Chapter 4

ISABELLA'S POV

It felt weird. I couldn't come here with any weapons. Neither could I come here with an earpiece. Security had gotten tight at the Romanos Villa after the shooting last week. We had been searched thoroughly before being let in and there were guards watching us right now.

I was on my own for at least a week.

Shit.

I needed Intel and I wasn't going to get it by sitting in the darkest corner at dinner. I had successfully avoided everyone at the garden in the afternoon. Not like anyone wanted to talk to me anyways. They kept sending me glares and I could tell no one liked the other. They all wanted a goal. Him. And they were ready to tear themselves apart for it.

I smoothed the crease on the silk of my dress and reminded myself I didn’t care. The other girls could tear themselves to bits for him. I was here for one thing—information.

The dinner was in the inner villa, a grand, beautiful hall lined with golden mirrors and chandeliers that looked like they cost more than my entire hometown. 

The food was an assortment that would have made my mouth water but I could only toy with it with my fork. This was going to take a while to get used to. And the women. So many women, dressed like sin and seduction itself, clinging to every word that fell from Matteo Romano’s lips.

He sat at the head of the table, looking cool and relaxed like every inch of the dickhead he was, with a few of his people flanking him—his consigliere, a few of his captains, and some dignitaries who were clearly there to make sure everything was going smoothly. Fucking bastards.

The girl next to me leaned in, whispering something about how good he looked in black but I didn’t reply. I think we all knew that he was like a walking sex god but whatever.

I kept my eyes down and drank slowly, playing my role which was unbothered, unremarkable, invisible.

But then the blonde one—Victoria, I think—shifted in her seat and tilted her body in Matteo’s direction, her voice silky and soft.

“Matteo,” she purred, licking the rim of her glass like she was starving for something else. “If your future wife disobeys… will you punish her in private or make it a public lesson?”

Everyone burst into a ridiculous high pitched laughter that sounded forced.

I nearly choked on my drink.

What the hell?

He chuckled lowly, raising his brow. “That depends… on how creative her disobedience is.”

More laughter. Flirty eyes thrown at him. Fake smiles. Like hyenas begging to be devoured.

I didn’t get what was funny. I really didn’t. I forced a smile, sipped water, and counted the exits.

Two guards stood at the side doors, another at the far end of the room. The main house was still a mystery. I needed to move. Dinner would end soon, and we would all be escorted back to our assigned quarters and I wouldn't be able to look around the place for future reference.

Then I saw my opportunity. One of the ladies, someone in red, stood up, excused herself to the bathroom. A guard pointed the way, then returned to his post.

I waited three seconds then I slipped my napkin down and rose slowly, smoothing my gown as I whispered a polite, “Excuse me.”

No one noticed, they were still too busy fawning over him.

I followed the hallway, catching sight of the red dress as the girl exited the bathroom, heels clacking as she passed me with a scowl like I had just insulted her very existence with my presence there. No one liked a pretty competition.

Jeez.

I gave her a polite smile. She looked me up and down, unimpressed, and walked off.

Good. Less distractions.

I glanced around. No one in the corridor. I slipped past the bathroom and slipped deeper into the villa. The walls were dark, adorned with paintings and I heard muffled voices from distant rooms, too far to hear. 

My heels were silent on the rug as I moved quickly, carefully, mapping out the halls so I could make a map of it as soon as I got to my quarters.

Then I heard it. Footsteps.

Shit.

I ducked behind a large pillar, holding my breath.

The steps paused… then passed.

I exhaled and straightened only to feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

Reacting on instinct, I spun, my elbow jabbing toward the throat only to have it caught midair. My other hand went for the nose—also blocked. 

Fuck!

A second later, my back hit the wall with a soft thud and I realized I was pinned. What the hell?

I looked up. Hazel eyes.

No. Not him.

Matteo Romano stared down at me, a strange flicker of interest in his eyes, his breath was calm and his hands were steady.

I felt sick as I realized who I had just walked right into.

His voice was amused. “Do you always attack people who tap you gently?”

I said nothing, my eyes wide.

He stepped back, giving me space. I immediately adjusted my dress and cleared my throat. “I was startled,” I said, schooling my features into practiced innocence. “Reflexes. I didn’t know it was you or anyone else. Just fear. I… I’ll go back to dinner now.”

I turned to leave but he stopped me.

“Wait.” His voice was soft as he stepped closer. “Who are you?”

I turned back to him, my smile never wavering while I tried to slow my heart rate racing. “Oh, it's Emilia Cattaneo from Verona.” I lied.

He stared at me, his gaze unwavering. “Funny because last week… you said your name was Juliette”

My blood froze. He remembered? No way.

My mouth opened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

His smile vanished and I could make out the tick in his jaw.  “Don’t lie to me in my house.”

I held my breath, every exit plan disintegrating in my mind.

He wasn’t flustered. He wasn’t angry. He was calm, too calm, and it terrified me.

I thought of running then he said it. “The competition will last two weeks,” he murmured, like he was thinking out loud. “But… it’s a good thing I’ve already made up my mind.”

My brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He smiled slightly. “You. You’re the one.”

I blinked. What?

“No,” I said quickly. “I think you're confusing me with someone else. I’m not even—”

“—Emilia,” he said, cutting me off, using the fake name. “If that’s who you are, then consider this my early proposal.”

I stared at him, heart hammering.

“Marry me,” he said. “At the end of two weeks.”

Excuse me?