3

Isabella Leonardo:

Mom already made a mess of the house. Staying here would be insane—and I just can't.

I stormed out right after the argument. No friends, no welcome, just tension thick enough to choke me. I had no choice but to book a hotel.

A middle-class one, at that. The best I could afford with my café paychecks and the little savings I’d scraped together. The kind of place that smelled like old bleach and regret.

I tossed my bag on the worn-out bed and collapsed beside it.

Staring at the pictures of Steven and I—the ones I’d never had the courage to delete—I felt tears slip down, silent and slow.

I wish I stayed longer. Maybe I wouldn’t feel this broken.

I thought coming back would give me closure. But all I felt was… unwelcome.

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back at all.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

I stared at it until it stopped ringing.

Then it buzzed again.

A text this time.

“Be ready tomorrow. The funeral is at noon. Don’t be late.”

No name. But I didn’t need one. Only one person spoke to me like they were issuing a court order.

Christopher D’evone.

I dropped the phone on the bed and closed my eyes.

He hadn’t seen me in years. Not since—

No. Not now. I couldn’t go there. Not yet.

Tomorrow, I’d see him again.

I didn’t know if I was ready.

But I had no choice.

---

It was 5 p.m. when everyone gathered at the graveyard. The skies were gray, matching the mood in the air. Most of the men standing there were from the underworld—Steven’s world. His world of blood, power, and silence.

No doubt, Steven D’evone was a Mafia Lord. I remembered where he used to hide his gun, the secret compartment behind the bookshelf in his office. I remembered the bodies. Cold. Lifeless. Frequent.

It didn’t haunt me… it reminded me. Of how feared he was. Of how respected he was.

They stood still, like statues dressed in black. Faces pale. Eyes hollow. A kingdom mourning its king.

And mine… mine was pale too.

My mother—ever the performer—was throwing herself around, screaming like she had lost her soul.

But we all knew the truth.

Everything about her was fake.

And I bet—no, I knew—she was the happiest woman alive that Steven D’evone was six feet closer to hell.

The priest’s voice echoed over the murmurs. He began the prayer, his tone heavy and steady, as if afraid to offend the dead.

Then Christopher stepped forward—the only child of Steven.

He knelt, picked a fistful of dirt, and tossed it onto the casket.

I watched him with glassy eyes. Cold. Calm. Controlled. Like nothing could break through that armor of his.

Then it was my turn.

I stepped forward, fingers trembling, but I managed to find my voice.

“Steven D’evone was many things to many people. A ruler, a legend, a nightmare. But to me... he was a protector. My anchor. The man who made me feel safe when the whole world was chaos. I don’t know if I ever said it enough… but I loved you, papa. And I’ll miss you forever.”

My voice cracked at the end. I looked down, blinking away the tears. My heart clenched when I heard my mother step up next.

She gave a dramatic sigh, wiping fake tears with a lace handkerchief. “Steven… my love, my life, my everything. If only people knew how much I endured by your side…”

What?

I nearly scoffed out loud. I could feel the disgust crawl up my throat. Was she really using his funeral to play victim?

Finally, the casket began to lower. One by one, people dropped white flowers onto it.

I stood there, tears slipping down my cheeks as they buried the only father I ever knew.

Slowly, the crowd started to fade away. One car after the other.

My mother was the first to leave, of course. Probably heading home to pop champagne.

The graveyard was almost empty now.

A cold breeze brushed against my skin, sharp and cutting.

So it was real.

He was gone.

“I miss you, papa,” I whispered, my voice barely rising above the wind. I sniffled and looked up—

And there he was.

Christopher D’evone.

Standing a few feet away, staring at me like I was some puzzle he couldn't decide whether to solve or break.

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard and looked away.

I shouldn’t feel this.

Not for him.

Not again.

He’s married, Isabella. Control yourself.

But my eyes… they betrayed me.

They found their way back to him.

And then the sky broke.

Rain poured, heavy and relentless. Like the heavens couldn’t hold it in anymore either.

Still, I didn’t move. I just stood there… letting it soak me.

Until I felt something above me.

An umbrella.

I looked up.

It was him.

Christopher.

We locked eyes. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. My breath caught in my throat.

“Don’t get yourself a cold,” he said, voice low and cold, before walking off into the rain—leaving the umbrella with me.

My heart raced.

“Oh Chris…” I murmured to myself. “What have you done to me?”

The rain was relentless, soaking through my dress, past my skin, right down to my bones. Still, I didn’t move—not until the cemetery was almost empty.

I finally turned, leaving the silence of Steven’s grave behind. The wind bit at my face, and my hands trembled as I waved down a cab.

The driver didn’t say a word when I gave the hotel’s name. I sank into the seat, shivering. My mind replayed the look in Christopher’s eyes—how it lingered, how it felt like a slap and a caress all at once.

We stopped abruptly—not in front of my hotel, but on a dark, narrow street.

“Hey—this isn’t the place,” I said, sitting up. “What’s going on?”

The driver turned around slowly. “Out. Now.”

“What?”

“Out.”

Confused and scared, I opened the door. The moment I stepped out, I felt hands on me.

Two guys—one grabbing my bag, the other reaching for the necklace Steven gave me years ago. I fought back, panic surging.

“Let go of me!”

One of them yanked my phone from my coat. The other punched me in the ribs when I tried to scream.

“Shut up before you make it worse,” one growled.

They had what they wanted. They could’ve left. But one of them hesitated, looking at me like I was still holding something more.

“Check her jacket. Maybe she’s hiding cash.”

I slapped his hand away. “Get off me!”

That’s when the knife flashed—fast, angry.

A sharp pain ripped through my side, just beneath the ribs.

I gasped.

The pain was sharp—hot and cold all at once.

I stumbled backward, hand clutching my side, warm blood already mixing with the cold rain, soaking into my clothes.

They ran.

So fast, their shadows disappeared into the blur of the storm.

“Ah!”

A scream tore from my throat as my knees hit the pavement.

The world tilted.

My vision blurred.

I could barely feel the rain anymore.

I was losing focus.

Probably sinking into darkness.

And the only thought that echoed in my head was—

Is this how it ends?