I didn't sleep once Dante closed the door behind us in that spooky room.
I sat on my bedroom floor, feeling the cold of the marble through my nightgown, staring at the knife under my pillow. I'd stared at it for hours, but my hands refused to reach for it.
Not after what I saw.
Not having seen my father's face on that wall tagged, dated, and filed like a document in a war cabinet.
I did not know whether it meant that he was dead. Or worse working for Dante.
I repeated everything over and over again in my head, His voice. His warnings, the steel in his words when he said, "This is the truth, and And you just stepped into it."
But truth was a sharp-edged thing in this house. Cut too fine, and it would leave you dry.
When I did finally make it to bed, the sun was beginning to rise, I watched the light filter through the gauzy drapes, heard the house stretch and yawn around me, beneath the quiet, something else stirred—mistrust, maybe. Or guilt.
Because I didn't exactly find answers last night.
I learned something more.
A name.
Rosetti.
I had not seen it, written on a manila folder taped shut and kept in the lower drawer of Dante's desk, but the sight of it sent my gut reeling.
He knew.
He knew something.
And he was keeping it from me.
I'd not realized I was asleep until I awoke to the sound of voices at my door, Low, Urgent, Then hard, fast footfalls, towards Dante's office.
I sat up, wiping at my eyes, still drowsy.
And then I heard his voice barely audible but sharp.
"Double security for Giovanni."
A brief pause, then something more sinister.
"Somebody's playing games with me.".
I didn't leave my room that day, not until nightfall.
That's when I heard it muffled, but clear enough.
Dante is on the phone.
His voice didn't sound like his.
It sounded. furious, fractured.
"…If the Rosettis are sending threats again, we end it., no more warnings, no more mercy."
Rosettis.
My stomach flipped.
I pressed my ear closer to the door.
"They already sent the message, you know what the black rose means either we hit first, or they will."
A pause, the sound of ice clinking in a glass.
"They're using her."
Her.
Me?
I pulled back from the door like it had burned me.
Abruptly, all his words I'd ever known of him, all his lingering stares, every biting warning
Everything felt like a trap.
Was I a pawn?
Or worse… was I hunted on both sides?
The house creaked as if it were attempting to speak with me.
Late at night, I sat upon the window seat in my bedroom, still perfumed by a robe with the sweet smell of the faintest lavender, beyond the walls creaked with the wind like a caution, my hand tightened around the cup of untouched tea.
I could not sleep, once again.
But this time, not because of memories or guilt.
It was because I'd overheard Dante on the phone.
The Rosettis. The name had hit me like a slap to the face, they were the very people who trained me, the ones who whispered revenge into my ears like lullabies, the mission was clear, infiltrate the Moretti house, get close to Dante, kill him, but no one ever told me why.
I gazed into the darkness, asking myself, If Dante was meant to be killed by the Rosettis, what had he ever done to them? why are they drawing me in?
Or worse… what had they lied to me about?
The following morning, the house buzzed with odd tension, people hurried more frantically, eyes down, voices murmured, even the housekeeper Francesca, who usually chided me gently for not eating, barely looked my way.
Something was different.
-------
"" Someone barked me out of my daze. Giovanni, Dante's second in command, was in the doorway with his jaw clamped in a tight line, "You have to get down to the floor right now."
I blinked, "Why? What's up?"
He didn't answer, just spun on his heel and vanished.
I followed him, pounding heart.
In the large foyer, Dante stayed next to the long dining table, a tiny wooden box set in front of him, His jaw clamped, his knuckles white as he held the lid open.
There was something in it, I said, approaching him.
He did not look at me.
I reached the table, peered into the box and froze.
In there was one black rose.
Its petals looked as if drenched in blood, though I didn't know whether it was real blood or painted to look so, Below it, a creased note.
Dante read aloud, gravel voice.
"Every rose has its thorn, Don Moretti, the next one won't come in a box."
was it a threat massage or a promise.
He threw the paper to the ground and at last, turned to me, his eyes a tempest.
"You know what this implies?" he questioned.
I paused, willing my face into something blank, "No, Should I?"
His gaze narrowed, "You never cease asking questions. You observe all, you're quiet, too quiet. Who are you truly, Isabella?"
The ground beneath me disappeared.
"I'm your wife," I said softly, "I've never lied to you."
He moved closer, and the air was suddenly chilly between us, "You've lied since the day you walked in through that door I see it in your eyes you're not afraid of me, that makes you dangerous."
I swallowed painfully, not dropping my gaze. "Maybe I just don't scare easily."
That response infuriated him and impressed him simultaneously.
Before he could answer, Giovanni flung open the door.
"Boss. You have to come, It's Marco, He's dead."
Dead.
My blood froze.
Marco was one of the guards who was tasked with guarding the east wing, my area I live in the building.
Dante's head spun around sharply, "Where?"
"In the garden, just outside the east balcony."
Right below my room.
His eyes flicked to mine, "You were there last night." he stated
It wasn't a question, It was an accusation.
"Yes, but" I began, heart racing.
"Don't lie to me, Isabella."
"I heard nothing," I replied hastily, "If anything did happen out there, I didn't witness it."
He looked at me so hard it seemed like time froze.
And then, without saying a word, he turned and walked out after Giovanni.
I stood there locked in position, the black rose still bleeding on its box.