Chapter 51 -MATTEO’S WARNING
Isabella felt the cold night air the moment she stepped onto the balcony, a relief after the suffocating tension inside the villa. The party Lorenzo hosted for his top lieutenants roared on behind her — laughter, clinking glasses, music too cheerful for a house built on secrets and blood.
She pressed trembling hands against the marble railing, trying to slow her pulse. Try to breathe. Try to think.
But all she could see were the documents she’d found. Her photo. Her descriptions. Her movements, dated and typed and catalogued long before she ever stepped into Lorenzo’s life.
Someone had been watching her. Someone inside his world — maybe even Lorenzo himself.
The door behind her slid open.
She stiffened.
“Running away from the noise?” Matteo’s voice floated out, smooth and amused.
Of course he’d find her. Of course he’d notice she’d slipped away. He was always watching in a way that felt both protective and predatory.
“I just needed air,” she said without turning.
Matteo walked to her side and leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmured.
She forced her jaw to unclench. “I’m fine.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re never fine. Not around here.”
Silence spread between them, thick as smoke.
Matteo tilted his head. “You’ve been… jumpy lately. Distracted. And I’m not the only one who noticed.”
Her stomach plunged.
“Lorenzo noticed?” she asked, barely able to push out the words.
Matteo’s lips twitched. “Lorenzo notices everything. Especially when it concerns you.”
A beat. A smirk.
“Which should terrify you far more than anything else going on.”
She swallowed hard. “Why would it terrify me?”
Matteo turned fully toward her, studying her with unsettling intensity. “Because Lorenzo is not a man you can lie to. Not forever.”
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
“What exactly are you implying?” she whispered.
Matteo stepped closer, invading her space, forcing her back against the cold railing. His breath was warm against her cheek, his voice a velvet whisper edged with steel.
“I know you’re not who you claim to be.”
Her breath caught.
Matteo searched her face, reading the panic she couldn’t hide. “There it is,” he murmured. “The truth. Or at least the fear of it.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I?” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture far too gentle for the words that followed. “You flinch when Lorenzo mentions your past. You avoid certain subjects. Certain names. You react to information you shouldn’t know. And lately? You look like you’re waiting for the ground to collapse beneath you.”
She said nothing. Couldn’t say anything.
Matteo’s voice lowered. “Lorenzo won’t tolerate betrayal, Isabella. You understand that, don’t you?”
A cold chill ran down her arms. “I’m not a traitor.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged lightly. “Or maybe you’re the worst kind.”
She tried to slip past him, but he blocked her path.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“No.” Matteo’s expression hardened. “Not until you hear what I have to say.”
She froze.
His next words were softer — alarmingly sincere.
“When Lorenzo finds the traitor — whoever it is — he will kill them. Immediately. No exceptions.”
She felt her heartbeat falter.
“He wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered reflexively. “He—”
Matteo barked a humorless laugh. “He would love you and kill you in the same breath if he had to. That’s who he is. Don’t confuse obsession with mercy.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Why are you telling me this?”
Matteo hesitated — and for the first time, she saw something conflicted flicker across his face.
“Because I don’t want to watch him destroy you,” he said quietly.
Her chest tightened.
“And because,” he added, voice dropping further, “if you fall… I need to know whether I should let you burn or pull you out before the flames reach you.”
She shivered.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
Matteo leaned in, his mouth grazing her ear. “The truth.”
She swallowed. “And if I can’t give you that?”
His answer came instantly.
“Then give me loyalty. To me. Not Lorenzo.”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t—”
He lifted a hand, pressing a finger lightly against her lips. “Do not lie. Not now.”
She froze under his touch, pulse thundering.
“I can protect you,” Matteo murmured. “If things go bad. If Lorenzo turns on you. If your secrets catch up.” His eyes sharpened. “But you have to choose. Sooner than you think.”
She pushed his hand away. “I’m not choosing anything.”
“You will.” His voice softened. “Everyone chooses something eventually.”
The balcony door slid open again.
Both turned sharply.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway — perfectly still, unreadable, eyes like slow-moving thunderclouds.
He looked at Isabella first.
Then at Matteo.
Then at the space between them — far too narrow.
A muscle in Lorenzo’s jaw twitched.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, tone deceptively calm.
Isabella’s stomach dropped.
Matteo didn’t flinch. “We were just talking.”
“About what?” Lorenzo asked.
Matteo smiled — lazy, taunting. “Her future.”
Lorenzo’s expression darkened by a fraction. “Is that so.”
He stepped forward, placing himself between them in one smooth, controlled movement — not touching Isabella, but blocking Matteo from her completely.
Matteo arched a brow. “Protective tonight, cousin?”
“Always,” Lorenzo said, voice like cold iron.
The tension thickened, electric.
Lorenzo reached for Isabella’s hand — not roughly, but firmly enough that she felt the message in every finger.
You are mine. Stay where I can see you.
But his eyes stayed locked on Matteo’s.
“Whatever conversations are happening,” Lorenzo said quietly, “they stop now.”
Matteo tilted his head. “Are you giving me an order?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo said simply. “I am.”
Something dangerous passed between them. An old wound. An old rivalry.
Isabella felt trapped between two men who could kill each other if the wrong word slipped.
Matteo finally stepped back, raising both hands. “As you wish.”
He brushed past Lorenzo — but as he did, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear:
“Think carefully, Isabella.”
Then he disappeared inside.
The balcony fell silent.
Lorenzo turned to her slowly, eyes searching her face.
“Did he bother you?”
She opened her mouth — but nothing came out.
Lorenzo’s gaze darkened, taking in her pale skin, her unsettled breathing.
“Isabella,” he murmured, voice soft but razor-sharp, “what did he say to you?”
Her heartbeat pounded.
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
She inhaled, trying to steady herself.
But before she could form a word —
A gunshot cracked from the gardens below.
Lorenzo reacted instantly, pulling her against him, shielding her body with his own as shouts erupted in the villa.
“Inside!” he ordered, dragging her through the balcony doors.
But as he pulled her away, she glimpsed something in the darkness below.
A flash of movement.
A figure.
Facing the balcony.
Facing her.
And the muzzle of a gun turning toward them again.