Chapter Thirty-Nine: Whispers in the Dark
The morning after Adrian’s call, the mansion felt different. Usually, Isabella woke to the sound of chatter in the halls, the clinking of dishes, or the heavy footsteps of guards. But that morning, everything felt… off.
When she stepped into the corridor, two maids carrying laundry baskets froze as soon as they saw her. They looked at each other, their voices dropping. Isabella slowed her steps, trying to catch their words.
“She’ll ruin him.”
“She’s his weakness.”
Her chest tightened. She stopped in the middle of the hall, staring after them as they scurried away. The words stayed with her like a stone in her stomach.
\---
At breakfast, she sat across from Giulia, who was buttering toast while Dante skimmed through papers with a cup of coffee in his hand. Isabella kept quiet, her appetite gone. She kept thinking of the whispers.
Dante didn’t even look up when he said, “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
His eyes lifted briefly, sharp. “Eat anyway.”
Isabella sighed and forced herself to swallow a bite. Giulia gave her a small smile. “Don’t mind him. He thinks food solves every problem.”
Dante smirked but went back to his papers. Isabella didn’t laugh. The maids’ words were still echoing in her head.
\---
When breakfast ended, Isabella tried to distract herself. She wandered into the sitting room where two maids were dusting. They stiffened the moment she entered. Isabella forced a smile.
“Good morning,” she greeted softly.
The maids lowered their heads, mumbling something she couldn’t catch. One of them whispered, “She doesn’t belong here.”
Isabella froze. “What did you just say?”
The younger maid’s face turned pale. “Nothing, Signora.”
“I heard you,” Isabella pressed, her voice shaking a little. “Say it again.”
The older maid tried to step in. “We only mean… you will bring trouble. For him. For all of us.”
Before Isabella could respond, a cold voice came from behind her.
“What did you just say?”
Dante.
He stood in the doorway, his presence making the maids tremble. They dropped their rags, falling to their knees.
“Boss, we didn’t mean—”
Dante pulled his gun without hesitation and fired a shot into the floor. The sound cracked through the room, making Isabella flinch. The maids screamed.
“The next time I hear whispers about my wife,” Dante said in a deadly calm tone, “the bullet won’t miss.”
“Yes, Boss! Forgive us!” they cried.
“Get out.”
They scrambled out of the room, leaving silence behind.
Isabella spun on him. “Was that necessary? They’re just women!”
“They were disrespectful,” Dante said flatly.
“They’re scared, Dante! Do you think shooting at them will fix that?”
“It will keep them quiet,” he replied, sliding the gun back into place. “Fear is loyalty.”
Her hands curled into fists. “One day, your violence will ruin everything. Including me.”
He stared at her for a long second, his jaw tight, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he walked past her and left the room.
\---
The rest of the day, Isabella carried a knot in her chest. She tried to shake it off, but the looks from staff, the way conversations stopped when she entered, only made her feel more alone.
By the afternoon, she found Giulia in the library. Isabella sank into a chair with a sigh.
“Everyone hates me here,” she whispered.
Giulia closed her book, studying her. “Not everyone.”
“They look at me like I’m some curse. Like I’ll be the end of him.”
Giulia hesitated. “Maybe they’re afraid you will be. You’ve changed him, Isabella. And change always comes with blood.”
Isabella frowned. “You think I’ll destroy him too?”
Giulia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I’m saying Dante’s enemies aren’t only outside these walls. People here can turn on you too. Be careful.”
The warning made Isabella shiver.
\---
That night, she tossed in bed beside Dante. He was asleep, but his arm was heavy around her waist, as if even in sleep he refused to let her out of reach. Isabella stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.
She thought of the maids’ whispers. Of Giulia’s words. Of the way Dante had pulled the trigger without blinking.
Carefully, she slid out of bed and paced the room. She rubbed her arms, wishing she could breathe without feeling the mansion’s walls pressing in on her.
When she turned back toward the bed, she noticed something on the floor by the door. A folded piece of paper.
Her heart pounded as she picked it up. The handwriting was rough, rushed:
Leave him, or you won’t live to regret it.
Isabella’s fingers trembled. Someone in the mansion wanted her gone.
And they were close enough to slip a note under her door.