.”
Then chaos exploded — gunfire, screams, shattering glass.
And as the lights went out, Isabella’s scream cut through the dark.
- Writer
