Chapter Thirty
She walked for what felt like hours, her feet aching against the uneven cobblestones, her body exhausted, but she didn’t stop. Narrow alleys twisted between ancient stone buildings, their weathered facades whispering secrets of centuries past. The scent of damp earth and aged mortar filled the air as she wound her way through the labyrinthine streets, putting more distance between herself, her father’s villa, and Matteo. The first drops of rain kissed the warm pavement, turning the dust to the scent of petrichor. Soon, the drizzle gave way to a steady downpour, washing over the ochre walls, cascading from terracotta rooftops, and soaking through her thin dress. The chill crept into her bones, but she didn’t care. The city, eternal and unyielding, swallowed her whole. Matteo had let her go. And she didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
Her mind churned over everything—Nico’s death, Matteo’s brutal efficiency, the way he had looked at her as if daring her to stay. She had spent so long fighting against him, then fighting for him, and now, there was nothing left to fight.
Only herself.
She reached a desolate road, lit only by the moon and the dim glow of distant streetlights. A car approached, its headlights slicing through the darkness. She tensed, ready to run again, but as it neared, the driver slowed.
The window rolled down. "Get in."
Her breath caught in her throat. She recognized that voice.
Her father’s men.
Dread curled in her stomach, but she masked it, forcing herself to remain steady. She could keep running, but where? She was weak, injured, alone. She wasn’t stupid.
Slowly, she stepped toward the car and slid inside.
As the door shut, Isla made a vow to herself.
She wasn’t running anymore.
If she wanted to end this, she needed to stop running and start fighting.
No matter what it took.
****
Matteo had followed her the moment she walked away, his footsteps silent against the worn cobblestones. He kept to the shadows, never letting his gaze waver, tracking her every move with the precision of a soldier on a mission. He knew she was furious, that she needed space—but space wouldn’t keep her safe. And losing her, even for a second, was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.
When her father’s car emerged, his presence like a storm rolling in, Matteo tensed. He saw the moment Isla hesitated, the weight of old wounds pressing against her shoulders. And when she finally climbed into her father’s car, Matteo was already in motion, tracking their every turn, reading the shifting dynamics like a battlefield unfolding before him. Within minutes, Luca pulled up beside him, barely slowing as Matteo slipped into the car.
“She’s with her father,” Matteo muttered, his jaw tight.
Luca nodded, pressing the gas. The car sped through the winding streets, cutting through the rain-slicked roads as they raced toward her father’s villa. Matteo’s grip tightened on the door handle. He wasn’t going to let Isla face this alone. No, her father had already decided she was a loose end that needed tying up.
****
The car ride was suffocatingly silent.
Isla sat rigid in the backseat, her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. The weight of her decision pressed against her chest like a vice. She wasn’t the same woman her father had sent away, the same pawn in a game of power and blood. She had changed. And she wasn’t coming back to be controlled.
The men flanking her didn’t speak, but their presence was a constant reminder of where she was headed. Back to her father. Back to the man who had betrayed her, who had tried to erase her existence the moment she became inconvenient. But Isla wasn’t walking into his world as a prisoner. She was walking in as a storm.
The car slowed as it pulled through the gates of an isolated villa, the headlights illuminating the stone walls and iron-barred windows. A prison disguised as a home. The moment the car stopped, one of the men yanked the door open, grabbing Isla’s arm to pull her out. She didn’t fight, didn’t resist. Not yet.
She took in the surroundings carefully, memorizing details—the way the guards were stationed, the paths leading away from the house, any possible exits. Matteo would come. She just had to be ready when he did.
Her father stood at the top of the stairs leading into the house, waiting, his expression unreadable. He examined her with a cool gaze, as if assessing her worth. "You made the right choice coming back."
She met his stare, steel in her spine. "I didn’t come back for you."
Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening for just a second before smoothing out. "Then why are you here, Isla? Do you expect Matteo to come storming in after you? Do you think he will burn everything down for you?"
She didn’t answer. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing Matteo was already out there, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. She could feel it.
Leonardo gestured toward the entrance, his men tightening their hold on her arms. "Come inside. Let’s talk."
Isla let them drag her forward, her heart hammering as she stepped into the house. The interior was as cold as she remembered—high ceilings, dark wood, polished floors that reflected the dim chandelier light. It was meant to look regal, to inspire power, but all she saw was a hollow palace built on betrayal.
They led her up the grand staircase, the same one she had walked down countless times as a child. It felt like a lifetime ago. She was no longer the girl who had once belonged here. She didn’t belong anywhere but beside the man she had chosen.
Leonardo walked ahead, his footsteps slow and deliberate. When they reached the top of the stairs, he finally turned to face her. "Matteo won’t save you this time."
She tilted her head, a small smirk playing at her lips despite the circumstances. "Who said I need saving?"
Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You don’t have a future with him, Isla. Matteo will never choose you over power. He will always choose himself."
She let out a quiet laugh, the sound bitter. "You act like I don’t know who he is. Like I haven’t seen every dark, violent part of him. And yet, I still chose him over you. What does that tell you?"
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he motioned to his men. "Take her inside."
