Chapter Twenty
Mikhail's POV
The first thing I felt was the cold and empty bed. There was no warmth, no sound, just the faint hum of the city outside. My eyes opened fast. The sheets were pulled halfway off, her pillow dented, and I could still smell her perfume.
But something was wrong. I sat up, my hand brushing the nightstand. The glass of water was untouched, and the robe she wore after her shower was gone. A faint rustle echoed down the hall, and my chest tightened.
I walked barefoot through the corridor, the floor cold under my feet. The door to my office was open, and light spilled through it.
And there she was, barefoot, and her hair was messy. Her robe had slipped off one of her shoulders, and the moonlight hit her skin like a ghost. She was standing by the desk, clutching two folders, one marked Giovanni, the other Caruso.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were wet. She didn't even look up when she whispered, "He really did sell Giovanni out, didn't he?"
Her voice trembled, but there was no shock in her eyes, just a quiet pain.
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms. "You shouldn't be in here."
She finally looked at me with her red eyes. "You lied."
I shook my head once. "No, I told you I never lie to you, Isabella. I don't need to."
Her grip tightened on the files. "Everything feels wrong. My father, my brother, and you." Her voice cracked. "I don't even know what's real anymore."
I walk quietly and slowly to her. "You don't have to understand it tonight," I say. "Just know I'd never betray you."
She laughed softly and broke. "You're good at making betrayal sound romantic."
I stopped just inches away, close enough to see the tears on her lashes. "You think I wanted this? That I enjoyed pulling the world apart just to keep you safe?"
Her eyes flicked up to mine. "Then what do you want from me?"
I reached out and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. "I want you to stop running from me."
She whispered in a shaking voice.
"I don't know who to trust anymore."
I hold her gaze, steady and calm. "Then trust me until you can't."
Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might speak, but instead, she exhaled and dropped the file on the desk. The sound was sharp, echoing between us.
"You expect me to believe you after all this?"
"I don't expect anything," I said. "But I'll keep proving it until you do."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what if I never do?"
"Then I'll protect you," I say. "Because that's what I do, Isabella."
She stared at me for a long moment, and her hands trembled, then she wiped her face and whispered, almost too soft to hear, "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," I murmur. "It's war."
For a second, the silence felt like a heartbeat between us.
Her eyes flickered to the window, then back to me. "You're dangerous, Mikhail."
I tilted my head, and a faint smile ghosted my lips. "You're only just realizing that?"
She shook her head slowly, and a sad smile curved her lips. "I think I always knew."
We stood there, the distance between us as thin as breath. The files lay open on the desk, proof that everything is broken. But neither of us moved.
Then, without a word, she placed another file on the desk. It was thinner than the other one. My breath stilled when I saw the label.
ISABELLA MORETTI.
Her voice trembled, but her eyes burned. "And this?" She asked. "How long have you been watching me, Mikhail?"
I stayed still, not pretending and not denying. "Since before all this began," I said. "Before Giovanni, and before your father's betrayal. Before any of it."
Her throat tightened. "What do you mean by that?"
I took a breath. “From the first night I saw you over a year ago. Before I even knew who you were.”
Her eyes widened. "You followed me?"
I shook my head slowly. "No, I kept tabs on you."
She gave a sharp and bitter laugh. "That's supposed to sound better?"
She stared back at me, both of us lost for words. The silence hummed between us again, not just tension this time, but something deeper. Something that felt like truth stripped bare.
Her breath faltered. "You're a bastard."
"I know."
And then, as if the tension finally snapped, she gripped my shirt and pulled me in.
Our lips met hesitantly for a heartbeat, then fiercely, desperately.
It tasted like danger and devotion, like every warning she ignored, but she pushed me back against the desk, our breathing uneven.
"I hate that I want you," she whispers against my lips.
I gave a faint and dangerous smile. "Then want me anyway."
Her reply is a broken whisper. "You'll destroy me."
My hand slid into her hair, and my voice was low and final. "Not if I can help it."
Our mouths were still tangled when it happened, a sharp, violent knock that sliced through the silence. Isabella flinched, and her breath caught, but I cursed under my breath, pulling away just as the door swung open.
Roman storms in. His face was pale, and his chest was heavy. "We have a problem."
My voice dropped to a cold and clipped sound. "Talk."
He didn't hesitate. "Marco's moving fast. He's trying to bring the Italians into Manhattan. Offering them territory–" his eyes flick to Isabella, then back to me. "–and her."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
Roman exhaled hard. "He's offering you as leverage, Isabella. To Antonio Caruso."
I froze. "He's out of his mind."
Roman's tone darkened. "Caruso's been wanting a reason to step into our turf. Marco just handed him one. If we don't move first, this city will burn before morning."