Chapter Thirty-One
The villa still smoldered in the distance, the scent of fire and death clinging to the night air. Matteo and Isla had left it behind, the ghosts of war lingering in its ruins, but the battle wasn’t over yet. Not until the last threat had been eliminated.
Not until Matteo’s uncle was dead.
The drive back to the DeLuca villa was suffocatingly silent, the weight of what had just happened settling between them like the ashes of the war they had just ignited. Isla sat beside him in the car, her fingers still curled into the fabric of her dress, blood staining the edges. Matteo hadn’t let go of her hand since she pulled the trigger on her father. It wasn’t a gesture of comfort. It was a silent understanding. A tether keeping them together as they stepped into the next chapter of their rule.
As they pulled through the gates of the DeLuca villa, Luca was already waiting for them. He stood at the top of the stone steps, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as Matteo stepped out of the car.
"It’s done?" Luca asked.
Matteo gave a single nod. "Leonardo is dead."
Luca exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking toward Isla as she stepped out beside Matteo. Something in his expression softened just slightly before he turned back to business. "We have him."
Matteo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to ask who. Enzo. The last piece of the puzzle. The final betrayal.
"Where?" Matteo asked, his voice steady, emotionless.
Luca motioned for them to follow. "Basement. We’ve kept him alive. Barely."
Matteo didn’t hesitate, and neither did Isla. They moved as one, down the long corridor beneath the villa, where the air grew colder, the walls lined with the remnants of past enemies who had met their fate in this very place.
Enzo was bound to a chair, his once-proud demeanor reduced to something pitiful. His face was bruised, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes—his eyes still held defiance.
"Matteo," Enzo rasped, a weak smirk pulling at his lips. "You should thank me. I almost did what you didn’t have the stomach to do—take her father out first."
Matteo didn’t react. He simply stepped forward, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, his every movement deliberate. "You betrayed me."
Enzo chuckled, though it was laced with pain. "That’s the game, nephew. You should’ve expected it."
"I did," Matteo said simply. "That’s why this is happening."
Enzo’s smirk faltered. "You wouldn’t kill your own blood."
Matteo pulled a knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers as he regarded his uncle with pure, unyielding disdain. "You lost the right to call yourself family the moment you turned against me."
He handed the knife to Isla.
She stared at him, then at Enzo, something unreadable flashing through her expression. Matteo didn’t rush her. He let the decision be hers.
She took the knife.
Enzo’s smirk vanished. "You wouldn’t."
Isla’s grip tightened. "You helped my father. You helped him try to erase me. You made this choice."
She stepped forward, tilting her head slightly. "The DeLucas always finish what they start, don’t they?"
A slow smile spread across Matteo’s lips as he watched her. She understood now. This wasn’t just about revenge. This was about power. About ensuring no one ever questioned them again.
She dragged the blade across Enzo’s throat with the same precision she had seen Matteo use so many times before.
His body jerked once. Then stilled.
Silence settled in the basement as the blood pooled beneath the chair, the last of their enemies eliminated.
Isla turned to Matteo, breathing heavy but steady, her hands stained in blood. "It’s done."
Matteo reached for her, cupping her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. "It’s done."
Luca stepped forward, nodding in approval. "The empire is yours, Matteo. No more loose ends."
Matteo turned to Isla, his gaze unwavering. "Ours."
A small smile touched her lips. "Ours."
But Matteo wasn’t finished.
He turned to Luca. "Spend what remains from the day to clean up this mess. Tomorrow, have the men together. Both the DeLuca and the Marino men. We plan to send a message. No one questions us again."
Luca gave a firm nod. "Consider it done."
Together, Matteo and Isla walked back through the villa, the weight of everything settling into their bones.
The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood, but Isla barely noticed. The chaos had settled, the battlefield reduced to echoes of violence and bodies that would soon be nothing more than whispers in the dark underworld they ruled. She had survived. Again. And yet, the weight in her chest refused to lessen.
She turned to Matteo, her breath steady, but the storm inside her was far from calm. He stood amidst the wreckage of their latest war, his suit streaked with blood that wasn’t his own, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the aftermath.
There was no gloating, no satisfaction in his eyes. Just calculation. Control.
And her.
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel. This wasn’t just another victory. This was their empire, secured in a way that couldn’t be undone. But there was still something unfinished, something left unsaid between them.
Matteo’s gaze finally landed on her, his storm-gray eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
"You’re hurt," he noted, his voice low, edged with something dangerous. Not quite concern. Not quite relief. But something close.
Isla looked down at the dried blood staining her arm, a wound she had barely registered in the midst of the chaos. "I’m fine," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Matteo stepped closer, the space between them disappearing, his fingers reaching out to touch her, to confirm that she was real. That she was still his. "Don’t lie to me."
She met his gaze, something sharp passing between them. A challenge. A plea.
And then, finally, she broke the silence. "What now?"