4. Isabella
FOUR
Isabella
“ C iao, Bella,” my father greeted me. It would almost pass for warmth to anyone listening, but there was always something darker, something calculated in his tone that let me know he meant business. His eyes flicked over me—sharp, unwavering, reading every detail, every flicker in my expression, every subtle shift of my body. Nothing escaped him.
The den was quiet, the air thick with the familiar scent of expensive cigars and the faint crackle of the fireplace in the corner. The room felt colder than it should; the shadows growing longer as the flames danced. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, hands clasped in front of him, the perfect picture of control. It was a space where power and intimidation blended effortlessly. I don’t remember when Carlos Deluca was anything other than this cold, calculated man. I wonder if losing my mother did this to him or whether he was always like this.
“Father.”
“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth, though his tone held that edge that reminded me exactly who was in charge.
I stepped forward, my shoes silent on the plush carpet, and lowered myself into the chair across from him. My back was straight, my hands folded in my lap. I knew the drill. Being called into his office meant business, nothing more, nothing less.
He didn’t waste time. “Saviano is up to something,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative. But there was an edge to it. “He’s tired of sharing. Tired of playing nice. He wants it all. And that boy of his…” My father slammed the desk.
I swallowed but kept my face impassive. My father was always playing the long game and always waiting for the right moment to strike. But I could tell by his tone. That this time? He was done waiting. If my father made a move, it would mean disaster for Saviano.
“But why would he double-cross you?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though I couldn’t keep the hint of doubt from creeping in.
My father’s gaze never left me as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once, twice, against the wood. “I have been in this business long enough to see the signs.”
“Does Rico know?” I asked. A part of me hated I was even asking. But I had to know why my brother was not in this meeting.
“No,” my father replied with a hard smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Rico doesn’t know. He’s a liability.”
Rico is the next Don, and now my father was telling me that he wanted to cut him out entirely. Rico, a liability?
And then it hit me. My father believes Rico has been compromised. That his friendship with Dominic Saviano will impede his control over this city. He’s ready to cut him off.
I knew my brother, and he was loyal to a fault. Father turning on him? That didn’t sit right with me. There was something—something in my father’s cold, calculated decision—that didn’t feel... natural.
“Rico’s not a liability,” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to him. “He’s... loyal. He’s been working for this family his whole life.”
I immediately regretted the words, but my father didn’t flinch. He had heard worse from me.
“He’s weak. Weak because of that friendship with Saviano. His loyalty clouds his judgment. It’s a liability we can’t afford.”
“I would hardly call him weak, Padre .”
My jaw clenched, a surge of rage coursing through me, something I shouldn’t be feeling in front of him. But I kept my expression neutral, my voice even. “What do you want me to do?”
My father’s gaze sharpened. He was always watching, always calculating. “You and Mateo will run interference on the Saviano shipment. We can’t afford any delays, but we need time. Saviano needs to believe that the shipment is still in play. Once we’ve delayed it enough, we strike.”
“Mateo? Why him?” I haven’t seen my childhood friend for years. Not since I went away.
“The Santoro’s are good friends. We need to keep them close, Bella. You understand?”
I nodded, with a twist in my gut. I barely heard my father outline the details. I couldn’t shake the discomfort in the pit of my stomach. I knew my role—at least, I thought I did. It was all part of the mission. But something about it felt... wrong.And now Mateo. His involvement changed things. My father couldn’t expect us to keep to the old ways. I pushed the thoughts aside.
“You understand the stakes, Bella?” My father’s voice broke through my thoughts, his tone suddenly more commanding. His eyes bore into me, waiting for my answer.
I nodded, forcing my focus back to him. “I understand.” The words felt hollow, even as I said them. But I had no choice. I knew how this worked. There were no questions. No second chances.
“Good.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “You’re my daughter. You know where your loyalty lies. Don’t forget that.”
The reminder was as cold as it was clear. Loyalty was the foundation of everything—of our family, our business, our world. It was everything.
I stood, the weight of his expectations settling heavily on my chest. “I’ll handle it,” I said, the words more final than I intended. I turned away, heading for the door, tension coiling in my gut.
A familiar icy grip of conflict tightened around me as the door clicked shut behind me. The plan was set. I had my orders. But my father was playing a dangerous game.
Rico had been cast aside like a pawn. His loyalty had been thrown into question. And I couldn’t help but wonder: if my father thought so little of him, what did he truly think about me?
The weight of it all—loyalty, betrayal, the family — felt like it was pushing me toward a breaking point.
I was playing my part, but deep down, a voice kept asking if I would want to play it when the pieces fell.
When I turned the corner, I backtracked. What are the fucking chances?
