Chapter Six
The air outside the DeLuca villa was crisp, a deceptive contrast to the suffocating tension inside. Isla had been restless all day, pacing the grand halls like a caged animal, the weight of her forced captivity pressing down on her. Every hallway, every locked door reminded her that no matter how luxurious her prison, it was still a prison. She needed air, needed space—even if only within the confines of the villa’s high walls.
When she stepped into the garden, the silence felt like a reprieve. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the damp earth beneath her feet. The night stretched around her, vast and endless, and for a fleeting moment, she could pretend she was anywhere else. Free. Safe.
She wasn’t.
The attack came swiftly. A blur of movement in the shadows. Isla barely had time to register the glint of a blade before she was yanked back, her body colliding with something solid. A hand clamped over her mouth as her pulse slammed against her ribs.
"Stay quiet, princess," a voice rasped against her ear, laced with malice. "This doesn’t have to be messy."
Panic surged through her, cold and suffocating. She thrashed, trying to break free, but the grip on her was ironclad. The man dragged her toward the hedges, his intentions clear. This wasn’t a warning. It was an execution.
She bit down on the hand muffling her screams, tasting copper as her teeth met skin. A curse hissed against her ear, but the momentary distraction was enough. She twisted in his grip, driving her knee into his ribs. The impact sent him staggering, but not enough to loosen his grip completely.
And then, chaos erupted.
Gunfire split the night. The grip on her loosened as her captor crumpled to the ground, a single bullet lodged between his eyes. Isla stumbled back, her heart pounding, only to see another shadow moving in the darkness—Matteo.
He was relentless. Efficient. A brutal force of nature as he dispatched the remaining attackers with practiced precision. The first man barely had time to turn before Matteo’s bullet tore through his skull. Another reached for a weapon, but Matteo was faster, disarming him with a brutal strike before snapping his neck with a sickening crack.
One by one, they fell, their lifeless bodies sprawled in the moonlight. The air smelled of blood and gunpowder, the garden now a battleground littered with corpses.
Isla stood frozen, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Matteo turned toward her. His dark suit was speckled with blood, his expression unreadable.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice tight, controlled.
She shook her head, unable to form words. The man who had just saved her life was the same man she had sworn to hate. And yet, as she looked into his unwavering gaze, something inside her shifted. Fear and something far more dangerous warred within her.
Matteo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "This is what happens when you underestimate the dangers around you."
Rage surged through her, slicing through the lingering fear. "You think this is my fault?" she snapped. "I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask to be here, to be your—"
His jaw clenched. "No, but you are mine to protect. Whether you like it or not."
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, defiance burning in her veins. "You don’t own me."
Matteo took a slow, deliberate step closer. "Don’t I?" His voice was low, dangerous, filled with something she couldn’t quite name. "You bear my name now, Isla. That means your life is tied to mine."
Her pulse pounded. The way he said it—like it was absolute, like it was law—set her blood on fire. She wanted to scream at him, to deny the strange pull between them. But she couldn’t deny what she had just seen.
Matteo DeLuca wasn’t just a monster.
He was the kind of monster that killed for her.
He took another step forward, his gaze locked on hers, and for the first time, Isla wasn’t sure whether she should run from him—or toward him.
Tonight, he had been her savior.
But she knew better than to believe in heroes.