Todos los capítulos de Beneath The Blood Moon: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

The car slipped through winding back roads, headlights cutting through the thick darkness of the outskirts. Isabella pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the city lights fade behind them. Each passing second stretched out, heavy with uncertainty. Somewhere beneath the surface, a low, persistent pulse of fear throbbed — the knowledge that danger wasn’t left behind; it was following them.When the car finally came to a stop, Isabella’s breath hitched. The safe house was a modest, almost forgotten building tucked between overgrown trees and cracked sidewalks. Its faded gray paint and shuttered windows made it easy to overlook — exactly the kind of place Matteo wanted.Matteo’s hand tightened around hers as they stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of dust and old wood. The rooms were sparsely furnished — bare except for the essentials. A small kitchen, a worn couch, a simple bed in the corner. It was far from the luxurious penthouse she’d fled, but right now, it was r

Isabella lay awake long after the house had fallen silent. The only sound was the soft rhythm of rain tapping against the window, a steady beat that matched the relentless pulse in her chest. Darkness wrapped around her like a suffocating cloak, heavier than any noise she could hear.Her mind refused to rest. Every thought seemed to collide with another — a storm of fear, doubt, and something stubbornly fierce that refused to be silenced.She was trapped. Trapped between worlds she didn’t belong to — the cold, dangerous realm of the Moretti family, and the fading shadows of the life she once knew. Neither felt like home anymore.She reached for the locket Matteo had pressed into her hand that first night, its weight oddly comforting. Inside, a faded photograph of someone she barely remembered — her mother, maybe, or a sister. The edges of the picture were worn, but the face was a beacon in the darkness. A fragile promise, or a chain? She wasn’t sure.Matteo’s words echoed in her mind,

The rain hadn’t stopped all day.It drummed steadily against the penthouse windows, turning the skyline into a hazy watercolor of lights and shadows. Isabella sat at the kitchen counter with a book open in front of her, though she hadn’t read a single word in ten minutes.The smell of something cooking pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned toward the kitchen island and blinked. Matteo Moretti — mafia heir, ruthless negotiator, man of calculated danger — was standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of sauce.“Didn’t think you knew how to cook,” she said.He didn’t look up. “And I didn’t think you’d still be here.”She tried to read his tone but found no obvious hint of jest or resentment. He simply reached for a small dish of chopped herbs and tossed them in, the scent of basil and garlic filling the air.“I could help,” she offered.He glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t strike me as the apron type.”“Meaning?”“Meaning,” he said, tasting the sauce with a wooden spoon, “y

The ride to Matteo Moretti’s penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of the car’s engine. Isabella sat rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the shifting reflections of the city lights in the rain-speckled window. Matteo sat beside her, a shadow of stillness, one hand resting lightly on his knee, the other tapping an unhurried rhythm against the door. It was as if he had all the time in the world — as if her life wasn’t being uprooted with every passing streetlight. They crossed the bridge into the upper district, where the buildings gleamed like polished steel. Finally, the car slowed in front of a high-rise tower of glass and stone, guarded by two men in dark coats. Neither looked directly into the car, but Isabella felt their eyes track her every move. The elevator opened directly into his penthouse — no hallway, no reception, just a seamless step from a metal box into another world. The place was sleek and open, all clean lines and expensive minimalism