Chapter Twenty-One
Isla hadn’t left Matteo’s study. Not yet. Her fury still vibrated through her bones, but now, beneath it, something heavier settled—something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak. The revelation of her father’s betrayal had been a knife to the gut, but knowing that Matteo had known all along was an entirely different kind of wound.
The war outside had settled. The gunfire had ceased, the bodies had been cleared from the villa grounds, and yet, the true battlefield lay here, between them, in the heavy silence that neither seemed ready to break.
Matteo stood across from her, his hands braced against his desk, his expression unreadable but his body tense—ready for the next shot, the next blow. Isla knew this was a different war, a war of words, of wounds that would cut deeper than any bullet.
“You needed me to stay?” she repeated, her voice void of emotion, though her insides were anything but calm. “Matteo, you kept me here under a lie. You let me believe you were my only choice, when the truth is, you were just another prison.”
His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” she demanded, taking a step forward, her pulse roaring in her ears. “Tell me. Because from where I’m standing, I was never meant to survive this marriage. I was just meant to serve my father’s agenda until I was convenient to dispose of. And you let me believe you were the one thing keeping me safe.”
Matteo dragged a hand through his hair, his breathing heavy. “Damn it, Isla, I was the one keeping you safe. I knew the second you found out, you’d run. I knew you’d never trust me again. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
Her lips parted, but the words failed her. Because in those few sentences, he had said more than he probably meant to. She stared at him, searching his face, but he gave nothing away.
“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why did it matter if I stayed or not? You had my father’s loyalty. You had everything you wanted. Why did I matter?”
Matteo exhaled slowly, closing the distance between them in two careful steps. He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but at the last second, he let it drop. “Because I can’t let you go.”
The words were quiet but carried more weight than any declaration he had ever made. Isla felt them sink into her bones, wrapping around her like chains she hadn’t realized were already there.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay rooted. “That’s not love, Matteo. That’s possession.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Then tell me you feel nothing for me. Say it. Say that everything between us—the fire, the nights, the way you look at me—was all just circumstance. Say you never wanted me.”
She hated him for this. For making her confront the feelings she had buried, the ones that made her weak, the ones that made her vulnerable. But she wasn’t ready to give him the satisfaction of a lie or the power of the truth.
“I don’t trust you,” she finally said, meeting his gaze with steel in her spine. “And I don’t think I ever will.”
Matteo flinched—so subtly that if she hadn’t been watching, she wouldn’t have caught it. But it was there. The first crack in his armor.
“You don’t have to trust me,” he said after a long beat. “But you’re still mine, Isla. And whether you believe it or not, I’ll prove to you that I never intended to let you go because you were never a pawn to me.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Then what was I?”
Matteo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back, his gaze never leaving hers. His breath was slow, measured, as if he was struggling to put the truth into words. "You were the only thing I ever wanted that I wasn’t supposed to have. And the only thing I am afraid to lose."
His voice was low, rough, and laced with something raw. Isla felt the weight of those words settle deep inside her, tangling with emotions she didn't want to name. She saw the way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but knew he shouldn't. Like he was still fighting himself, still refusing to surrender to what was already inevitable.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, a war raging inside her. She had wanted him to deny it, to deflect, to turn this into another power play where she could keep pretending he was just another enemy, another battle she had to win. But he hadn't. He had given her the truth, naked and unguarded, and she didn't know what to do with it.
Matteo let out a slow exhale, his dark eyes searching hers. "I wasn’t supposed to want you, Isla. But I did. And now? Now, I don’t know how to stop."
The confession knocked the air from her lungs. And as much as she wanted to deny the way her heart twisted, she couldn’t. Because part of her had always known.
A heavy silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Isla swallowed, her mind warring between fury and something far more dangerous—longing. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, the way his voice had curled around her name in the dark.
She turned to leave, but Matteo moved before she could, stepping in her path. “Isla—” His voice was lower now, rougher, tinged with something almost like desperation. “Stay. Just… stay.”
Her chest tightened. “I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he corrected, his voice growing colder. “But one day, you’ll realize you were never meant to run from me.”
Isla didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to. Instead, she slipped past him, walking out of the study and leaving Matteo standing there, alone in the wreckage of what they had become.
****
Matteo remained in the study long after Isla had gone. He stood in the same spot, staring at the door she had walked through, willing himself to let her go. But he couldn’t. He never could.
Luca entered a few moments later, pausing when he saw the look on Matteo’s face. He let out a slow breath. “She knows, doesn’t she?”
Matteo didn’t answer right away. He reached for the whiskey on his desk, pouring himself a drink, before meeting Luca’s gaze. “Yeah.”
Luca sank into one of the chairs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shit.”
“She thinks I was part of it,” Matteo said quietly. “That I would’ve let her die.”
Luca studied him carefully, his gaze sharp and searching. “And isn’t that exactly what you planned? At first?”
Matteo’s fingers tightened around the glass, the tension rolling off him in waves. He was silent for a long moment, his knuckles white as he gripped the drink. Finally, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what I planned then.”
“But it does. Because whatever you planned then and whatever you feel now—those are two different things, aren’t they?”
Matteo didn’t answer right away. He stared at the whiskey in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl as if the answer lay somewhere in its depths. “She was supposed to be a means to an end,” he admitted, voice rough. “A way to control the Marino family. A way to neutralize a threat before it became one.”
Luca’s brow lifted. “And now?”
Matteo looked up, his jaw tight. “Now, she’s the only thing I can’t control.”
Luca let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Matteo drained his glass in one slow swallow before setting it down with a heavy thud. “I’m going to make her stay.”
Luca exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
Matteo’s eyes darkened, his voice quiet but certain. “I’m going to make her realize she doesn’t want to leave.”
Luca smirked slightly, though there was something almost sympathetic in his expression. “You always did love a challenge.”
Matteo said nothing. Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he had already lost. And losing Isla?
That was a war he wasn’t ready to concede.
Luca leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what are you going to do now?”
Matteo drained his glass in one slow swallow before setting it down with a heavy thud. “I’m going to make her stay.”
Luca sighed, but he didn’t argue. He simply sat back and smirked slightly. “You always did love a challenge.”
Matteo said nothing. Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he had already lost. And losing Isla?
That was a war he wasn’t ready to concede.