Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ihate that I know how he takes his coffee.
Black. No sugar. Just a splash of cream. Barely enough to change the color.
I hate that I've been watching him long enough to memorize it, that somewhere in the back of my mind I've catalogued this stupid detail along with all the others I wish I could forget.
Like the way he runs his hand through his hair when he's frustrated. Or how his jaw tightens when he's holding something back. Or the exact shade of green his eyes turn when he's angry.
I hate all of it.
But I make the coffee anyway.
Two mugs. One black with cream for him. One with sugar for me because I'm not a masochist who drinks battery acid first thing in the morning.
I set his mug on the counter without looking at him, without saying anything.
He's leaning against the doorframe, still wearing yesterday's clothes, his hair a mess from sleeping on a hardwood floor like an idiot.
Because he was protecting me.
No. Not going there.
"Coffee's ready."
He moves to the counter and picks up the mug, bringing it to his mouth before he stops.
I can feel him looking at me, can feel the weight of whatever he's thinking.
Don't say it. Don't acknowledge it. Don't make this a thing.
He takes a sip. Says nothing.
But we both know.
I made it exactly how he likes it. Without asking. Without him telling me. Because apparently, I'm pathetic enough to remember.
I turn away and focus on my own coffee, adding more sugar than I need just to have something to do with my hands.
Last night I was a total mess.
Crying into his chest. Letting him hold me. Asking him to stay.
God. I asked him to stay.
And he said no.
Of course, he said no. Because four years ago he made it very clear what he thinks of me. That I'm nothing. That I'm pathetic. That even the idea of being with me is laughable.
And I still broke down and asked him to comfort me. I'm exactly as embarrassing as he said I was.
I take a sip of coffee. It's too sweet. I force myself to swallow it anyway.
"Thank you."
His voice comes out low and rough.
I don't turn around. "For what?"
"The coffee."
"It's just coffee."
"Still. Thank you."
I grip my mug tighter, staring at the dark liquid like it might have answers I don't.
This is worse than the hatred, worse than the cold dismissal. This weird politeness. This careful distance.
I think I preferred it when he just avoided me completely.
At least then I didn't have to stand in a kitchen pretending last night didn't happen, pretending I don't want to turn around and look at him, pretending I'm not painfully aware of every breath he takes.
I hate this.
I hate him.
I hate that I don't actually hate him at all.
My phone buzzes on the counter and I grab it, grateful for the distraction.
Matteo's name lights up the screen. Video call.
Perfect timing.
I answer and his face fills the screen. He looks tired, stressed, but alive.
"Princess."
"Matteo!" It takes seeing him to realize I’ve missed my brother and I’m happy to see that he’s fine.
I turn the phone so Enzo can see. He moves closer, not touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.
"You're both safe?" Matteo's eyes move between us, assessing.
"We're fine." Enzo's voice is steady. "Cabin's secure. No sign of anyone."
"Good." Matteo runs a hand over his face. "The De Lucas are handling this better than expected."
"Better than expected?" I repeat. "I ran out on my own wedding. How are they handling it?”
"They know it wasn't your choice. Salvatore saw the O'Rourke's men, saw Enzo get you out. They're angry but not at you."
Not at me. Just at the Irish mafia family that's been trying to kill us for years.
Great. Much better.
"So, what happens now?" I ask.
"We wait. Let things cool down. Make sure Declan doesn't make another move." Matteo's jaw tightens. "Then we proceed with the wedding as planned."
The wedding.
Right.
Because I'm still supposed to marry Vittorio De Luca. Still supposed to seal this alliance. Still supposed to do my duty.
"When?" My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"A few weeks. Maybe a month. Salvatore wants to make sure security is airtight before we try again."
A month. Four weeks stuck in this cabin with Enzo.
Four weeks of pretending I don't notice him, of building walls, of fighting this sick pull I feel every time he's in the same room.
I'm going to lose my damned mind.
"Understood." Enzo's voice is flat. "We'll stay here until you give the all clear."
Matteo nods. "Keep her safe, Enzo."
"Always."
The word lands different, like a promise, like it means something.
Stop reading into things. He's doing his job. That's all.
Matteo ends the call. The screen goes black. I set the phone down and stare at it.
A month.
"Isabella—"
My phone buzzes again. A text this time.
Unknown number.
I unlock the screen and open the message. Everything inside me goes cold.
It's a photo. Old. Grainy. Taken on a phone camera in low light.
Me. Sitting in a corner of a concrete room with my knees pulled to my chest, my face streaked with tears.
The basement.
Below the photo, a message:
Miss your happy place? Don't worry. You'll be back soon.
The phone slips from my hands.
No.
No, no, no, no.
I grab it before it hits the floor, my hands shaking so hard I can barely hold it.
"Isabella?"
Enzo's voice sounds far away, distant.
I'm back there. In that basement. Smelling the mold and rust. Hearing Declan's voice, cold and calculating.
Do whatever you want but don’t permanently damage the merchandise.
"Isabella. Look at me."
Hands on my shoulders. Firm. Grounding.
I look up. Enzo's face is close, concerned.
His eyes drop to the phone in my hands and I watch his expression change, watch the concern turn to fury. He takes the phone from me and reads the message, his jaw going tight, his knuckles white where he's gripping the device.
"When did you get this?"
"Just now." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Just this second."
He's already moving, checking the doors, the windows, his gun in hand.
"They know we're in hiding."
"Declan..." I stop, pressing my lips together. "He doesn't make empty threats. If he sent this, he knows exactly where I am."
He removes the sim card and throws it into the fireplace, which he had lit earlier on. The he drops the phone on the floor and starts stomping on until it is reduced to smithereens.
