Lurking

Lurking

Isabella’s POV

The mansion felt unnaturally quiet after Giovanni left. He had kissed me goodbye at the front door, long and lingering, as though he hated the idea of stepping away even for a few hours. “I’ll be back before dinner,” he had murmured against my lips, his hand resting warm and steady on my waist. “Stay safe.”

I had nodded, watching him slide into the back of the black SUV. Rizz was already behind the wheel, engine purring softly. The iron gates swung open with a low groan, and the car disappeared down the drive, swallowed by the afternoon light.

Now the house was mine again. Too big. Too silent. Every creak of the old floors seemed louder than usual.

I wandered upstairs to our bedroom, needing the familiar space. The bed was still unmade, sheets twisted from the night before. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, turning the room golden and warm. I sat on the edge of the mattress, pulled my phone from the nightstand, and scrolled to my mother’s number.

I needed to hear their voices. Normal voices. Safe voices. Ones not tangled in blood, power, or secrets.

My mother answered on the second ring.

“Tesoro!” Her tone was bright and relieved, like she had been waiting for this call all day. “How are you? We miss you already.”

“I’m okay, Mama,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice even though she couldn’t see it. “Just checking in. How’s everything there?”

The safe house was a beautiful villa on the edge of the hills, far enough from Palermo to feel like another life. Giovanni had chosen it personally. High walls, security cameras, trusted men at every gate. A place where Ricardo could run and laugh without fear.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said warmly. “The garden is full of roses. Ricardo’s been chasing butterflies all morning. He’s obsessed with them. Keeps trying to catch one in a jar.”

I laughed softly, the sound easing the tightness in my chest. “Put him on. Please.”

There was a rustle, footsteps, then my son’s small, excited voice burst through the speaker.

“Zia Isabella!”

“Hey, tesoro.” I closed my eyes, picturing his dark curls bouncing, his hazel eyes wide with joy. My eyes. My son’s eyes. “What have you been up to today?”

“I caught a frog! It’s green and it jumps super high! Nonna said I have to let it go, but I named it Froggy.”

I smiled, real this time. “Froggy? That’s perfect.”

“Uh-huh! But Nonna says it’s not very original.”

I could hear my mother laughing in the background. “Tell Zia about the drawing you made for her.”

“Oh yeah!” Ricardo’s voice brightened even more. “I drew the big house! With you and the superhero man. Giovanni. He has a cape and everything!”

My throat closed. “A superhero, huh?”

“Yeah! Because he saved us from the bad guys at the mall. He’s strong and brave.”

The memory flashed: blood on Ricardo’s arm, the gunshot echoing through the mall, Giovanni’s face when he arrived. I swallowed hard. “He is. Very brave.”

“Are you coming to visit soon?” His voice turned hopeful, small and earnest.

“Soon,” I promised, even as doubt twisted in my stomach. “I miss you so much, baby.”

“Miss you too, Zia. Here’s Nonna again.”

My mother came back on the line. “He’s doing really well, Isabella. Eating everything on his plate, sleeping through the night. No nightmares anymore.”

Relief washed over me like cool water. “Good. That’s so good.”

“And the guards?” she asked quietly. “They’re polite. Keep their distance. But… are you all right? You sound tired.”

I hesitated. How could I explain the dinner last night? The fight? The way Giovanni had broken in my arms? The way Andriano’s knowing smile still haunted me?

“It’s been a long few days,” I said finally. “The family’s back in the house. Things are… complicated.”

She made a soft, knowing sound. “Be careful, tesoro. Men like them, they eat their own.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

We talked a little longer. About the weather at the villa. The fresh figs ripening in the garden. The way Ricardo insisted on helping cook breakfast. Small, safe things that felt like normal life.

But all the while, that strange prickle crept up my spine again. The feeling of being watched. Of eyes on my back.

I glanced over my shoulder. The room was empty. Door closed. Windows latched tight.

Just paranoia. That was all.

“Love you, Mama,” I said at last. “Give Ricardo a big kiss for me.”

“Love you too. Call again soon.”

The line went dead.

I set the phone down on the nightstand, rubbing my arms against the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

That was when I felt it.

A presence.

Heavy. Close.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.

I turned slowly, heart slamming against my ribs.

Andriano.

He stood in the open doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there. His face was still bruised from last night: jaw swollen purple, lip split and scabbed. But his eyes—dark, gleaming—were fixed on me with that same manic intensity.

Panic surged through me, hot and sharp.

I jumped to my feet. The phone clattered to the floor.

“What are you doing here?” My voice shook despite my effort to steady it.

He didn’t move. Just smiled—slow, cruel, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Does he know?” he asked softly.

My blood turned to ice. “What?”

“What do you think will happen if he knew?” He pushed off the doorframe and took one slow step inside. The door swung shut behind him with a quiet, final click.

I backed up instinctively. My knees hit the edge of the bed. “Get out.”

He ignored the command. Tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was about to solve. “The boy. Ricardo. Your little ‘brother.’”

How? How did he know?

The pieces snapped together in my mind—sharp, cold, undeniable. The anonymous notes that had appeared for months. Slipped under doors. Left on pillows. Does he know you already belong to another?

“You,” I whispered, voice trembling with sudden fury. “You’re the one who’s been sending me those notes.”

His smile widened—predatory, pleased.

“How?” I demanded. “How did you find out?”

He laughed—low, mocking, the sound crawling over my skin. “Questions, questions. That shouldn’t be your problem, little bird. You should be terrified that I’ll tell Giovanni.”

The threat landed like a fist.

I shivered, cold sweat breaking out across my back. But then something fiercer rose up inside me. Protective. Unbreakable. For Ricardo. For my son.

No man—not Andriano, not even Giovanni—would ever hurt him.

I lifted my chin. “If you wanted to tell him, you would have by now.”

His eyes narrowed. Then he threw his head back and laughed—long, cruel, unhinged. The sound bounced off the walls, echoing like madness.

“I thought you were naive,” he said when he finally stopped, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Guess I underestimated you. Fine… why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours and figure out what I want.”

I blinked, confusion cutting through the fear. “What?”

“Think a little.” He tapped his temple mockingly, voice singsong. “Tik tok. Tik tok. The time is ticking.”

I stared at him—heart racing, mind spinning.

What did he want? Power? The throne? Or something darker—me?

He turned for the door, still chuckling softly to himself. “Clock’s running, Isabella. Don’t disappoint.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut.

I collapsed onto the bed, legs shaking so badly I couldn’t stand. My hands trembled as I picked up the fallen phone.

The room felt colder now. Smaller. The walls seemed to lean in, listening.

What did he want?

And how long until the clock ran out?