Chapter 2

Chapter Two: 

flush everything we had stepson.

Isabella's POV

The word “son” still burned on my tongue like acid as Richard turned to greet one of his business associates. 

For half a second, Salvatore and I were alone in a crowded room full of politicians, billionaires, and socialites who had no idea about the bomb that had just detonated between us.

His eyes darkened, intense and unyielding.

 “We need to talk. Alone. Now.”

My pulse hammered against my throat. I almost said yes. Almost let him pull me toward the side exit like the weak girl I used to be five years ago.

 But Richard’s warm laugh cut through the air as he glanced back at us.

I forced my lips into a polite smile, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. 

“Later, Salvatore. This isn’t the time.”

Salvatore’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking visibly, but he stepped back smoothly, playing the perfect son. 

“Of course… Mother.”

He turned and walked toward the front row, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with that controlled power he hadn’t possessed back then. I watched him sit directly across from where Richard and I would be seated for the speeches.

 He didn’t look away once. Not even when Richard returned to my side, sliding a possessive arm around my waist.

“He’s a good boy. A little intense sometimes, but he’ll warm up to you. You two will get along just fine,” 

Richard said, his tone full of fatherly affection.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. 

“I’m sure we will.”

The rest of the reception passed in a dizzying haze of congratulations, clinking champagne glasses, and forced laughter that rang hollow in my ears. Every time I looked up, Salvatore’s eyes were on me. Looking Hungry. 

His gaze lingered at the curve of my waist, then moved back to my lips like he was remembering exactly how they tasted five years ago—how I used to whisper his name in the dark.

During the first dance with Richard, I felt his stare like a brand on my skin. Salvatore sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, watching us sway to the soft music. 

When Richard spun me gracefully, our eyes locked again across the floor. Heat flooded my cheeks. He didn’t smile. He just stared with that dark, possessive look that used to make me melt into him.

“You seem distracted, darling,” Richard murmured against my ear, his hand warm on my back.

I blinked and smiled up at him, forcing warmth into my voice.

 “Just overwhelmed. It’s been a long day. All these people, the lights… It’s a lot.”

He kissed my forehead gently, so tenderly it almost hurt.

 “You’re mine now. Everything’s going to be perfect from here on out.”

Mine. The word should have felt safe, reassuring only if it was coming from another person not Richard. It felt like a cage.

Later, at the head table, Richard stood to give a short speech, tapping his glass for attention.

“To my beautiful wife, Isabella. You’ve brought light into this old man’s life when I least expected it. And to my son, Salvatore—thank you for being here on this special day. It means the world to have family together.”

Salvatore raised his glass in response, but his face looked really pale and dissatisfied 

“To family,” 

He said loudly, his voice smooth and deep, carrying across the room. “May we all get very close.”

A few people chuckled politely at what they thought was harmless wit. I nearly dropped my glass again, my fingers trembling around the stem.

When the evening finally ended, Richard helped me into the black Rolls Royce, his hand gentle on my arm. Salvatore stood on the steps of the venue like a statue, hands in his pockets, watching us drive away.

 His stare followed the car until we turned the corner, burning into me even through the tinted glass.

The mansion was quieter than I expected.

Richard’s—our—home was a sprawling modern estate on the outskirts of the city, with all-glass walls overlooking manicured gardens and marble floors that echoed with every step.

 Staff moved like ghosts, polite and invisible, anticipating needs before they were spoken. Richard showed me to the master bedroom, where my things had already been unpacked with meticulous care.

“I have an early meeting tomorrow,” he said, loosening his tie with a tired but satisfied smile. 

“But I want us to have breakfast together. Get to know each other properly as husband and wife. No rush.”

I nodded, still in my heavy wedding dress, the fabric suddenly feeling suffocating.

 “I’d like that.”

