ISABELLA
Darkness. Thick. Suffocating. Alive. It clung to my skin like oil, slithered into my lungs with every breath. I shot upright. Cold slapped my spine concrete, damp and unwelcoming. My fingers scrambled over the ground, searching for anything, anyone. Nothing. No sound. No movement. Just a hairline crack of light leaking through a wall. Not enough to see. Only enough to remind me I was trapped. Buried. Alive. My chest tightened. Breath snagged in my throat. The old fear twisted inside me like a blade. Not the dark. Not again. I folded into myself, arms shielding my head, rocking like a child as the panic bloomed. Damian knew. He knew. I told him once stupid, innocent me how darkness made me drown in my own mind. How, after the accident when I was six, I couldn’t sleep without the hallway light. He remembered. And he left me here. This wasn’t punishment. This was precision. Tears burned hot down my cheeks. My jaw clenched until it ached. He was using my worst fear to remind me who held the leash now. And he was doing it calmly. Casually. Like breaking me was just another part of his routine. I rocked harder. I wanted to scream. To claw at the walls. To wake up. But this wasn’t a nightmare. It was reality. And he had made it so. --- I lost track of time. My lips cracked. My body ached. Then Click. Light sliced through the room. Boots echoed across the floor. I blinked up through the haze. Richard. I jolted. “Richard?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Oh my God it’s you.” Hope surged. He didn’t react. Just walked in, placed a tray on the floor fruit, bread, water and stood like a soldier waiting for orders. No smile. No warmth. No recognition. “Eat,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.” Then turned to leave. “No wait!” I croaked, crawling forward. “Richard, it’s me. You used to protect me. You cared. Please please tell me what’s going on.” He paused. But he didn’t turn. And he didn’t speak. Just walked out and shut the door behind him. Gone. Like the rest. The sob that tore from me felt animal. I pressed my forehead to the floor and screamed. If even he was gone… Who was left? But my body didn’t care. It lunged for the food. I devoured it like I’d never eaten. Juice ran down my chin. Crumbs scattered in my lap. The water barely touched the sides of my throat before it was gone. I didn’t stop until the tray was empty. And even then I was still hungry. But not for food. For answers. For blood. For freedom. --- Then I felt him. Even before I heard the footsteps. Even before the scent hit me cool, expensive, unmistakably him I felt the pressure shift. Like the room was bending to his presence. Damian. He stepped inside without a word. Calm. Composed. Controlled. He crouched beside me, gaze unreadable, eyes the color of cold steel. His hand reached out brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. A gentle touch, made cruel by context. “Look at me, Isa.” I didn’t want to. But I did. Because part of me still hoped. Still wanted to see the boy I once trusted. But he wasn’t there. Just the monster wearing his face. “You look tired,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “Doesn’t suit a princess.” Tears pooled again. “Why?” I whispered. “Why did you kill them?” His face didn’t flinch. No guilt. No regret. Just emptiness. “You said you cared,” I choked out. His hand snapped out, gripping my jaw with punishing force. “I’m not your brother,” he growled. “I never was.” He leaned in, breath brushing my cheek. “From now on… you’ll address me properly.” I blinked. “What?” His voice dropped. “You call me Master.” The word sliced through me. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I won’t.” He stood, slow and towering, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Well,” he said, voice like a blade, “looks like our little princess forgot this isn’t her kingdom anymore.” He turned to leave then paused. Glanced over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed. “You tried to run.” My blood froze. “And I will find you. Every time. I will break you until even you forget who you are.” He smiled. Not with kindness. With intent. “And when I’m done, Isa…” He stepped backward, vanishing into shadow. “I’ll make you beg to be my perfect pet.” I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But then his voice again. Colder. Deadlier. “And remember…” He lingered at the threshold. “I know everything about Liliana. One word just one and I’ll make sure you watch her die.” The door slammed. And the dark didn’t wait. It swallowed me whole. But this time, it wasn’t outside me. It lived inside me. And it was growing. AUTHOR’S NOTE Hey lovely readers! 💖 If you're enjoying the story, don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe. Your support means the world and keeps me writing more twists, drama, and heart-racing moments! 💌🔥LOLAFour days. That’s how long it’s been since we landed in New York, yet I haven’t caught so much as a glimpse of Matteo.Not that I’m complaining. The last time I saw him was in Paris the night he tore me from my brother’s arms like I was some prize he’d won. That memory still burns, jagged and raw.Since then, I’ve been hidden away here. “Kept” feels too kind, like a word someone uses to dress up cruelty. This isn’t a home; it’s a cage wearing a room’s skin. The wallpaper peels like old wounds, curling and cracking at the edges. The bed sags in the middle, its thin mattress rubbing my back raw when I try to sleep. Even the clock on the wall has teeth its steady tick-tick-tick biting into my skull, a metronome counting down my captivity.I press my forehead to the windowpane. The glass is so cold it feels like it’s leeching heat straight out of my skull. Tiny beads of condensation collect where my breath hits and disappear as quickly as my hope. From this angle, I can see fragment
