The mansion felt like a fortress under siege. Guards patrolled the grounds in armored vehicles, snipers watched from rooftops, and every entrance was locked down like a war bunker.
Yet somehow, Matteo DeLuca still managed to walk straight into Isabella's world.
It was midday when Isabella, exhausted from sleepless nights, wandered into the garden to escape the suffocating tension inside. She sat beneath a marble gazebo, her hands resting protectively over her belly, letting the summer breeze calm her nerves.
Then she heard it.
A slow, deliberate clap.
Her head snapped up, and her blood ran cold.
Matteo DeLuca stood at the edge of the garden path, dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair slicked back, scars slashing across his jaw like trophies of past battles. He looked like Leonardo's mirror image—only colder, sharper, and more unhinged.
"Well, well," Matteo drawled in a low, dangerous voice, stepping closer with unnerving calm. "So this is the queen my baby brother sold his soul for."
Isabella's heart raced. "How did you get in here?" she demanded, masking her fear.
Matteo smirked, his ice-blue eyes glinting. "Oh, cara mia, if you think these walls can keep me out, you truly don't understand who I am."
He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head as he studied her like a prized jewel. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured. "And pregnant… with his heir."
Isabella's fists clenched. "Stay away from me."
Matteo chuckled softly. "Relax, little queen. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be bleeding." He crouched slightly, his expression turning almost charming—almost. "I only came to talk. To warn you."
"Warn me?" she asked warily.
"Yes," Matteo said, his tone suddenly dark. "Leonardo isn't the man you think he is. He's a killer, a thief, a coward who betrayed his own blood. Everything he has… should've been mine. And when I take it back, you'll see the truth."
Isabella lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. "The truth is, you're jealous. Leonardo built an empire, and you want to destroy it because you couldn't."
Something flickered in Matteo's eyes—rage barely contained—but then he smiled, slow and deadly. "You've got fire," he said softly. "I like that. But fire burns out fast when it's doused in blood."
He leaned closer, his whisper like poison. "Leonardo can't protect you, Isabella. When the coronation comes, he dies. And when he does… I'll be the one holding his queen and his crown."
Suddenly, the sharp click of a safety being released shattered the tense air.
"Step away from her," Leonardo's voice thundered from behind.
Matteo straightened slowly, turning to face his younger brother. The resemblance was undeniable, but where Leonardo radiated controlled power, Matteo exuded unhinged danger.
"Ah, little brother," Matteo said with a twisted grin. "Finally came out to play."
Leonardo's gun stayed trained on him, his jaw a granite wall of fury. "One more step toward my wife and they'll be cleaning your blood off these roses."
Matteo laughed, the sound chillingly casual. "Always so dramatic. I only wanted to meet the woman who tamed the mafia king."
Leonardo moved closer, his voice dropping to a lethal growl. "You're not welcome here. Leave… while you still have legs to walk with."
Matteo's smirk widened, but his eyes turned ice-cold. "You can't stop this, Leo. When the coronation begins, I'll take back what's mine. Our father wanted me on that throne—not you."
"Our father's dead because of you," Leonardo spat. "I'll never let you touch what I've built. Not my empire. Not my wife. Not my child."
Matteo's gaze flicked briefly to Isabella, and a cruel smile curved his lips. "We'll see," he said softly, his words dripping menace.
He stepped back slowly, hands raised mockingly. "Enjoy your last nights as king, little brother."
With that, Matteo vanished into the shadows of the garden, guards rushing in seconds too late.
Leonardo holstered his gun and rushed to Isabella, pulling her into his arms with a ferocity that made her breath hitch.
"Did he touch you?" Leonardo demanded, scanning her frantically.
"No," Isabella whispered, clutching his shirt. "But Leo… he's not just after your empire. He wants you dead. And…" she hesitated, her voice trembling, "…he wants me."
Leonardo's entire body went rigid, a dark storm gathering in his eyes. He kissed her forehead, his voice low and dangerous. "Then Matteo just signed his own death sentence."
That night, the mansion's war council convened. Marco spread blueprints of abandoned factories and underground fight clubs—Matteo's rumored strongholds.
"He's rallying old allies," Marco reported grimly. "Matteo's promising them a new era. He wants the DeLuca name cleansed of you, Boss."
Leonardo slammed a fist on the table, making glasses rattle. "Then we take the fight to him. No hiding. No running. This ends where it should've years ago—with Matteo's corpse at my feet."
Isabella stepped forward, her voice trembling but resolute. "No," she said, surprising everyone. "That's what he wants—to pull you into his chaos. Matteo isn't fighting for power. He's fighting to destroy you."
Leonardo looked at her, his fierce expression softening slightly. "What do you suggest, mia regina?"
Isabella's gaze didn't waver. "We outsmart him. We make Matteo think he's won… until it's too late."
For a long moment, silence hung in the air before a slow, dangerous smile spread across Leonardo's face. "My queen," he said, pulling her close, "you just declared war DeLuca style."
Far from the mansion, Matteo sat in a candlelit room surrounded by his loyal killers. He poured himself a glass of blood-red wine, staring at a photo of Leonardo and Isabella.
"She's even stronger than I expected," Matteo murmured to himself, swirling the wine. "No matter. Soon, she'll kneel for the rightful king."
One of his men approached. "Boss, when do we strike?"
Matteo's smile was pure evil. "Tomorrow night. At the coronation. We'll crown a new king in blood."