“Enzo––“
“I’m sorry, Princess, this had to go. It is for your safety.” He sweeps them up and throws them into the fireplace too. "Now, tell me about the basement, Isabella."
I freeze. “W-What?"
“I want to know exactly what happened in that basement.”
No, no, no, no.
My throat closes around the answer before I can form one. I can't. I look at him, open my mouth and nothing comes out.
God, please, I cannot do this, not here, not with him, not out loud.
"Isabella. I need to know."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand what we're dealing with."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Why?" I find myself snapping. "Why does it matter to you? You've made it very clear for four years that I don't matter to you. So explain to me why you suddenly care what happened to me nine years ago."
He flinches. Just slightly, just a small tightening around his eyes, but I see it because I've been watching his face long enough to know every tiny thing it does.
"Ok… it’s fine. You don't have to tell me," he says quietly.
I don’t know if I feel relieved or if I feel disappointed. I don’t know what I expected, heck, I don’t even know what I want,
"I'm going out," he says, when the silence has stretched long enough.
"What?"
"To check the area. See if anyone's been watching the house. Ask around." He's already reaching for his jacket, his movements efficient and purposeful as usual.
"Lock the door behind me. Don't answer anyone."
"No."
He stops in his tracks, then turns to face me, an incredulous look on his handsome face. "What?"
I lift my chin, folding my arms across my chest. "I said no. I'm not staying here alone."
"Isabella—"
"Don't." I narrow my eyes at him because I really mean business. "Don't tell me it's safer. Don't tell me I should stay put. If you're going out, I'm coming with you."
"That's not a good idea."
"I don't care."
"You'll be safer here."
"I don't feel safe anywhere." The words come out before I can stop them, true and raw and too honest for this moment but I can't pull them back. "At least out there I can see what's coming. In here I'm just waiting for the next thing to happen and I'm done waiting."
We stare at each other across the room and neither of us moves and I watch him fighting it, fighting the urge to argue or order or simply put himself between me and the door and refuse to move because he’s a freaking brute like that.
But I'm not backing down and he can see that clearly enough.
Finally, he exhales, sharp and frustrated, through his nose.
"Fine. You stay close. You do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it. Understood?"
"Understood."
"I mean it, Isabella. This isn't a game."
"I know it's not a game. Believe me." I move past him and pull my jacket off the hook by the door. "Let's go."
Outside, the air is cold and sharp. I pull the jacket tighter around myself.
Enzo's already moving, checking the perimeter of the house, looking for tracks, signs of disturbance.
I follow and keep my distance but stay close enough that I can see what he's doing.
The ground around the cabin is undisturbed. No tire tracks. No footprints except ours from last night.
"Nothing."
He says it more to himself than to me.
"So, they didn't come to the house."
"No. It doesn’t look like it.” Enzo straightens and looks toward the road. "There are a few houses down the way. We can ask if anyone saw anything."
We walk and the silence between us is heavy, uncomfortable. I should say something, break the tension, but I don't know what to say that won't make things worse.
The first house is small and run down. An old man answers the door after we knock.
Enzo steps forward with his face hard and intimidating and the poor man takes one look at him, before trying to close the door.
"Wait." I step in front of Enzo and smile. "Hi. Sorry to bother you, sir. We're staying at the cabin up the road and we think someone might have been watching the area last night. Did you happen to see anything unusual? A car or an unknown person walking about?"
The man relaxes. Just slightly. "You with him?" He nods at Enzo.
"Unfortunately, yes." I keep my voice light and friendly. "He looks scary but I promise he's mostly harmless. He’s just worried now, so he completely forgot his manners."
Behind me, I hear Enzo make a sound. Might be a laugh. Might be annoyance.
The man considers, then shakes his head. "Didn't see nothing. Sorry."
"That's okay. Thank you anyway."
We move to the next house. Same routine. I do the talking. Enzo looms in the background looking like he's two seconds away from murder.
"You're terrible at this," I tell him after the third house.
"Terrible at what?"
"Talking to people. You look like you want to kill them. Stop!"
"I do want to kill them if they're lying."
"They're not lying. They're terrified. There's a difference." I stop walking and turn to face him. "Let me handle the talking. You just... stand there and try to look less homicidal. You’re getting in the way."
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Less homicidal."
"Yes. Is that possible for you?"
"Probably not."
"Then just stay behind me and keep your murder face to yourself."
This time he does smile. Small. Brief. But real.
My stomach flips.
Stop it, Isabella. Stop reacting to him.
We reach the fourth house and a woman in her fifties answers, looking between us with curiosity.
I give her the same speech. Friendly. Harmless.
She thinks for a moment, and then looks around before coming closer to me. "There was a black SUV. Late last night. Maybe around two in the morning. Woke me up because the engine was loud."
Finally.
"Did you see where it went?"
"No. But..." She pauses. "You might want to check the town. Five minutes down the road if you take a car. If someone was scoping out the area, they might've stopped there. It’s the only town in the area, so most people pass by before hitting the road."
"Thank you." I smile and mean it this time. "Really. Thank you."
We walk back to the cabin and Enzo's already planning.
"So, we take the bike and go check the town as the woman suggested. See if anyone saw the SUV or if we’re lucky enough maybe they stayed behind for some reason,” he looks at me before he says the last part. “You can stay at the house if you want."
"Nope, not an option. I’m coming"
He stops. "You sure about this?"
"I'm sure."
"Because once we start looking, we might find things you don't want to know."
"I already know everything I don't want to know, Enzo." I meet his eyes. "Let's just find out who's watching us."
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then nods.
"Let's go."