Chapter 12 Isabella
Isabella
She didn’t know what changed—not exactly.
Nothing had happened. There was no new threat, no new revelation, and no sudden shift in the war circling them.
And yet, everything felt different. Maybe it was the quiet that had filled the house over the past week, or maybe it was the way the house seemed to settle around them, like it had accepted her presence whether she had or not. Or maybe it was him.
Isabella stood in the kitchen, exhaling slowly as she pressed her palm against the cool marble, trying to ground herself.
“You’re staring again.” Luca’s voice was almost a whisper, but still managed to startle her from her daydreams. Luca stood just a few steps away, but it felt like he was everywhere all at once.
He seemed to be able to fill the space without taking up much of it.
The air around her even seemed to be still.
“I’m not staring, I’m thinking,” she corrected.
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Luca asked.
Her lips pressed together. “No,” she breathed.
He smiled at her, and damn if her knees didn’t feel a little weak. “Would you like to share what you’re thinking about?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking about,” she warned.
“No, I probably don’t,” he said, watching her carefully. “But I’ve heard that too much thinking can be dangerous.” She almost wanted to laugh at his comment. She had always been an over thinker, and now was no exception.
“Everything about what’s happening is dangerous,” she said.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah, it is.” Silence stretched between them, and she could feel her pulse quicken.
That seemed to happen anytime Luca got too close to her now.
Her body rebelled against her and wanted to be closer to him, even if her brain was yelling at her to get as far away from him as possible.
She became aware of everything at once—the distance between them, the tension in his shoulders, and the way his eyes tracked every movement she made.
The way he looked at her made Isabella want to beg him to claim her now, and not wait for their wedding day, as he told her that he would.
When they set the date to get married, Luca had promised her that he wouldn’t lay claim to her until their wedding night.
She thought that he was just being old-fashioned, but she liked that she had a bit of a reprieve.
She didn’t want to give her virginity to someone she had just met.
Hell, she didn’t want to have to tell Luca that she was still a virgin at all.
It wasn’t something that she thought about, let alone talked about.
But once they were married, she was going to have to come clean with him and tell him the truth—she had very little experience with men, and that had everything to do with her overly protective father and his guards.
No one was allowed to touch her, and now, she was beginning to think that it was part of her father’s plan.
If she were pure, she’d be worth more when he needed to use her as leverage.
She just hoped that she was wrong about her father and his involvement in trying to have her kidnapped.
She looked him over and gasped when she saw that he was hurt. “You’re bleeding through your shirt,” she said quietly, rushing to his side.
His eyes flicked down briefly at the red spot growing in size on the side of his body. “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “It’s not a problem.”
“It will be if you ignore it,” she insisted.
“I’m not ignoring it,” he said.
She barked out her laugh. “You’re standing here talking to me instead of taking care of it.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I wanted to check on you.” Her stomach did a little flip-flop—damn him.
She didn’t know how to react to Luca when he talked to her like that—like he cared about her.
Like he wanted to know her better. She couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in feelings if she was going to survive him and his vendetta against her father.
“Sit down,” she ordered. It came out sharper than she intended. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t argue. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the next move. It was almost like he was testing her, but that shouldn’t be a surprise since Luca seemed to like testing her around every twist and turn.
“So you want to bleed out?” she added.
“No,” he breathed.
“Then sit down so that I can look at your wound,” she ordered again.
He paused and then slowly sat down in the chair that she pointed to.
It wasn’t because she ordered him to do it—she knew that much for sure.
It was because he chose to let her take care of his wound, and that mattered, even if she wasn’t quite sure why.
Isabella moved toward him, grabbing a clean cloth and antiseptic from the cabinet she had looked through earlier.
She had practically gone through the entire kitchen because if she was going to have to stay with Luca, she wanted to know her surroundings.
Maybe it was her trying to control her life just a little bit, but knowing where things were made her feel better about having to stay in his home.
She stopped in front of him, and her fingers hesitated for just a second before reaching for the edge of his shirt. “Don’t move,” she murmured.
His eyes darkened slightly. “I wasn’t planning to.” Carefully, she pulled the fabric aside, exposing the wound. Her breath caught—just for a second. It wasn’t nothing.
“You call this nothing?” she asked.
“It didn’t kill me, so yes, I’d call it nothing,” he said.
“You have a gash in your side, the size of my hand, and you’re bleeding. This isn’t normal,” she spat, grabbing some gauze and pouring antiseptic over it. She dabbed the wound, and he sucked in his breath, biting back curses.
“It is for me,” he said. “This is nothing,” he lied. Her jaw tightened. Of course, it was normal for him. As the head of a mafia family, he had probably had much worse happen to him.
