Isabella POV
The door locks with a soft click.
I stare at Enzo. He stares back.
"Everything?" I repeat. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." He takes another step toward me. "Your father betrayed both our families, Isabella. He sold secrets to the Russo cartel. He tried to kill my son. Give me one reason why I shouldn't finish what I started in that garden."
My throat goes dry. "Because he's still my father."
"Is he?" Enzo's voice cuts like a knife. "What kind of father sells his daughter to save himself? What kind of father points a gun at innocent people?"
"He was scared. They threatened to kill me—"
"So he tried to kill Arthur instead?" Enzo laughs, cold and harsh. "That's not love, Isabella. That's cowardice."
I want to argue. Want to defend my father. But the words die in my throat because Enzo is right.
Dad chose himself. He always chooses himself.
"What do you want from me?" I ask again.
Enzo stops in front of me. So close I can smell blood and cologne. "I want you to stay here. In this house. Where I can protect you."
"I'm already staying here. I'm married to your son, remember?"
"That's not enough." His eyes burn into mine. "I want you to trust me. To let me keep you safe from the people hunting you."
"What people?"
"The Russos. Your father owed them three million dollars. Now that he failed to kill Arthur, they'll come for you instead. You're leverage. You're payment. You're whatever they decide you are."
Fear crawls up my spine. "And you can stop them?"
"I'm the only one who can stop them." He reaches out slowly, like I'm a wild animal that might run. His fingers brush my cheek. "But you have to let me."
I should pull away. Should slap his hand. Should run screaming from this room.
But I don't.
Because underneath the fear and anger and confusion, there's something else. Something dangerous.
I feel safe with him. Even though I shouldn't.
"My father," I whisper. "If I stay, if I trust you—what happens to him?"
Enzo's hand drops. "He lives. In a hospital. Under guard. When he's healed, he goes to prison or he disappears. Your choice."
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Isabella. Fair is a fairy tale we tell children." He turns away from me. "Go back to your room. Think about what I said. In the morning, give me your answer."
He's dismissing me. Like I'm a child being sent to bed.
Anger flares hot in my chest. "No."
Enzo looks back, surprised. "No?"
"No, I'm not leaving." I cross my arms. "You locked the door. You said you want everything from me. You don't get to send me away now without explaining what that means."
For the first time tonight, Enzo smiles. A real smile. "You have fire. Good. You'll need it."
"Stop talking in riddles."
"Fine." He walks to a desk and pulls out a folder. Throws it on the bed. "Read that. Then decide if you still want answers."
I pick up the folder. Open it.
Inside are photographs. Dozens of them.
Pictures of me.
At the museum three years ago. At my college graduation. At coffee shops. At the library. Walking to my apartment. Getting into cars. Laughing with friends.
Three years of pictures.
Three years of Enzo watching me.
My hands shake. "You're insane."
"Probably." He doesn't sound sorry. "But I kept you alive. Every single one of those days, I had men watching you. Protecting you from your father's enemies. From men who wanted to hurt you to get to him."
"I didn't ask for that."
"You didn't have to." Enzo's voice goes soft. Dangerous. "I saw you once, and I knew. You were going to be mine. It was just a matter of time."
The folder slips from my fingers. Photographs scatter across the floor.
"I'm not yours," I say, but my voice shakes. "I'm not anybody's."
"Yes, you are." He crosses the room in two strides. Grabs my arms. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I can't escape. "You became mine the moment your father sold you. The moment Arthur put that ring on your finger. The moment you walked into this room."
"Let go of me."
"No." His face is inches from mine. "Not until you understand. I didn't plan for this, Isabella. I didn't want to want you. But I do. And I will burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone take you from me."
I should be terrified. This is crazy. He's crazy.
But God help me, part of me wants to lean into him. Wants to let him carry this weight I've been dragging alone.
"You killed my father," I whisper.
