His words ignite something reckless inside me. I should scream. I should fight. Instead, my hands fist in his jacket, pulling him down. His mouth crushes mine, fierce and hungry, a kiss born of desperation and rage and every forbidden want I swore I’d never feel. I hate him. I need him. His hands claim my hips, possessive, as if he’s already won.
I bite his lip, hard, and he laughs against my mouth—a sound of victory, of challenge answered. The kiss turns wilder, lips bruising, breaths harsh and tangled.
For one endless moment, nothing else exists. Not the Brunos, not Enzo, not even my own fear. Just this—this impossible, dangerous fire.
Suddenly, the door slams open.
Light floods the hall. I wrench away from Emil, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. My uncle stands in the doorway, face purple with rage, gun half drawn. Behind him, Shawn Pedro, Matteo, and half the family stare, stunned. The silence is absolute.
“Get away from her,” Vittorio snarls, voice shaking with fury.
Emil doesn’t move. His hand slides to my waist, possessive and sure. His eyes don’t leave my uncle’s face. “We’ve been involved for some time,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm, almost smug. “I thought you deserved the truth.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. They destroy any hope I had of hiding what’s happened between us. My uncle’s hand trembles on the trigger.
“Isabella. Out. Now,” he spits, each syllable an order. “If you ever show your face in my home again, I swear I will end you myself.”
Shame burns through me. I stumble back, tears blurring my vision. Emil’s hand lingers on my hip for a moment—one last mark—before I break away, shoving past my family’s horrified faces, through the stunned crowd, out into the night.
I run, not sure where I’m going. Guilt and heartbreak choke every breath. I can’t stop replaying Emil’s words, his hands, the fire that almost ruined me. The laughter and music fade as I reach the edge of the lot, the dark swallowing me whole.
Only then do I notice the shadows moving behind me. Footsteps. I whirl, heart in my throat.
Three men step from the darkness, all sharp suits and cold smiles. Emil’s men.
One of them tips his head, voice low and respectful. “Miss Bruno, Mr. Sharov would like to speak with you. Please come with us.”
My mind screams no, but my feet won’t move. I’m caught, cornered—no family left to run to, no place left to hide. I glance back at the mansion, lights glaring, faces at the windows. No one will save me now.
Chapter Sixteen - Emil
I watch her in the smallest guest room—bare walls, heavy drapes, a single bed covered in velvet so dark it swallows the light. She paces, wild-eyed, one hand wrapped tight around her own wrist as if she’s keeping herself from shattering. There’s no way out. My men locked every door on their way out. Even her phone is gone, confiscated with the rest of her armor.
For a while, I watch in silence from the threshold. She doesn’t see me, or maybe she refuses to. Her hair’s coming loose, mascara smudged at the corners, and her lips are still swollen from our kiss. There’s a rawness in her movements now—gone is the polished mask of the gallery girl, the clever liar who danced between empires. What’s left is hunger, fear, and a pride that’s bleeding out slow.
When I step inside, the floorboards protest under my weight. The sound makes her freeze mid-step, head whipping up. She’s all cornered animal now, chest rising too fast, eyes blown wide with terror. The look twists something sharp and dark inside me.
She backs up until her spine hits the wall, chin tucked, arms folding in tight. She won’t look at me. She can’t.
I close the door, slow and deliberate, and let the silence gather around us. I don’t bother with threats; she’s smart enough to know she’s alone. Her uncle’s voice might as well be a gravestone. No guards. No money. No name worth a damn now. Just me.
I move closer, stopping just out of reach. I crouch, letting myself drop to one knee, so her line of sight has nowhere to run but straight through me. She turns her face to the wall. I don’tallow it. My hand finds her jaw, thumb pressing at the hinge, forcing her gaze up. She resists, trembling, but I don’t let go.
“Why did you do it?” My voice is soft, almost gentle, but the menace runs under every word. “Why risk everything to come after me, Bella?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting tears she doesn’t want to show. When she speaks, her voice is raw, barely more than a whisper. “I needed the truth. I needed to know what happened to Enzo.”
For a second, I let that hang in the air, searching her face for the calculation, the lie, the trick. All I see is grief. All I hear is a plea that comes from somewhere so deep it sounds like begging. My chest tightens, just for a heartbeat, and then it’s gone.
I let out a low, humorless chuckle, close enough for her to feel the warmth of my breath.
“You thought I killed him?” I murmur, voice dropping lower, leaning in until our faces nearly touch. “So what if I did, Bella? What could you possibly do about it now?”
She flinches, but her pride kicks at the chains, even now. “You think this is about revenge? I just wanted to know—” Her words crack. “I just needed the truth.”
I laugh again, quieter, shaking my head. “No, you wanted something to blame. You wanted a monster to point at when your world fell apart. You wanted a reason to keep hating me.”
I reach up, tracing her jaw with a knuckle, savoring the way she recoils and then stands her ground, trembling but refusing to crumble.