That was his mistake.
Isla moved before they could react. She drove her elbow into the closest man’s gut, grabbed the knife from his belt, and sliced through the other’s arm before he could grab her. In the chaos, she turned, launching herself at her father, pressing the blade against his throat.
Leonardo froze, his breath steady despite the cold steel at his skin. "You think you can win this?"
Isla leaned in, her voice low, sharp. "I already have."
Gunfire erupted in the distance.
Matteo.
The villa lit up with chaos as bullets tore through the night. Isla didn’t hesitate. She shoved her father back, knocking him off balance, and ran. She sprinted down the stairs, weaving through the panicked men scrambling for weapons. She had known, deep in her bones, that Matteo would come. That he would never let her be taken away.
Because he had never left her side to begin with. She knew it deep inside.
She reached the front entrance just as the doors burst open.
Matteo stood there, his gun raised, his suit streaked with blood. His eyes locked onto hers, burning with something deeper than possession. Something raw. Something inevitable.
Relief crashed over her like a wave.
She ran to him, her body colliding with his as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in as if he could fuse them together. His breath was ragged, his hold tight, his fingers digging into her skin as if she might disappear again.
He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as if grounding himself in her presence. "You came back," he murmured, his voice rough, strained with something he wasn’t used to showing—relief.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands pressing against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. "I never should have left."
His grip tightened, his hands smoothing down her back, as if reassuring himself she was real. "If you ever run from me again—"
She silenced him with a kiss. Fierce, desperate, a promise in the way her lips crashed into his. Matteo stiffened for a half-second, then melted into it, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping her waist with bruising intensity. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim, a battle, a surrender all at once.
When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled, shallow and uneven. Her hands slid up to his jaw, her thumbs brushing the rough stubble lining his cheeks. "I wasn’t running from you," she whispered. "I was running from everything else. But I know now… the only place I’m safe is with you."
His forehead pressed against hers, his grip still firm, still unrelenting. "You’re not going anywhere again. Not now. Not ever."
She nodded, her fingers tightening around the lapels of his bloodstained jacket. "No more running."
She was exactly where she was meant to be.
Because loving Matteo DeLuca was a love worth ruin.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Leonardo was still inside. The men who had taken her, who had helped him try to erase her, still lived. Matteo wasn’t one to leave unfinished business, and neither was she.
Isla turned in Matteo’s arms, breathless, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "We have to finish this."
Matteo’s jaw ticked, his thumb brushing over the side of her face. "We will. But I’m not risking you again."
She pulled away just enough to look up at him, her chin tilted defiantly. "I’m not a risk. I’m your equal."
A slow, dark smirk played at his lips. "Then let’s burn this place to the ground."
Together, they moved. Luca and the rest of Matteo’s men had already secured the villa, dragging Leonardo’s remaining men into the grand foyer, bound and kneeling. Some were pleading, others remained silent, resigned to their fate.
Leonardo himself was on his knees in the center, his once-pristine suit stained with blood. His expression was eerily calm as he met Isla’s gaze. "You think you’ve won."
She stepped forward, standing over him. "No. I know I have."
Matteo stood beside her, his gun hanging loosely at his side, but his presence loomed like a shadow. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes."
Leonardo exhaled through his nose, then smirked. "Because you know me, DeLuca. You know there’s always another game being played."
Isla clenched her fists. "You’ve lost this game, Father."
His smirk remained, but there was something else in his eyes. He knew. This was the end.
She turned to Matteo. "I want this to be over. I want him to be over."
Matteo’s gaze flickered toward her, something unreadable crossing his features. Then, without hesitation, he handed her the gun.
Leonardo let out a low chuckle. "So, it comes down to this? You, my daughter, choosing a man who will never truly be able to love you over your own blood?"
Leonardo let out a low chuckle, his smirk unfaltering despite the gun pointed at his chest. “You really think this is over, my dear?”
Isla’s grip tightened. “It is.”
“No, sweetheart. It’s just beginning.” He leaned forward, voice smooth, insidious. “Do you really think Matteo loves you? That he won’t discard you the moment you become a liability?”
Isla didn’t blink.
“I know Matteo better than you ever will,” her father continued. “And he didn’t keep you because he loves you. He kept you because he needs you. There’s a difference.”
Isla felt the flicker of doubt, the whisper of something ugly curling inside her chest. But she didn’t let it take root.
“You’re wrong.”
Leonardo smirked. “Then prove it.”
Isla stared at him, steady, unblinking. "Matteo doesn’t need to love me the way you think he should. He chose me. And I chose him."
She raised the gun, her hands steady, her heart resolved.
And then she pulled the trigger.
Leonardo’s body slumped, the smirk wiped from his face as he collapsed to the floor, unmoving.
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the slow exhale of breath from Matteo beside her. He reached for her hand, his grip strong, grounding.
"It’s done," he said.
Isla looked up at him, something inside her finally settling. "Yes. It is."
She had ended the war that had been set in motion before she was even born.
And now, standing beside the man she had fought so hard against, and then for, she realized the truth.
She had been fighting for this all along.
A love worth ruin. A love worth everything.