Chapter 98 -MATTEO’S FINAL OFFER
The city felt different when Matteo sent for her.
Quieter. As if it were holding its breath.
Isabella knew better than to refuse. Refusal invited force, and force was Matteo’s favorite language when charm failed. So she went, escorted not by guards but by silence, driven through back streets Lorenzo rarely used, to a private penthouse overlooking the river—neutral ground, Matteo’s specialty.
The doors closed behind her with a sound that felt permanent.
Matteo stood near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled, the picture of controlled ease. He turned slowly when he heard her footsteps, his smile practiced but tight.
“You look tired,” he said.
Isabella didn’t return the smile. “You didn’t bring me here to discuss my sleep.”
“No,” Matteo agreed. “I brought you here to offer you a way out.”
Her heart skipped—but she kept her face blank. “Out of what?”
He gestured to the city below. “This war. This family. Him.”
There it was.
She folded her arms. “Say what you mean.”
Matteo studied her for a moment longer than necessary, as if memorizing her. “You’re smarter than Lorenzo gives you credit for. You know what’s coming.”
“A coup,” she said. “Or an execution.”
“Both,” Matteo replied easily. “Just not in that order.”
Isabella’s nails dug into her palms. “Then why am I still alive?”
“Because you’re leverage,” Matteo said. “And because I don’t enjoy unnecessary bloodshed.”
She almost laughed. Almost.
“You spared me before,” she said. “Then you tried to own me.”
Matteo shrugged. “Ownership is relative.”
She stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “You don’t want me free. You want me useful.”
His smile sharpened. “Freedom and usefulness don’t have to be enemies.”
He crossed the room and poured two glasses of whiskey, offering her one. She didn’t take it.
Matteo set it down untouched. “Lorenzo is finished, Isabella. The council has already fractured. Capos are choosing sides. Men who would’ve died for him last year are hedging their bets.”
“And you,” she said, “are positioning yourself as the savior.”
“As the survivor,” Matteo corrected. “There’s a difference.”
He leaned against the table, voice lowering. “When this ends, Lorenzo won’t be exiled. He won’t be imprisoned. He’ll be dead.”
Her breath caught despite herself.
“You’re certain,” she said.
“I’m inevitable,” Matteo replied.
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
“And me?” Isabella asked quietly.
Matteo’s gaze softened—dangerously so. “You disappear. New name. New country. Enough money to live comfortably and forget all of this ever happened.”
Her pulse thundered. “And the price?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Lorenzo.”
The word landed like a gunshot.
Isabella swallowed. “You want me to kill him.”
Matteo shook his head. “No. I want you to let him die.”
She stared at him. “Explain.”
“You’re his weakness,” Matteo said. “His blind spot. His hesitation. Without you, he’s ruthless—but with you, he’s compromised.”
She said nothing.
“All I need,” Matteo continued, “is for you to give me access. A location. A moment. You don’t pull the trigger. You don’t watch. You walk away.”
Her voice trembled despite her control. “And if I refuse?”
Matteo’s eyes hardened. “Then you die with him.”
The room seemed to close in.
“You think Lorenzo would kill me,” she said.
“I know he would hesitate,” Matteo replied. “And hesitation is fatal.”
She took a step back. “You’re asking me to betray the only man who’s ever protected me.”
Matteo laughed softly. “Protected you? He tracked you. Confined you. Threatened you at gunpoint.”
“And you would’ve done worse,” she shot back.
“Yes,” Matteo admitted. “But I would’ve been honest about it.”
He moved closer again, voice low, intimate. “Lorenzo loves you. That’s why he’ll fall. Men like us can’t afford love.”
Isabella’s throat burned. “You’re wrong about him.”
Matteo’s smile faded. “You’re wrong about this ending well.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a phone, sliding it across the table toward her.
“Look,” he said.
Against every instinct, she did.
The screen lit up with images—surveillance photos, timestamps, locations. Lorenzo entering safehouses. Meetings with loyalists. A marked map.
“He trusts me,” Matteo said softly. “I know where he’ll be. When he’ll be alone.”
Her hands shook. “You planned this.”
“For years,” Matteo said. “Before you ever walked into his life.”
She looked up at him, horror dawning. “You’re not doing this because of me.”
“No,” Matteo agreed. “But you make it easier.”
She pushed the phone away. “I won’t do it.”
Matteo studied her, something dark and disappointed flickering across his face. “Think carefully.”
“I am,” she said. “And the answer is no.”
His jaw tightened. “Then you’re choosing a dead man.”
“I’m choosing myself,” she said, though the words felt fragile.
Matteo sighed, almost regretful. “I hoped you’d be smarter.”
She met his gaze. “I hoped you’d be human.”
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Matteo straightened, all warmth draining from him. “You have until tomorrow night.”
“For what?”
“To change your mind,” he said. “Or to run.”
Her stomach dropped. “You said you’d give me freedom.”
“I said I’d give you a chance,” Matteo corrected. “Freedom has conditions.”
She turned toward the door.
“Isabella,” Matteo called after her.
She paused, hand on the handle.
“You love him,” he said quietly.
She didn’t turn around. “Yes.”
“That’s why this will hurt,” Matteo said. “For both of you.”
The door closed behind her.
As she stepped back into the night, Isabella realized the truth with brutal clarity:
There was no version of this where she didn’t lose Lorenzo.
Only versions where she decided how.
And somewhere, already moving pieces into place, Matteo De Luca smiled—because the final move was no longer his alone.