Chapter 3

Bella’s POV

Victoria slipped her arm through his. “Bella is different from us. She never had to grow up—because she always had you to fall back on. She knew you’d be there whenever she messed up.”

Matteo rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. I did spoil her.”

He sighed. “I thought she would’ve grown up after our parents died.”

Victoria didn’t miss a beat. “Actually… I’ve been meaning to tell you. The other day, when she said she’d go fix the mess she made with the Moretti contract—I saw her got on a train that was leaving town.”

She let it hang in the air. “Maybe… she lied to us again?”

Matteo’s expression darkened. “You mean she never went to the Moretti?”

Victoria gave him that wide-eyed, innocent look. “I suspected it. But I didn’t want to be the kind of person who talks behind someone’s back.”

Liar.

Matteo looked furious now, and Victoria pushed in deeper.

“I found this on her desk,” she added, slipping something from her purse. “She left it behind.”

It was a necklace.

Our family’s token. Every one of us had one.

Victoria must’ve taken it off my body before the Moretti dumped me like trash at the back of the casino.

“I’m just… worried about her,” she said softly, like it pained her.

And Matteo—my brother—tightened his fist around that necklace like it had betrayed him too.

“Don’t be,” he said coldly. “If she’s capable of walking away from her family, maybe it’s time we stop calling her one of us.”

Then he pulled out his phone and called the Moretti.

“Sorry about my sister. No—Bella’s mistake,” he said. “I thought she’d handled it with you. Turns out, she may have skipped town and left me with the fallout. Again.”

And then I heard him.

The Moretti Don.

The man who killed me.

His voice came through the phone, slow and polished, sending a chill down my spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. DeLuca. Perhaps we can reschedule the conversation for another day.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” Matteo replied.

I stood frozen.

Furious.

My whole body trembled with rage I couldn’t unleash.

They’d killed me—and that still wasn’t enough.

Now they were rewriting the story, painting me as the coward, the traitor.

What else did they have planned?

I turned to Matteo, my chest aching.

Brother… for once, couldn’t you just believe in me?

Why would I run?

You knew me better than anyone. You knew I was stubborn. You knew I never backed down from a fight.

If I made a mistake—I’d own it. I wouldn’t run.

I’d never run.

…

Over the past few days, I could see it—Matteo was growing more anxious.

I wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t heard from me… or because of the body in the basement.

This afternoon, just as he tried calling me for what must’ve been the hundredth time, someone finally answered.

“Where the hell have you been, Bella?” he barked into the phone. “I can’t believe you’d go this far—abandoning your family and skipping town? If our parents were alive, imagine how disappointed they’d be—”

“Don?” a voice interrupted.

Lorenzo.

Matteo froze. “Why do you have Bella’s phone?”

There was a pause. “I… found it,” Lorenzo said. “In our casino’s backdoor.”

I watched the color drain from Matteo’s face.

He bolted.

Stormed down to the casino’s basement like the floor was on fire.

“Where’s the body?” he barked.

Lorenzo looked just as stunned. “I already handed her over to the forensic team. She’s at the lab.”

“And the phone?” Matteo snapped.

Lorenzo handed it over with a shaking hand.

Matteo unlocked it in seconds.

Our wallpaper flashed on the screen—him and me, grinning like the world hadn’t touched us yet.

He staggered back like he’d been punched.

“I’m not jumping to conclusions,” Lorenzo said quickly. “Maybe Bella dropped her phone earlier before that dead body got dropped…”

But Matteo didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He was already on his feet, storming out the door.

Did Matteo finally start to suspect the truth?

He checked the location history on my phone.

It confirmed his worst fear—I’d gone to the Moretti compound. And after that, every signal traced back to the casino.

Within minutes, Matteo had gathered a team of armed men. I followed him, helpless but unwilling to leave.

He was trying to stay calm as he issued orders.

“If they resist, fire without hesitation,” he said flatly. “If the Moretti want war—then war it is.”

“Yes, Don.”

I hovered close, torn between rage and dread. Part of me couldn’t bear to return to that place—to the hell where I was tortured and killed.

But I couldn’t let Matteo go alone.