جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 100

Luca POV I held Isabella in my arms on her bed, her body pressed against mine. She felt so fragile, so small and trembling, like something that could break if I held her too tightly. Her breathing was shallow against my chest, her head heavy on my shoulder. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of her uneven breaths and the distant hum of the compound outside the walls. I stroked her hair slowly, my fingers moving through the soft strands, trying to offer what little comfort I could give in this moment. Even though I felt almost no guilt about killing Enzo. He deserved it. He was a traitor who had used her as bait and sold her to the Vanchis for his own freedom. He had pulled a gun in front of me. He had to be eliminated sooner or later. Some things are better eliminated without second thoughts. That was the reality of my world. I had made my choice, and I stood by it. The only real regret I carried was that Isabella had to see it. She had watched the man who was once close

Isabella POV I wake up to sunlight peeping through my windows. They were back now, that I was glad of. The room is the same one I've slept in since the wedding. Pale walls. Heavy curtains. A bed that's too big for one person. Nothing on the dresser except a glass of water and a lamp. No photos. No books. Nothing that belongs to me. Because nothing here belongs to me. I sit up slowly. The sheets are expensive—silk, probably—but they feel like a cage. Everything here feels like a cage dressed up to look beautiful. I've been here for close to a year, if not more and it still feels unfamiliar by the minute. I walk to the window. The garden is green and carefully arranged. Guards stand at every corner. Their eyes scan constantly. Watching for threats. Watching me. I press my palm against the glass. It's cold. Everything in this house is cold. --- The hallway is long and quiet. I walk slowly, my bare feet cold on the marble floor. The guards nod as I pass. They call me

Lucas pov.“This isn’t about the Vanchis, Moretti.” He said. “I couldn’t care less about you guys childish fight over a rock” he added slowly like he’d been waiting so long to say it. “This is about my daughter?”His daughter?What about her?“Your daughter?” I asked, my hand still on my holster.“You know, your father was smart. Everything he did was calculated and planned. He never made reckless decisions, ever, and even though I resented him, I have to give him credit when due.” He stood up, tapping his cigar on the ash tray one of the men handed to him then he placed it back in his mouth carefully. “But I can’t say the same for you.” He added looking at me dead in the eye.“What is it, Carlo? I don’t know anything about your daughter,” I said, my eyes still on his men holding the gun.“I didn’t say you did,” he let out a puff of smoke. The smell lingered the air mixing with the smell of old wood from abandoned furniture out the church. It was suffocating. “You see Luca, you’re bec

The church doors slammed behind me like a gunshot. I didn’t look back at Carlo Morelli or his smug-faced men. My blood was fire, my mind a storm. Isabella. The word beat in my skull with every step toward the SUV. My men snapped to attention, doors flying open as I barked orders. “Move! Back to the house—now!” Tires screamed against gravel as we peeled out, the engine roaring like the rage clawing at my chest. *She was asleep when I left.* The image haunted me: Isabella curled in her bed, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, chest rising softly after the way I’d claimed hrr that night. Our passion had been raw, her defiance melting into desperate moans, nails raking my back as I pinned her wrists and reminded her exactly who she belonged to. The way she'd argue with me when my decisions didn't sit right with her. She was fire in my arms, surrender and challenge wrapped in one intoxicating package. And now she was gone. I yanked out my phone, dialling Ferrente. “Talk. What th

Lucas pov Rain hammered the industrial zone like bullets, turning the ground into slick mud that clung to my boots. I moved at the head of the team, suppressed rifle tight in my hands, every sense sharpened to a knife’s edge. Carlo Morelli had made his last mistake. The Morelli vehicles we’d tracked led straight here—abandoned warehouses on the eastern border, neutral ground turned into a trap. My mind churned with strategy and a fury so deep it felt like it would split me open. *Isabella.* She was in there somewhere, waking in a cage, believing I’d done this to her. *Mía. No de él.* (Mine. Not his.) “Flank left. Suppress any movement,” I ordered into the comms, voice low and cold. My men melted into the shadows. Carlo had used the church meet as a distraction—called me out with his desperate betrothal bullshit while his people snatched her from our bed. Wiped footage. Clean grab. It reeked of the old man’s fear for his legacy. But touching Isabella? That signed his death warrant.