He kissed my cheek—soft, respectful—and disappeared into his study to make some calls, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I finally peeled off the gown, showered in the luxurious marble bathroom, and slipped into a silk nightdress that clung to my skin. The wedding ring on my finger still felt foreign, heavy with consequence. I stood at the bedroom window, staring out at the lit pool shimmering under the moonlight, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message came from a foreign number I didn't save.

Salvatore:We’re not done, Isabella. You don’t get to run again.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I deleted the message instantly, blocking the number with shaking fingers.

Normal life began the next morning, or at least something normal. Richard was already at the breakfast table when I came down in a cream blouse and tailored pants, looking every bit the composed new wife. He looked up from his newspaper with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Moretti. Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” I lied, taking the seat across from him and accepting a cup of coffee from a silent maid. 

“You?”

“Better knowing you were here.” 

He folded the paper neatly. “I’ve arranged for a driver for you today. And a credit card—unlimited. Buy whatever you want for the house. Make it yours. Redecorate, change whatever doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s very generous of you, Darling”

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand, his touch felt very kind.

 “I don’t do anything halfway, Isabella. When I commit, I commit fully. We’re building something real here.”

We talked about simple things—his busy schedule with board meetings, my plans to visit my parents later in the week to reassure them everything was stable now, and which charities I might get involved in as Mrs. Moretti. I felt civilized and safe now, almost normal.

Until the front door opened with a decisive click.

Salvatore walked in wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing those strong forearms that used to hold me so tightly. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he moved with the confidence of someone who takes this earth as his runway.

“Morning,” he said casually, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. His eyes slid to me immediately.

 “Mother.”

Richard chuckled, unaware of the undercurrents.

 “Good to see you, son. Didn’t expect you so early.”

“Had some business nearby.”

 Salvatore bit into the apple, chewing slowly while his gaze moved deliberately over my blouse, tracing the line of my collarbone.

 “Figured I’d stop by and welcome the new Mrs. Moretti properly. Can’t have her feeling like a stranger in the family home.”

I forced myself to stay calm, gripping my coffee cup tighter.

 “That’s thoughtful of you, Salvatore.”

Richard’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and sighed. “I have to take this. Salvatore, keep your stepmother company for a few minutes, would you? Show her around if she likes.”

He left the dining room, closing the door behind him.

The second Richard was gone, the air changed—thick, charged, electric.

Salvatore dropped into the chair beside me instead of across the table. Close enough that his knee brushed mine under the polished wood. 

“You look good in the morning light,” he said lowly, his voice like velvet over steel. “Even better than you did in that wedding dress.

 Though I preferred you without it.

 Remember how I used to peel your clothes off slowly?”

My breath hitched. “Stop Salvatore This is insane.”

“Why?” He leaned in closer, smelling like citrus soap and raw danger. Does he know how you used to moan my name? How you used to beg me not to stop when I had you trembling beneath me?”

“Salvatore,” I hissed, glancing toward the door in panic. “This is dangerous. We can’t...”

“Can’t what?” He smirked, his thumb grazing my knee under the table for a split second. “Pretend you didn’t feel it last night when I looked at you? I saw your face, Isabella. The way your body reacted. You still want me.

 Admit it.”

I stood up quickly, nearly knocking over my coffee.

 “I’m married to your father now. That’s the end of it.”

He stood too, towering over me, his presence overwhelming.

 “And I’m going to be living here for the next few months while my penthouse is being renovated. Dad insisted. Family bonding and all that. We’ll have plenty of time to… catch up.”

My stomach dropped as the reality sank in.

Before I could respond, Richard walked back in, smiling broadly. 

“Everything alright in here?”

“Perfect,” Salvatore answered smoothly, flashing that cold, charming smile.

 “Mum and I were just getting reacquainted. She’s even more interesting than I remembered.”

Richard looked pleased.

 “Excellent. I want my two favorite people to get along. We’re family now.”

I smiled weakly, but my hands were shaking beneath the table.

That evening, after Richard went to bed early with a gentle goodnight kiss, I slipped into the library to read and clear my head. 

 "My dad's asleep," he said quietly, stepping closer. "Now we can bond."