Chapter 2 Trust no De Luca

Isabella barely slept. The brass key lay beneath her pillow, and every time she closed her eyes, she heard her father's voice repeating the words that had shattered her life. What about my daughter? By morning, her tears had dried, leaving behind something colder than sadness. Anger. If Vittorio Moretti believed she would quietly accept being traded like a business deal, he had badly underestimated her. A knock sounded at her bedroom door. "Come in," she called. The door opened, revealing a man in a black suit. "Mr De Luca would like to speak with you." "Does Mr De Luca understand the meaning of the word no?" The man hesitated. "He's waiting downstairs, miss." "Then he can keep waiting." She expected an argument, but the man simply nodded and left. Ten minutes later, Isabella descended the staircase. Dante stood near the entrance hall, speaking to her father. He turned as she approached, his dark eyes settling on her. "You kept me waiting," he said. "I was hoping you'd get tired and leave." A faint smile touched his lips. "Unfortunately for you, I'm a patient man." "Then you'll have no problem waiting for me to agree to this ridiculous marriage." Vittorio sighed. "Isabella, please." She ignored him. Dante slipped one hand into his pocket. "The wedding arrangements will begin next week. You'll move to my estate on Monday." "I'm not moving anywhere." "You are." "Do you always get everything you want?" "Almost everything." "And what happens when you don't?" His gaze held hers. "People tend to regret disappointing me." "Then I suppose I'll be your first disappointment." For a moment, neither spoke. Then Dante stepped closer. "Your defiance is interesting, Isabella. But don't mistake my patience for weakness." "And don't mistake my silence for obedience." Something unreadable crossed his face. "Monday," he repeated before turning toward the door. Isabella watched him leave, relieved that he was finally gone. But his presence had left her unsettled. She needed to understand why her mother's key mattered so much to Maria. Upstairs, she searched through the few belongings Elena had left behind. Most were ordinary things: old letters, jewellery, and photographs from happier days. Then she discovered a small photograph tucked inside an envelope. Her mother stood beside a dark-haired man outside what looked like a grand Italian estate. Isabella's breath caught. The man looked remarkably like Dante. She turned the photograph over. Four words were written across the back in faded ink. Trust no De Luca. Her fingers tightened around the paper. Why had her mother written that warning? Had she known Dante? And if she had, why had nobody ever mentioned it? A knock interrupted her thoughts. Luca entered without waiting for permission. "Father wants you downstairs." "Does Father ever want anything that doesn't involve controlling my life?" "Don't start." "Tell me something, Luca. Did you know he was going to give me away?" Her brother's expression changed. "I knew the family was in trouble." "That wasn't my question." He looked away. "I'm sorry, Isabella." She stared at him, waiting for more. Nothing came. "Get out." "Isabella-" "Get out!" Luca left quietly. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph. Her family was hiding something, and she was beginning to suspect that her mother's death was connected to the secrets surrounding her marriage. That evening, she overheard voices coming from her father's study. "She wasn't supposed to find out about the first agreement!" Vittorio snapped. Another man answered too quietly for her to understand. Isabella leaned closer. The floor creaked beneath her foot. The conversation stopped. She hurried away before anyone could discover her listening. The first agreement. Whatever it meant, it had existed before the marriage arrangement she had overheard. And her father was terrified she might discover it. Later that night, Isabella sat alone in her bedroom with her phone in her hand. An unknown number sent a message. If you want to know why your mother died, do not go to Dante De Luca's estate. Her heart began to race. Another message followed. He was there the night she was killed. She read it twice, hoping she had misunderstood. A third message appeared. And your father knows who pulled the trigger. For several seconds, Isabella couldn't move. Her mother had died twelve years ago. Vittorio had always called it an accident, refusing to discuss the details. Now someone was telling her it had been murder. She typed a reply. Who are you? The message was delivered. No response came. She tried calling the number, but it was unavailable. "Who are you?" she whispered again. Her eyes returned to the photograph. Trust no De Luca. She slipped the picture into her handbag and reached beneath her pillow for the brass key. Her mother had left her a warning. Maria had feared Dante seeing the key. Her father had mentioned a first agreement. None of it was a coincidence. Isabella didn't know whether the anonymous messages were telling the truth, but she knew one thing: she could no longer trust the people who had raised her. On Monday, she would enter Dante De Luca's world. But she wouldn't go there as a helpless girl waiting to be rescued. She would go there looking for answers. And if Dante De Luca had played a part in her mother's death, she would make him regret ever underestimating her.