Chapter 30 -THE RIVAL’S MESSAGE
The morning came heavy and gray. Rain slicked the marble steps of the De Luca estate, turning the world outside into a reflection of steel and silence. Isabella stood at the tall windows of the foyer, clutching a cup of untouched coffee, staring at the convoy of black cars assembled in the courtyard.
Lorenzo hadn’t come home until dawn. When he did, his shirt was bloodstained, his eyes hollow with exhaustion and rage. He hadn’t spoken to her — only barked orders at his men, his voice sharp enough to slice the tension in half.
Now, the household was a nest of quiet panic. Guards whispered in corners. Servants kept their heads down. Even the air seemed to hum with unease.
Then came the sound — a short, clipped shout from outside.
A moment later, Marco Ferri appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. “Lorenzo,” he said, voice low. “You’d better see this.”
Lorenzo strode past Isabella without a glance, pulling on his gloves. She followed at a distance, drawn by something cold and instinctive, as though she already knew whatever waited outside would change everything.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet, glistening beneath the dull light. Near the main gates, two guards stood over something — a dark shape wrapped in a black tarp.
Isabella’s stomach turned.
Lorenzo stopped a few feet away. “Who found it?”
“Gabriele,” Marco said. “At dawn. No sign of the car that dropped it.”
Lorenzo nodded once. “Open it.”
The guard hesitated, then pulled the tarp aside.
The breath caught in Isabella’s throat. It was a man — one of their drivers, Nico. His eyes were open, glassy, staring at nothing. His throat had been slit clean across, and in his mouth was a folded piece of paper, soaked red at the edges.
Marco crouched, pulling the note free with gloved fingers. “It’s from Venturi.”
Lorenzo took it without a word. His jaw tightened as he read.
“We warned you once. You ignored us. Keep the woman close — she’s prettier than she is safe.”
He crushed the note in his hand. “Get him inside. No one sees this but us.”
“Yes, Boss.” Marco motioned to the men, and they lifted the body, carrying it toward the back.
Isabella’s legs felt weak. She pressed a hand to her chest, forcing her breath to steady. “What does it mean?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.
Lorenzo turned to her slowly. His gaze was ice. “It means they know who you are.”
The words struck like a blow. “That’s not possible,” she said quickly. “They can’t—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, his tone low but dangerous. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
“I’m not,” she insisted. “I don’t know why they’d mention me.”
He stepped closer, too close. She could see the faint tremor in his hand, the restrained fury beneath his calm exterior. “The Venturi family doesn’t make random threats. They’ve done their homework. Someone told them you matter to me.”
Her pulse raced. “Do I?” she whispered before she could stop herself.
Lorenzo froze. His eyes flicked to hers, sharp as a blade. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” she demanded, fear cracking through her voice. “That you’ll punish me for something I didn’t do? That I’m suddenly guilty because they used my name?”
He didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, taut and dangerous.
Finally, Marco stepped forward. “Boss,” he said carefully, “it’s a message. They want to shake you — make you paranoid. Don’t give them what they want.”
Lorenzo’s jaw flexed. After a long moment, he turned away. “Double the guards. No one leaves the property without my order.”
“And the girl?” Marco asked quietly.
Lorenzo looked back at her. His voice softened — not with warmth, but with something darker, more protective. “She stays where I can see her.”
He walked away then, leaving her standing alone in the rain-damp courtyard, her pulse still hammering in her ears.
The rest of the day blurred. The mansion became a fortress — men at every entrance, vehicles checked, calls screened. Isabella could feel the walls closing in. She tried to focus on her work, but her thoughts kept circling back to the blood, the note, the way Lorenzo had looked at her — as if he wanted to protect her and strangle her all at once.
By afternoon, she found herself outside his study, hesitating before knocking.
“Come in,” his voice called, rough from lack of sleep.
He sat behind his desk, the blinds drawn, the room dim except for the glow of a single lamp. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside a stack of files. He looked up when she entered, his gaze heavy but not unkind.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.
“Neither should you,” she replied.
A flicker of amusement ghosted across his face. “Fair.”
She stepped closer, forcing her voice to steady. “You said they know who I am. What does that mean?”
“It means they’re watching,” he said. “Every move, every person I speak to. They’ve seen you with me. They think you matter.”
Her throat tightened. “And do I?”
He exhaled slowly, leaning back. “You ask dangerous questions.”
“I need answers, Lorenzo. I deserve to know what I’m walking into.”
He studied her — really studied her — as though trying to decide how much truth she could bear. “This isn’t about you. It’s about leverage. The Venturi family wants to prove I can be touched. They’ve failed at every attempt to hurt me, so they’ll try through anyone close to me.”
“And you think that’s me?”
“I know it’s you.”
Silence fell again. Then, softer, he added, “You shouldn’t have stayed after the attack. You should’ve run.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to,” she said, almost defiantly.
His lips curved, faintly but without humor. “Then you’re either brave or stupid.”
“Maybe both.”
He looked down at the glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid. “Bravery gets people killed in this world, Isabella.”
“So does loyalty,” she whispered.
That made him look up. Their eyes locked, and for a long moment, neither moved.
Then a knock broke the spell. Marco entered, grim-faced. “Boss, there’s more.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “What now?”
Marco set a folder on the desk. Inside was a photo — grainy, taken from a distance. Isabella’s heart stopped. It was her. Outside a café. Meeting Gianni.
Her blood turned cold.
Lorenzo’s gaze snapped to her. “Who is he?”
She forced a breath. “A friend. A journalist. He’s been asking about the attacks. That’s all.”
“Don’t insult me,” Lorenzo said, his voice low, dangerous. “Why is a journalist following you?”
Her mind spun. Lie, her instincts screamed. Lie or die.
“I met him before I worked for you,” she said, barely holding his gaze. “He’s been trying to get me to talk. I told him to stop.”
He studied her for a long, terrible moment, then looked away, tension easing — just slightly. “If he contacts you again, you tell me. No secrets.”
“I won’t lie to you,” she said softly.
He looked up again, eyes narrowing — as if sensing the irony but choosing to ignore it. “Good.”
Marco left quietly, closing the door behind him.
Lorenzo rose, walked to the window, and looked out at the courtyard where Nico’s blood had stained the stone that morning. “They want war,” he said. “Fine. I’ll give them one.”
Isabella’s pulse quickened. “And if they come for you again?”
“They won’t,” he said. “Not while I’m expecting it.”
He turned, eyes dark and resolute. “But you — you stay close. I won’t lose another person to this.”
The words caught her off guard. Beneath the command, there was something fragile. Something human.
“I’m not yours to lose,” she whispered.
He stepped toward her, slow, deliberate. “You are now.”
The rain began again outside, tapping against the windows like a heartbeat — steady, relentless.
And somewhere deep inside, Isabella realized the truth she’d been denying for weeks:
She wasn’t just caught in his world anymore.
She belonged to it.