Chapter 62 -MATTEO’S PROPOSITION
The night pressed down heavy and airless, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Isabella barely slept after Lorenzo left. Every shift of shadow, every creak in the hall felt like someone watching, waiting. By the time dawn smeared a faint gray across her windows, she had made her decision: she needed answers — and she needed them fast.
Matteo was the only one who might give them.
Or the only one reckless enough to try.
She found him in the training room, drenched in sweat, knuckles cut from hours of punishing the punching bag. He didn’t hear her enter — or pretended not to.
“You look like hell,” she said quietly.
Matteo’s fist thudded into the bag one more time before he turned. “And you look like someone who didn’t sleep.” His eyes raked over her face. “Rough night?”
You have no idea.
She didn’t speak. Silence was safer.
Matteo grabbed a towel, dragging it across his neck as he studied her. Really studied her. His gaze was sharper today, stripped of his usual teasing charm.
“You’re scared,” he said. “That’s new.”
“I’m cautious,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Not when Lorenzo’s involved.”
Her jaw tensed. “Everything’s about him with you, isn’t it?”
“No.” Matteo stepped closer. “Everything’s about survival. And you’re running out of time.”
Those words hit too close to the bone. Her fingers curled, but she kept her voice steady. “You know something.”
Matteo exhaled slowly. “You should sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You won’t be.”
The room fell silent for a beat, heavy with things unsaid. Then Matteo spoke, voice low, deliberate.
“There’s someone inside the famiglia framing you. Someone with access. Someone smart. That red handkerchief wasn’t the first thing they planted.”
Her blood chilled. “How do you know about—”
“I know everything that happens on this estate,” he cut in. “And you’re not careful enough to hide panic.”
She took a step back. “Are you the one framing me?”
Matteo’s mouth curved — a humorless, cold half-smile. “If I were, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”
Not reassuring.
He moved around her, circling slowly, the way he always did when he was trying to get her off balance.
“Lorenzo won’t say it out loud,” Matteo continued, “but he’s already considering the possibility that you’re working with the Venturis. He doesn’t want to suspect you — that’s the dangerous part.”
“Why is that dangerous?” she demanded.
“Because Lorenzo is ruthless when he’s certain.” Matteo stopped in front of her. “But when he’s torn? That’s when he becomes unpredictable.”
And unpredictable men caused collateral damage.
She swallowed. “I can fix this.”
Matteo laughed — a short, disbelieving sound. “No, you can’t. You’re drowning. And Lorenzo is the tide.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His eyes met hers then — and the shift in them felt like the floor tilting.
“Because I’m offering you a way out.”
Her pulse stuttered. Matteo rarely spoke plainly. And never like this.
“What kind of way out?”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until the words brushed her skin like the whisper of a blade.
“Help me,” he said. “And I’ll help you survive.”
Her breath lodged in her throat. “Help you what?”
Matteo’s expression hardened. “Overthrow him.”
The silence that followed was a thunderclap.
She stared at him, stunned. Matteo — loyal Matteo, who had grown up shadowing Lorenzo, who had killed for him, bled for him, lived for him — was suggesting treason.
“You’re serious,” she whispered.
He didn’t blink. “Deadly.”
Isabella backed up until her shoulders hit the wall. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” Matteo’s smile was thin. “But I’m right.”
“No.” She shook her head. “This is a test. You want to see if I’ll betray him.”
“If I wanted a test,” Matteo said calmly, “I would’ve kissed you again. That worked well enough.”
Her chest tightened. The memory stung even now — the press of his mouth, the shock, Lorenzo’s dark eyes seeing everything.
“You ruined everything between us,” she hissed.
He scoffed. “Everything was already cracking. I just made the fracture visible.”
She looked away, pulse racing. “You don’t want to overthrow Lorenzo.”
“Isabella,” Matteo said quietly, “he’s losing control. You see it. I see it. Half the soldiers are afraid of him. The other half are waiting for someone strong enough to challenge him.”
“There is no one strong enough.”
“There is,” Matteo said. “Us.”
The world tilted again.
She forced a breath. “Why me?”
“Because Lorenzo trusts you more than he should.” Matteo’s tone sharpened. “Because you make him weak. And because whoever is framing you is doing it to destabilize him.”
She froze.
“You think someone’s using me to get to him.”
“I don’t think.” Matteo stepped closer, eyes burning. “I know.”
The idea hit her like a blow. It made too much sense — the timing, the precision, the way the attacks always escalated right when Lorenzo’s guard dipped around her.
“Help me,” Matteo murmured. “Together, we can root out whoever’s doing this. Then we take control before Lorenzo burns everything down.”
Her voice was barely audible. “If you want power, go find someone else.”
He reached out and caught her wrist before she could turn away.
“This isn’t about power.”
“Then what is it about?” she demanded, ripping her arm free.
His jaw worked. Words hovered on his tongue — something raw, something real — but he swallowed them.
Instead he said, “It’s about survival. Yours. Mine. Everyone’s.”
“No.” Isabella backed away. “This ends now.”
Matteo’s eyes darkened. “Think carefully. Once you reject me, I can’t protect you from what comes next.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t need your protection.”
“Yes, you do,” he said softly. “Because Lorenzo won’t save you from this. He’ll destroy you before he realizes he’s made a mistake.”
The words landed like a prophecy.
She didn’t answer.
Matteo took her silence as final. He nodded once — sharp, resigned.
“So be it.”
He moved toward the door, but paused before leaving.
“When the next blow comes,” he said without turning back, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Isabella stood rooted to the floor, breath unsteady, pulse roaring in her ears.
Matteo’s proposition wasn’t just treason.
It wasn’t just madness.
It was a line drawn in blood.
And refusing him felt like stepping into free fall with no parachute.
Someone was framing her.
Lorenzo was unraveling.
Matteo was turning rebellion into prophecy.
And Isabella’s next move might decide who lived — and who burned.