My heart hammers. “I didn’t have any part in this.”
His laugh is bitter, humorless. “You’re good. That innocent princess act had me fooled.” He reaches for me suddenly, and my protective instinct has me trying to pull free. But it’s no use. His hands close around my upper arms, not painfully but with enough pressure to make his strength clear. Those hands that caressed me so tenderly just days ago now hold me like he wants to strangle the life out of me.
“Please… ”
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you had nothing to do with this," he demands.
"I had nothing to do with this." I meet his gaze directly, my voice steady, hoping he’ll see the truth in my eyes. "I swear on my life, Alessandro. I didn't know."
“Fuck!” Alessandro releases my arms suddenly, as if the contact burns. He turns away, raking a hand through his dark hair. "I should have known better. A peace offering from Marco Vitale? I've been in this life too long to make such a basic mistake."
He slams his fist against the wall, and I jump at the sound. The violence of it, even directed at an inanimate object, reminds me how dangerous he truly is.
"It's not your fault," I say softly, taking a tentative step toward him. "My father?—"
Alessandro whirls around, his eyes flashing. "Your father sent a poisoned bottle meant to kill me. Like a fucking moron, I served it. The only question now is how deeply you're involved."
"I would never betray you like that.”
He shakes his head.
“And… ” I’m afraid to say this next bit, but it’s important. “I’m not convinced my father did, either.”
The fire in Alessandro’s eyes has me shrinking away from him, afraid he might lash out physically even though he’s never before raised a hand to me.
“Proof that you are a part of this. You’re defending him?”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m not defending him. I’m questioning whether he really did it because I really don’t think he’d kill you this way."
"You expect me to believe Marco Vitale suddenly developed a conscience about how he murders people?" Alessandro's laugh is bitter, cutting.
"No. I expect you to believe that a man obsessed with power and reputation wouldn't kill you like this." I step closer, willing him to understand. "My father values reputation above everything. He'd want everyone to know it was him who took you down. This" —I gesture vaguely toward the floor below where bodies were carried out— "this is too quiet, too hidden for him. He’d want to watch. He’d want to look in your eyes as your life left your body, knowing you knew it was him who took it."
Alessandro's eyes narrow, studying me with suspicious intensity. "Then who?"
I hesitate because I’m not sure. "My brother, perhaps."
"Enrico? You think Enrico is behind this?"
"He's always been different from my father. More calculating. Less concerned with the old ways." As I talk it out, it makes more sense. "And he's always hated you."
Alessandro breaks away from me. "Is your brother truly that stupid? To do something like this without your father’s consent?"
"He's that ambitious," I reply. "My father has promised him your business. Your power. He’s tired of waiting."
"And what do you believe, Isabella?" Alessandro steps closer, his gaze piercing through me. "Where do your loyalties lie? With the family that sold you or with the man they sold you to?"
Two weeks ago, I might have hesitated. Now, standing in a house where men just died, faced with a husband who might still decide I'm his enemy, I find my answer comes easily.
"I am Isabella Dante now," I say. "Whatever my father or brother have done, their actions aren't mine. I didn't choose to be a Vitale, but I chose to accept being your wife."
For a flicker of a moment, I think I see surprise, even relief in his expression, but then he laughs. “You had no choice. We both know that.”
“If you believe I’ve betrayed you, then my family has won. They’ve made you question me. He's made me a suspect in my own home. Maybe they expect you to kill me. Then they’d have a just reason to come after you.”
"Your family tried to kill me in my own home," he grinds out. "The bottle that carried their poison passed through your hands."
"Yes. And I hate them for it. I hate that my father's name is on that bottle. I hate that I'm standing here with my husband looking at me like I'm a traitor.” My voice cracks as pain and fear begin to overwhelm me.
