Chapter Five
The morning sun spilled through the massive windows of the DeLuca villa, bathing the marble floors in a golden glow. But the warmth did nothing to ease the cold knot in Isla’s stomach. She stood at the edge of the balcony, her hands gripping the ornate railing as she surveyed the sprawling villa below. Guards patrolled the grounds with military precision, their presence a silent warning—there would be no easy escape.
But Isla refused to accept that.
Breakfast had been a silent affair. Matteo had sat at the head of the long dining table, sipping his espresso as if nothing about their situation was unusual. The scent of fresh bread and warm pastries had turned her stomach. She had barely touched her food, her appetite soured by the suffocating weight of her captivity. The clink of silverware against porcelain had been the only sound between them.
Matteo had finally broken the silence. "You will learn your place here," he said coolly, his voice carrying the finality of a decree. "I suggest you don’t make this harder on yourself."
Isla had said nothing. She had only stared at him with cold defiance, vowing that she would not be broken so easily.
But now, standing on the balcony, she felt her anger bubbling over, ready to spill into action. She would not play the role of the obedient wife. She would not let him dictate her every move. Every moment under this roof was a reminder of the power he held over her. She needed to take some of it back.
A plan formed in her mind. She needed to test the boundaries, find a weakness in the fortress that held her. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she could walk out the front gates, but she had to start somewhere.
She turned from the balcony and strode toward the door. She had memorized the layout of the villa, watching the movements of the guards during dinner the night before. If she was quick, if she was smart, she could slip through the gaps.
She made it down one corridor, then another, her heartbeat thrumming with adrenaline. No one stopped her. Not yet. She moved swiftly, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. Each turn she took sent a jolt of hope through her—until she reached the grand entrance.
A firm hand closed around her wrist.
“Going somewhere?”
Matteo’s voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the iron edge beneath it. Isla spun around, yanking her arm free, her breath coming fast and sharp.
“I’m not your prisoner,” she snapped.
Matteo arched a brow. “You’re my wife. That comes with certain expectations.”
She glared at him, refusing to back down. “You can force me into this marriage, but you will never control me.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a dangerous gleam. “Control? No, Isla. You misunderstand.” He reached up, brushing a stray curl from her face, his touch deceptively gentle. “This is not about control. This is about survival. And if you try to run again, I won’t be so forgiving.”
A shiver coursed through her, but she held her ground. “I will never stop trying to leave.”
Matteo’s smirk was slow, almost amused. “Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy catching you.”
His words sent a pulse of fury through her, but beneath it, something else stirred—something she refused to name. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer before he released her, stepping back with calculated ease.
“Run if you want,” he continued, his voice lower, more deliberate. “You’ll find out soon enough that this world is not kind to women who defy their husbands.”
Her stomach twisted at his words, at the cold truth in them. Was it a warning or a threat? Either way, it was a reminder of the power structure she was trapped in.
She wrenched away from him, turning on her heel and storming back toward the house. The battle had begun, and Isla refused to lose.
She would escape. No matter the cost. But she couldn’t just run blindly. She needed to understand his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities—whatever it took to turn this game in her favor.
Because Matteo DeLuca might have caught her today, but she wouldn’t let him win forever.
****
That evening, the villa was eerily silent. Isla sat in her room, staring out at the sprawling grounds. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, suffocating her beneath the weight of her captivity. She could hear the low murmurs of guards stationed outside her door, a silent reminder that Matteo had no intention of letting her slip through his fingers.
But if she couldn’t escape, she could fight in another way.
She needed to get inside Matteo’s world—to learn what made him tick, where his strengths and weaknesses lay. She needed to turn the game on him, to make him believe she was falling into line while planning her next move.
A sharp knock on her door broke her thoughts. The door opened, and Matteo stood there, his silhouette dark against the dim light of the hall.
“You’ve been quiet,” he observed, stepping inside without invitation.
Isla didn’t move from her spot by the window. “Maybe I’m tired of wasting my breath.”
Matteo smirked, stepping closer. “That would be a shame. I quite enjoy our little battles.”
She turned to face him, eyes blazing. “You enjoy control. That’s all this is to you. A game of power.”
He exhaled through his nose, his amusement dimming slightly. “You think I need to control you? Isla, you could burn this house to the ground, and I would still own the ashes.”
She lifted her chin. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make sure you burn with it.”
For a moment, there was only silence between them. A thick, charged moment where neither backed down. Then, Matteo let out a low chuckle, something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, wife. You might just start to like this war between us.”
He turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
Isla exhaled, her pulse thrumming. Matteo thought he had won. He thought she was trapped, defenseless.
But he had no idea that the real war had just begun.