(Isabella)
He walks in like he owns not just the mansion, but the entire world. Tall, Powerful. Dressed in a black suit that perfectly fitted his broad shoulders. Dark hair slicked back. Stubble lining his razor-sharp jaw. But it's his eyes— God, those eyes— icy gray, like winter storms over the ocean. Deadly, unforgiving. And ancient in a way that makes my lungs tighten. He moves with a predator's grace. Like a king returning to his throne. But he….is too sexy. I never seen a man like him. Ok, how I would I seen when all of my attention was on a fucker.
Ivan and Aidan straighten instantly. "Capo."
He doesn't acknowledge them, his attention is on me, only me. A chill snakes down my spine under that gaze— dark, assessing, too intense to hold, too intoxicating to look away from. Then his eyes flick to Veronica. Cold, uninterested, then back to me. His jaw ticks once, a subtle movement. But enough to make the air thicken.
"This one," Ivan says, voice low, deep, Italian rolling smoothly off his tongue, "was harder to catch."
I stiffen, doesn't they have any common sense? Who doesn't try to run when someone try to abduct them?
Aidan mutters, "She runs fast for someone half-broken." Giovanni's eyes drag over my bandages, bruises, sling. His expression sharpens—into what, I can't tell.
Then—h e steps closer. Every instinct in my body screams to move back, but I'm tied to the chair. Giovanni crouches before me, his face inches from mine. His cologne surrounds me—dark, smoky, expensive. He grips my chin gently, but firmly enough that escape is impossible.
"Tell me, angelo,"(angel) he murmurs, gray eyes pinning mine in place, "why are you injured?" The question steals my breath. Because no one has asked me that. Not even my soon to be ex cheated but respected fucking bastard husband. His thumb brushes near my bandage, soft but searching.
"Who did this to you?" I swallow hard. He waits, unblinking. "It was… an accident," I whisper, his jaw flexes. A muscle ticks in his cheek. He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Men like me," he says, "do not believe in accidents." My heart stops. The room feels too small, too hot, too dangerous.
"Who're u? who're u asking me all these?" He releases my chin slowly—almost reluctantly—and stands.
" Your Husband's Enemy" he says. "Giovanni DeLuca"
My heart started beating faster, even his name holds fear. Aidan approaches. "Capo, Cristian Valasco—" Giovanni lifts one hand. Silence falls instantly. "Bring me the phone," he says.
Veronica starts sobbing. "P-Please, please let us go! I swear my father will—"
"Shut her up," Giovanni murmurs. Ivan slaps duct tape over Veronica's mouth. Giovanni runs a hand through his thick dark hair, breathing out slowly, like a man preparing for war. His eyes slide back to me, locking me in place.
"Cristian Valasco," he says softly, almost amused, "will choose between the two of you."
My blood turns cold. Choose? Giovanni smirks darkly.
"Let us see, which woman he truly loves."
He turns away, my stomach plummets. My breath stops.God, please— not this. Not in front of these men, not after everything. My pulse hammers painfully, and I taste iron on my tongue as fear fills my throat. The choice hasn't even been spoken yet— and still… I already know, I already know whom Cristian will choose. And it won't be me.
My wrists burn where the ropes cut into my skin, the coarse fibers biting with every breath I take. Veronica whined and cursed beside me, while I stayed quiet, clutching the inside of my mouth to stop myself from screaming. All I could think about was the folder in my hospital bag. The divorce documents, I was supposed to give them to Cristian today. But instead… I land up here.
The heavy doors groan open behind us. A rush of cold wind. Heavy footsteps. And then—him. Giovanni.
He stepped into the room with deliberate slowness, as if the world itself bent for him. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black coat he didn't bother to remove. His sharp Italian features carved in stone, his dark eyes cold and merciless. And then, when those eyes landed on me… something in me stopped breathing. He didn't smile, he didn't even bat an eyelid. He simply looked, like he'd expected me.
"Finalmente,"(Finally) Giovanni murmured, voice smooth as velvet yet sharper than any blade. "The wife."
Veronica snorted. "Oh please—she's barely that. Cristian doesn't give a fuck to her. He doesn't even—"
"Shut. Up." Giovanni didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Veronica shrank instantly. Giovanni hunched in front of me, his fingers brushing my bruised cheek. I jerked, his touch was cold. What the hell! What's happening here?
"You shouldn't be tied like that," he murmured softly. "You're hurt."
My throat tightened. Why did it sound like concern from a man famous for breaking bones? He stood, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number before I could say anything. The number I knew by heart, Cristian's. My pulse hammered. My stomach twisted. I hated that I still hoped—still prayed—he would finally choose me. Giovanni put the phone on speaker. It rang once, twice, click.
"Hello?" Cristian's voice was hoarse, panicked. "Who is this? Where is Veronica? Where Isabella?"
Giovanni's lips curled in amusement. "Relax, Valasco. They're both alive, for now." He laughed arrogantly.
"Get ready for making ur choice husband...."
(To be Continued…..)