"I saved your life," he corrects. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." His grip loosens. Becomes almost gentle. "And deep down, you know it. That's why you came here tonight. That's why you're not running. That's why you're looking at me like—"
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to kiss you."
My breath catches. "I don't."
"Liar."
He's right. I am lying. Because standing here in his arms, I do want him to kiss me. I want to forget everything—the wedding, Marco's death, my father's betrayal, the blood and chaos.
I want to forget I'm supposed to hate him.
"This is wrong," I breathe.
"I know."
"You're my father-in-law."
"I know."
"I should leave."
"You should." But he doesn't let go. "So why aren't you?"
Because I'm broken. Because I'm scared. Because he's the only solid thing in a world that's falling apart.
Because maybe Arthur was right. Maybe I was always going to end up here.
I open my mouth to answer.
The door explodes inward.
Men in black masks flood into the room. Five of them. Guns drawn.
Enzo shoves me behind him. His own gun appears in his hand—when did he grab it?
"Russo family sends their regards," one man says. "Hand over the girl."
"Over my dead body," Enzo growls.
The man laughs. "That can be arranged."
Everything happens at once.
Gunfire. Shouting. Enzo firing back, pushing me toward the bathroom. "Lock the door! Don't come out!"
But I can't move. I'm frozen, watching Enzo fight five men alone.
He takes down two of them. Three left.
One of them grabs me.
I scream. Kick. Bite. Fight like a wild animal.
Enzo turns. Sees the man holding me. His face goes murderous.
He shoots the man holding me. Point-blank. Blood sprays.
The body falls.
Two men left. They're running now, retreating.
Enzo chases them into the hallway. More gunshots. Shouts. Chaos.
I stand in the middle of the room, covered in a dead man's blood, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
This is my life now. This is what Enzo meant by protection.
This is what being his means.
Footsteps pound back down the hallway. I grab the nearest weapon—a letter opener from the desk. Hold it up with shaking hands.
The door opens.
Enzo walks in. Blood on his face. Blood on his hands. Blood on his white shirt.
But he's smiling.
"They're gone," he says. "Dead or running. It doesn't matter."
"You're hurt," I whisper.
He looks down at himself. "Not my blood."
"Oh God." My legs give out.
Enzo catches me before I hit the floor. Lifts me like I weigh nothing. Carries me to the bed.
"Breathe, Isabella. Just breathe."
"They tried to kidnap me. They were going to—"
"But they didn't. I stopped them. I'll always stop them."
He sits on the bed, holding me against his chest. His heart pounds against my ear. Fast. Strong. Alive.
We both almost died.
"This is my life now?" I ask the darkness.
"Yes." His arms tighten around me. "This is your life. Blood and danger and me. Still want to leave?"
I should say yes. Should demand he let me go somewhere safe.
But there is nowhere safe. Not anymore.
"What happens now?" I whisper.
Enzo's lips brush my forehead. So gentle it almost breaks me.
"Now?" he says softly. "Now you sleep. And in the morning, you wake up in my bed. In my room. Under my protection. Where you should have been from the beginning."
"I can't stay here. In your bed. That's—"
"The only safe place left." He leans back against the headboard, taking me with him. "The cameras don't reach here, Isabella. The guards can't enter without permission. And I sure as hell am not letting you sleep alone after tonight."
"People will talk."
"Let them talk." His voice is final. "You're mine now. They'll learn that soon enough."
I'm too tired to argue. Too scared. Too broken.
So I close my eyes and let the monster hold me.
I feel his hand stroke my hair. Once. Twice.
"Sleep, tesoro," he murmurs. "I've got you."
And against all logic, all reason, all sense—I do.
I sleep in the arms of the man who shot my father.
The man who's been stalking me for three years.
The man who just killed five people to protect me.
The man who terrifies and draws me in equal measure.
When I wake up, everything will be different.
But for now, in the darkness, with death still fresh in the air—
I feel safe.