I glance between them, immediately sensing the charged atmosphere. This must be one of the Morettis that Silvo has mentioned—their rivals.
Maximo smirks, his gaze drifting to me. “And you must be the new Mrs. De Luca,” he says, his eyes raking over my form in a degrading way. “I must say, Silvo has excellent taste.”
I bristle at his words. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I say coolly.
“My apologies,” Maximo says, his tone anything but apologetic. “Maximo Moretti, at your service.” He extends a hand, and I reluctantly shake it, feeling the strength in his grip and returning it with my own firm pressure.
Isabella clears her throat. “What do you want, Maximo?” she asks.
Maximo shrugs, a picture of nonchalance. “Just wanted to say hi,” he says, his eyes flickering back to me before settling on Isabella with unmistakable heat. “And to remind you all that the Morettis are always watching.”
Maximo’s words send a chill down my spine, and I feel Sophia tense beside me. Isabella, however, remains unruffled, her gaze locked with Maximo’s in a silent battle of wills.
“The Morettis may be watching,” Isabella says, “but the De Luca women aren’t easily intimidated. Don’t forget that, Maximo.”
“Oh, Isabella,” he purrs, leaning in closer, “I could never forget you. Or how beautiful you look when you’re angry.”
The way he says it, with obvious desire beneath the threat, makes it clear that he’s not just talking about family rivalry. There’s an undercurrent of something that crackles between them like a live wire.
Isabella’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down. “Watch yourself, Moretti. You’re playing with fire.”
Maximo’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Maybe I like the heat,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping purposefully to her cleavage.
I shift uncomfortably, feeling like an intruder in a private moment.
Sophia clears her throat pointedly, breaking the spell between them. “As much as I hate to interrupt this little… whatever this is,” she says, waving her hand between Isabella and Maximo, “we’re kind of in the middle of lunch. So, if you don’t mind...”
Maximo straightens, his expression smoothing back into one of cool indifference. “Of course,” he says, nodding at Sophia and me. “Ladies, enjoy your meal.”
He turns to leave, but not before throwing one last smoldering look at Isabella over his shoulder. “Until next time,bella.”
Isabella watches him go, her expression unreadable.
I can practically feel the tension thrumming through her body, the unresolved heat between her and Maximo still hanging heavy in the air.
Sophia lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Isabella,” she says, fanning herself dramatically. “I thought you two were going to start ripping each other’s clothes off right here in the middle of the restaurant.”
Isabella shoots her a withering look. “That man is insufferable,” she mutters, picking up her fork and stabbing at her salad with a little more force than necessary.
“Was that Maximo Moretti?” I ask, recalling his name from the folder Silvo showed me.
Isabella takes a deep breath, her eyes flickering with a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite place. “Yes,” she begins, “the son of our biggest rivals. They’ve been a thorn in our family’s side for generations.”
I lean in, my curiosity piqued. “I’ve heard the name before. Back in LA, the Bianchi family knew to tread carefully around anything Moretti connected.” I pause. “But I never knew the full history. What actually started it?”
“It goes back to our grandfathers,” she explains. “They were once close friends, but a disagreement over territory turned them into bitter enemies. Since then, the De Lucas and the Morettis have been locked in a constant power struggle.”
I absorb this information, filing it away. Silvo has mentioned the Morettis as enemies, but he’s never told me the full story. “A friendship destroyed over business? That seems... tragic.”
“Most wars start with something personal,” Isabella says quietly. “Business is just the excuse we tell ourselves.”
“It’s hard to believe you’re so ingrained in this world, yet it feels so distant at the same time,” Sophia murmurs, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, knowing all this and trying to navigate it.”
I can’t help but smile. “Trust me, Soph, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. The glamour wears off when you’re constantly aware of the danger.”
Isabella nods in agreement. “It’s a life we were born into,” she says, her voice tinged with weariness. “But it’s not one I would choose for myself, given the chance.”
Sophia leans back in her chair, her eyes moving between us. “So what’s it really like? Being married to Silvo?”