Dominic stood in the den doorway, his back half-turned to me, looking out toward the city. He didn’t notice me for a moment, but I noticed everything. The way his white shirt clung to his broad shoulders showcased toned muscles and strength that came from years of training.
His hands were shoved into the pockets of his impeccable pants, his jaw clenched as he stared out at the city.
Damn him for looking so delicious.
I shouldn’t be looking. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away...
My heartbeat quickened as my eyes moved over him. There was something about him that drew me in—magnetic, dangerous, and aloof all at once.
“Well, if it isn’t Princess Deluca.”
I sucked in a breath and stepped forward. He hadn’t even turned, but he knew I was there.
“Dominic,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible, though it sounded louder than I intended in the quiet hallway.
He turned to face me, his gaze settling on me instantly, that familiar intensity in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” It came out sharper than I’d meant, but there it was.
“I’m waiting for Rico, Principessa, ” he replied.
He moved a step closer, and suddenly, the space between us felt much too small. He was close enough now that I could smell his musky cologne. “Want to keep me company?”
Something in the air shifted. It was the same feeling I’d gotten the last time we’d crossed paths—like a charged current between us, pulling, thrumming with a mix of danger and something thrilling. It didn’t help that I was high on adrenalin after that meeting with my father.
“Still playing that game, are we?” I asked, unable to hide the bite in my words this time. I knew I shouldn’t be asking that—shouldn’t be encouraging whatever this thing was between us—but the words were out before I could stop them.
He smirked, his expression more of a challenge than anything else, his dark eyes unwavering. “You think this is a game?” he asked, voice dropping lower.
His voice did things to me. Unspeakable things. And I felt it—the pull, the tension I couldn’t shake when I was near him.
“Only if you’re playing by my rules,” I said. “And you don’t even know the first one.”
He moved toward me, and my pulse quickened. “Thread carefully, Isabella,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl as he closed the space between us. His stare made my skin tingle.
He reached up, a finger brushing the curve of my jaw, a touch both light and firm. The movement was slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment. “You’re not as in control as you think you are,” he said, his voice low, teasing.
I tilted my chin slightly, trying to maintain the smallest sliver of composure, even as my breath hitched. “And you think you are?” I replied, my voice coming out more breathless than I intended.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in just enough that I could feel his warm breath against my lips, a mere inch away. His eyes flickered to my mouth, a look of quiet hunger passing over his features before he finally spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.
“Maybe not,” he murmured, “but I don’t need to be.”
The words hung in the air, making the distance between us unbearable and impossible. His hand lowered to my neck, fingers grazing the skin above my collarbone.
I couldn’t tell if it was his proximity or how my body seemed to react to his presence, but a flush spread over my skin. The space between us was closing, and the steady rise and fall of my chest were all I could focus on. His gaze never left mine, his presence pressing in like a weight, each second stretching longer than the last. I half-stepped back, but it felt like I was walking into a storm.
I wanted to step back, to regain control, but I couldn’t. He had me completely unbalanced, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t know how to get my footing.
“I think,” he said softly, his lips brushing against my ear as he leaned closer, “that you know exactly what you’re doing. And I think you want to see just how far you can push it.”
I should slap some sense into myself. But let’s be real—I was already knee-deep in this. My brain was screaming, run, but my body? Oh, every inch of me was begging for more.
Before I could even think, his lips smashed into mine. No soft, coy bullshit—this was raw, primal, and desperate. His tongue didn’t ask permission. It invaded, hot and wet, fucking my mouth like it owned me. I groaned into him. His hands were everywhere. Gripping my hips, squeezing like he was trying to leave bruises.
The air around us was electric, crackling with need. My nipples were hard enough to cut glass, rubbing against the thin fabric of my shirt.
And just like that, as soon as it had happened, he pulled away.
“Oh, God,” the words were out before I could think. I could barely catch my breath.
He smirked, a small frown between his eyes. He looked almost as dazed as I felt but regained his composure in a second. “I’ll be on my way,” he said, his tone smooth, like he hadn't just shattered whatever kind of control we’d had between us. His thumb swiped across my bottom lip. “Tell Rico, I’ll see him later.”
I didn’t speak. What was there to say? He was already walking away, heading for the door with the same easy stride, like he hadn't just done the one thing that would keep my mind spinning for days and simultaneously put a target on his back.
Dominic didn’t know it, but he had just tipped the scale in a way that made everything harder. More complicated. Dangerous, even. I didn’t know whether to curse him or thank him for it.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I let out the breath I’d been holding in, my back pressing against the wall to keep me grounded. That kiss—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a line in the sand. And now I had to decide what the hell to do next.
Dominic’s words echoed in my mind. I could feel him in my veins now, like his touch had imprinted on my skin. But none of that would matter once he knew my mission.