Chapter 4

Bella’s POV

The moment I followed my brother into that warehouse, my entire body trembled.

This was where I’d been tortured. Where I’d died.

Matteo walked in slowly, eyes scanning the space. The Moretti were nowhere in sight. Maybe Victoria had warned them—given them just enough time to run before Matteo arrived.

It didn’t take long for Matteo to find the room.

The room where they’d kept me.

Blood was everywhere—splattered across the floor and walls. The chair I’d been tied to was stained with things I didn’t want to name. The smell alone made Lorenzo gag.

Even Matteo recoiled.

I stood there, frozen, staring at that chair.

And the memories came rushing back.

I’d arrived at the address the Moretti gave me, expecting a tense negotiation. A confrontation over the contract, maybe.

Instead—I blacked out.

When I woke, I was already here.

Back then, I still believed the Moretti were simply mad at me for that contract. About business.

But it was never about the contract.

They were mad at the DeLucas.

Turns out, the Moretti were the same family our parents had been meeting when they were killed.

“If it wasn’t for your stupid father, the FBI wouldn’t have started sniffing around our family,” a man growled, the one with deep scars on his face. He spat at me. “Do you even understand how long we’ve been running?”

Gang wars weren’t new. Crossfire happened. It was the cost of the life we lived.

But federal attention? That was the death sentence no one wanted.

Because of the chaos that day, the FBI targeted the Moretti—relentlessly. Years of investigations, trials, attempted takedowns.

“All because of your father,” he hissed. “He brought hell to our door.”

“My father died,” I shot back. “It was one of your men who pulled the trigger first. How is any of this his fault?”

The man looked at me, his face unreadable.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he said. “Your father’s right-hand man—Victoria’s father—had already agreed to the deal before the meeting. If your father hadn’t changed his mind last minute, none of it would’ve happened.”

He stepped closer.

“So yeah. I blame your father. For the blood, the fallout, and everything that happened to my family.” He yanked my hair, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And you don’t get to walk away clean. I know you whispered something to your dad before that meeting. So yeah—you get some of the blame too.”

I overheard Marco—Victoria’s father—whispering to the Moretti Don before the meeting.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. Just mentioned it to my father in passing.

Then everything unraveled—shouting, drawn guns, shots fired.

And then...My parents were dead. So was Victoria’s father.

“It wasn’t like that…” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the chair. “I just mentioned something I overheard. I didn’t mean—”

The man with the scarred face strode over and struck me hard across the face.

“I know exactly what you told your father,” he snapped. “You said his right-hand man betrayed him. That our contract was a setup. If you hadn’t planted that idea in his head, the deal would’ve been signed.”

He leaned in close.

“And you’re still telling me you don’t bear responsibility for what happened?”

After that, everything blurred.

Not because I forgot—but because some part of me refused to remember all of it at once.

They questioned me about the DeLuca business secrets, who we worked with, where did we get our products from. Of course, I remained silent the entire time.

Soon, the Moretti lost all their patience. They shattered my ankle and wrist with a baseball bat. Then they hit my stomach until I couldn’t breathe.

Through the haze, I remembered hearing the Moretti mention Victoria’s name during a phone call—thanking her. Saying they never would’ve gotten to me so easily without her help.

Victoria sounded she didn’t just hate me. She hated both Matteo and me.

She’d driven a wedge between us—not only because she blamed me for her father’s death, but because keeping us divided gave her control. She needed Matteo close. She needed me isolated.