Vows of vengeance

Chapter Three: Secrets in the Morning Light

Isabella awoke to pale dawn filtering through silk curtains, the moonlit shadows of the previous night replaced by soft, gray light. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she remembered the key card in Adrian’s hand—and the photograph tucked alongside it. A single image: herself at a children’s charity gala five years earlier, wearing a scarlet dress, unaware that she was being watched.

She lay in the vast bed, white sheets tangled around her legs, mind racing. Had Adrian recognized her that night in New York? Why had he kept the photo tucked away in his jacket for all these years? Every plan she’d made to avenge her brother’s death felt suddenly fragile, threatened by this unexpected connection between them.

The door opened quietly and Adrian stepped in, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, his hair slightly mussed. He paused at the threshold, watching her.

“Morning,” he said.

Isabella sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. “Good morning.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the bedding, then back to her face. “You look tired.”

“And you look… rested,” she replied, striving for neutrality.

He approached the bed and sat on the edge, facing her. “I’m sorry I startled you last night. Finding me in the jacket was—”

“Subtle.” Isabella’s voice was cool, but her pulse fluttered at the nearness of him. “I just want to know why you had that photo.”

Adrian held her gaze, expression inscrutable. “Because I’ve seen you before. Not just yesterday.” He paused. “Five years ago, at the Alexander Foundation gala in Manhattan. You were volunteering with the children, wearing a scarlet dress. I snapped the photo because something about you… I couldn’t forget.”

Isabella’s breath caught. “So you—”

“I never introduced myself. You were surrounded by donors, cameras, praise. I didn’t want to intrude.” He ran a hand through his hair. “After tonight, I wanted to remember who you were, beyond a bargaining chip in my father’s negotiations.”

She stared at him, torn between fury and a sudden, confusing gratitude. “You kept it all this time?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t explain it to anyone—not even my family.”

A silence settled between them. Isabella’s grip on the sheet tightened. Had she misjudged him? Or was this another layer of deception? Her father had taught her that the only person you could trust was the one you controlled, yet Adrian’s confession felt genuine, vulnerable.

“I need to think,” she whispered, pushing herself up. She wrapped her gown around her and crossed to the window, watching the rose bushes in the courtyard below. Their blossoms were pale in the morning light, innocent—unlike her.

Adrian rose as well, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

She turned to face him. “After everything I’ve done to prepare, I don’t know what to believe.”

He took a slow breath. “Then let me earn your trust.”

Isabella’s mind flared with anger at her own hesitation. She needed to stay focused. “That won’t be easy.”

He smiled, a softness in his eyes. “That’s the point.”

By mid-morning, they were dressed and ready to leave the suite for the private press conference in the De Luca reception hall. The hallway was already bustling with staff preparing cameras, lighting rigs, and rows of chairs. Isabella’s pulse quickened as she adjusted the neckline of her ivory blouse, Adrian’s tailored jacket sliding onto her arm like a shield.

The press conference was a carefully choreographed affair. Reporters snapped photographs as Adrian took her arm, guiding her to a raised dais where the families would make their joint announcement. Isabella felt the weight of dozens of lenses on her, each click a hammer shaping her public image. She forced a smile, cheeks lifting, eyes bright.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. De Luca,” called a reporter. “Can you tell us how this marriage will end the decades-long feud between the Moretti and De Luca families?”

Adrian cleared his throat. “Today marks a new chapter of unity. We stand together, committed to a peaceful future.” He turned slightly to include her in his gaze. “With Isabella by my side, I’m confident we will honor our families’ legacies—without further bloodshed.”

Isabella nodded, her smile warm. The words tasted strange on her tongue—like honey laced with poison. She realized how convincing they must seem, even to her.

The questions continued: inquiries about business mergers, philanthropic plans, and whether the union would produce an heir. Each question chipped away at Isabella’s resolve, reminding her how deeply entwined their lives now were. When the final camera flash went off, she exhaled, relief mingled with dread.

Back in the privacy of the estate’s inner courtyard, Adrian led her along a path lined with marble fountains. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from her face with gentle fingers.

“You were perfect.” His voice was low, meant only for her.

She stared ahead. “Am I playing a part?”

He took both her hands in his. “Only if you want to.” His thumb traced her knuckles. “You can decide who you want to be in this marriage.”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone, but she pulled her hands back. “I’ll need more than words.”

He nodded. “I’ll give you time. And the truth.”

That afternoon, Isabella returned to the bridal suite under the pretext of resting, but her mind refused to settle. She retrieved the photograph from her bag—careful not to let Adrian see—and studied the young girl’s smile. It was her own face, unburdened, alive with hope. A different life, a different future. Had Adrian watched her in secret all these years because he saw something she’d lost?

Her solitude was shattered by the faint tick of her phone. A text from her father:

Meet me at the estate’s villa in two hours. Come alone. There is something you must know.

The villa was a centuries-old stone house overlooking the lake—a place she had only visited as a child. Its walls held the whispers of her family’s darkest secrets. She folded the photograph carefully and slipped it into her journal, heart pounding at the thought of what Domenico Moretti might reveal.

She hurried downstairs and found Adrian in the library, reviewing financial ledgers. His head lifted as she entered.

“Everything okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“I have to step out for a while. My father—”

“She’s family,” Adrian said gently. “Go.”

Grateful and wary in equal measure, she kissed his cheek—quick and formal—before slipping past him and into a waiting car.

The drive to the villa felt interminable. Each turn of the wheel brought memories of childhood visits flooded back: running through gardens, the scent of wild jasmine, the echo of laughter from her brother, Luca. She bit her lip, fighting tears she couldn’t afford. She was here for answers, not nostalgia.

When the car pulled up, Domenico stood on the stone steps, his dark coat flapping in the breeze. His eyes were unreadable as she climbed out.

“You came alone,” he said, voice low. “Good.”

She stepped onto the porch. “What did you want to tell me?”

He held up a manila envelope. “Your brother left a letter. He sent it to me before he died, but I never gave it to you.”

Isabella’s breath caught. “Why not?”

“Because you were too young. And because it changes everything.” He handed her the envelope. “Read it.”

Her fingers shook as she opened the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper in Luca’s neat handwriting:

Bella, if you’re reading this, I’m gone. I discovered something about the De Lucas that scares me. They have more power than we realize. I don’t know whom I can trust. My life is in danger.

Keep your eyes open. Not everything is as it seems.

—Luca

Isabella’s chest tightened. Her brother had warned of hidden dangers years ago—dangers she’d never understood until now. She looked to her father.

“What does this mean?” she whispered.

Before he could answer, a deafening c***k split the air.

They both whirled toward the lake, where the shattered sound of glass echoed across the water.

A single gunshot.

…

The world went silent as Isabella stared at the villa’s darkened window. The letter slipped from her fingers, and her heart thundered in her ears.

Someone else knows.

And they were already inside.