MATTEOMy finger curled around the trigger, steady, unshaken. The silence between us stretched, taut like a wire ready to snap. I leaned forward, my voice smooth, velvet with an edge of steel.“What if I say no?”His jaw tightened. “This is my domain, Matteo. Your men are few. You’re nothing here.”I smiled slow, deliberate, a devil’s grin carved across my face. “Do you really think I come unprepared?”The color drained from his face as I stepped closer, the muzzle of my gun grazing the air between us. Our eyes locked his blazing with fury, mine with amusement. Anger might fuel him, but me? I thrived on it.Betrayal burned in my veins. He had chosen my elder brother over me. My dead brother. How dare he? Let him see if the grave will rise to save him tonight.“What do you mean?” he demanded, suspicion cracking through his voice.I tilted my head, savoring the moment. “Do you really want to know?” I whispered. “Because I already do.”“Spit it out, Matteo!” His tone rose, desperate.I
RICARDOSomething had been gnawing at me ever since the night I tore my sister from that monster’s hands. The feeling was like a shadow that refused to leave, curling at the back of my mind. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard I tried.A few days ago, I called one of my men in New York to dig into Damian’s whereabouts. The report came back short, sharp, and impossible.“Damian is dead.”I froze when the words replayed in my mind. No. It didn’t make sense. Damian couldn’t just vanish into death. But if it was true… then Matteo would take the throne. And if Matteo took over, he would come for me.The thought slammed through me like a blade. My fist came down hard on the mahogany table, rattling the glass ashtray at the edge. “Fuck!”I didn’t waste another second. I grabbed my phone and barked into it, “Bring Lola to my office now. Make sure my strongest men are with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”My sister was the only soft spot I had left, and Matteo know it. I couldn’t let
ISABELLA“You don’t have a choice, Isa.” His voice is quiet but sharp enough to cut. His eyes flat, metallic lock onto mine, holding me there like a pinned insect. “You have to start again. That child is Damian’s. I won’t let it stay.”The air in the study feels heavy, like it’s closing in on me. My throat tightens, the burn of unshed tears rising behind my eyes. I press a trembling hand over my belly, as though I could shield the life inside with nothing but my palm. “But it’s also my child,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of it. “Your younger sister’s child. Please, brother… let my child be.”He drags a hand through his hair, a gesture that used to mean worry when we were children but now feels like a blade being drawn. He begins to pace the room. The smell of polished wood and old paper hangs in the air; every echo of his footstep thuds like a gavel, each turn at the far end of the room another silent verdict.“Isabella,” he says finally. His voice softens, but the i
VINCENTI don’t sleep. The study smells of old paper and cold coffee; the city outside is a smear of neon and rain. I sit at the desk until my hand cramps, watching the door more out of habit than hope. Maria was supposed to be quick efficient. She’s the one I shaped: precise, hard, trained to disappear and reappear with answers.The door opens like a promise breaking.Light slices the room and her shape steps through all angles and practiced calm until she folds. Maria drops to one knee so fast it looks rehearsed; her forehead hovers a breath away from the carpet. Her palms come together at chest height, not in prayer so much as in the last motion of someone trying to gather courage from air. A sliver of steel peeks from under her boot; the lamplight kisses it and goes cold. She does not touch it. She never gives me that show of panic except tonight her shoulders slump in a way that makes her look younger, thinner, like the steel in her spine has been loosened.“Boss,” she says. Th
DAMIANA week. Seven raw days that taste like rust in my mouth. I wake with the same knot in my chest, the same picture: two bodies under a sheet, the same shoes, the same ripped sleeve. My hands keep searching photographs that don’t exist. Isa isn’t dead. Those corpses someone dressed them in her clothes, put the smile she wore that morning on a mannequin. My gut screams fraud.Liliana’s laugh crawls through my head. Her perfume, cheap and sweet, used to make Isa wrinkle her nose. Now I imagine it in a room where they hid the truth. Liliana brought chaos into my life the day I let her back in; I’d pay for that, if it’s her hand in this.I trace the fabric in my mind the worn denim Isa loved, the red thread at the hem and I can feel the moment I failed her, the moment I chose anger over arms. I should have pulled her closer, shown her I could be better. Instead she ran and took my right to be a father with her. Every night my regret coils tighter.My phone buzzes across the table and