She leaned in slightly, focusing on cleaning the wound, forcing her hands to stay steady even as her awareness of him sharpened.
She was surrounded by his heat and his scent.
She noticed the way that he didn’t flinch, even if it must have hurt like hell every time she touched him.
He didn’t react or even breathe differently.
But she could feel it—the shift in how he was reacting to her being so close to him.
It was subtle, but she could still feel it.
“You’re tense,” she said quietly.
“I’m always tense,” he insisted.
“Not like this,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am a bit more tense than usual.”
Her fingers stilled for a second. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you’re too close,” he whispered. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away or step back. Instead, she met his eyes.
“Then tell me to move,” she whispered, but he didn’t. He didn’t even blink. “That’s what I thought.” The words came out before she could stop them. The tension between them was palpable, but she refused to give him space without him asking for it. It felt like a challenge now.
Isabella swallowed, her hand still resting against his side, her pulse racing now for an entirely different reason. This wasn’t fear. It was something more, and that scared her more than Luca ever had.
“You said I’m yours,” she said quietly.
His gaze darkened. “I did.”
Her breath hitched again. “And you meant it.”
“Yes,” he admitted. There was no hesitation and no doubt.
Her heart pounded as though it might beat right out of her chest. “What does that actually mean?” she asked. The question hung between them. Luca’s eyes held hers, and for some reason, she either couldn’t look away or maybe she just didn’t want to.
“It means no one touches you, except me,” he said. “No one takes you from me. No one uses you as leverage ever again,” he said. “It also means you don’t walk away from me.”
Her pulse jumped. “And if I try?”
“You won’t,” he smugly assessed. The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“You don’t know that,” she challenged.
“I do,” he said. She should have argued with him.
She should have pushed back or fought with him, but that’s what she’d been doing since the moment she walked into his world.
And right now, she didn’t want to do any of those things because a part of her was starting to understand him.
She was starting to feel it too—the attraction, the pull, the inevitability that they’d end up together.
Ever since her father announced that she was going to marry Luca, everything seemed to keep bringing her back to him, and she was finally done fighting.
Her hand tightened slightly against his side. “You’re not the only one who decides things,” she said, softer now.
His gaze sharpened. “No?” he asked.
“No,” she breathed, stepping even closer to him. She closed the last of the distance between them. “You don’t get to just claim me and expect me to fall in line.”
“I don’t expect anything of the sort,” he said.
“Then what do you expect?” she asked.
“You’ll figure it out sooner or later,” he said.
Her breath caught. “And if I already have?”
His expression didn’t give much away, but his eyes did. They were darker, and seemed to look into her deeper than ever before—as though he could see right through her.
“If you already know,” he said quietly, “then you are aware that what’s happening between us isn’t going to stop.”
Her pulse thundered in her chest. “I know,” she whispered. The admission slipped out before she could stop it or before she could think it through. It was too late to take it back, because now, it was real.
Luca’s hand came up slowly, deliberately, like he was giving her time to pull away, but she didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw lightly, but it sent heat rushing through her all the same.
“You’re choosing this,” he said. It wasn’t a question or a warning, but more of a promise.
Her breath trembled. “No,” she whispered. That was a lie. She was choosing this. She was choosing him, and lying to him now felt wrong. “Yes,” she corrected. “I’m choosing this.”
His thumb traced lightly along her jaw. “Good girl,” he breathed.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, and then back to her eyes.
The air between them snapped tight. And this time, she didn’t step back.
She didn’t run. She wasn’t going to fight him on this because she already knew the truth—she could feel it in the way that her pulse raced.
And in the way that her body leaned toward him without permission.
It was the way everything inside her said this was a mistake, and she didn’t move anyway.
“Luca,” she whispered. His name came out softer than she intended.
Isabella couldn’t tell if she was warning him or not, but none of that mattered anymore.
He didn’t give her time to take it back, and didn’t give her time to rethink it.
He closed the distance, and when his mouth met hers, it wasn’t gentle or soft.
It was controlled and deliberate like everything else about him.
But underneath that control, there was something else—something hotter and much more dangerous.
Her hand slid up to his shoulder, gripping tighter than she meant to, but he didn’t pull away, and didn’t slow down, because neither did she.
And that was the real problem. Because somewhere between survival and control, between danger and protection, and between him and everything she’d lost, Isabella realized something she couldn’t ignore anymore.
This wasn’t just about staying alive or about the war waging between their two families.
It was something so much more, and it was already pulling her under.
And this time, she wasn’t going to fight it—because she liked it.