Isabella thought she knew Dante-the boy she had once adored, the man she believed she could manipulate. But the Don before her now was not a man to be swayed by pretty words or old memories.
His voice was low, lethal, every syllable sharpened like a blade as he delivered his warning: cross Ava again, and you won't live to regret it.
The silence inside Dante's study was suffocating. The fire in the hearth crackled, shadows licking the walls, but the heat did nothing to soften the coldness in his eyes. Marco and Lucian stood before him, tense, their posture stiff as soldiers awaiting judgment.
"She paraded herself on Bellini's arm," Marco reported, his voice flat, though the memory still grated.
"Laughing, whispering, acting as though they were conspiring in plain sight. Every gesture calculated, every smile sharpened. It wasn't a coincidence. She wanted us to see.
Lucian added quietly, "She knows we're watching.
Dante leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze was unblinking, fixed on the space between them, though his mind was already racing ahead.
A name that had once meant comfort.A friend who is now an enemy.He should have cut her off years ago, severed every tie. Instead, he had allowed her to hover at the edges of his life. Too harmless, he had thought.Too lost in her vanity to be a true threat.
But now?
Now, she had declared war.
"Bellini will think he has her," Dante said finally, his voice low, smooth as steel drawn from its sheath. "But Isabella doesn't give herself to anyone unless it serves her. If she's flaunting him, it's because she wants me to believe she's allied with him.
"Should we move in?" Marco asked. "Intervene before she digs deeper?".
Dante's eyes hardened. "No. Not yet. I want her to feel the weight of my silence. Let her believe she's free. Let her think she's clever. When she finally shows her hand, I'll cut it off at the wrist."
The firelight glinted off his signet ring as he lifted a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid with lazy precision. His control was terrifying in moments like this-his fury locked in ice, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Lucian exchanged a glance with Marco. Both men had seen the Don in war, but this was worse. When Dante moved quietly, blood always followed.
Meanwhile, Isabella lounged in her penthouse, silk robe sliding off her shoulder, a glass of champagne poised elegantly between her fingers. The city glittered beneath her windows, but her attention was elsewhere--on the memory of Dante's men watching her every move at the casino.
The thought sent a thrill through her. To be under his eye again, even through his shadows, was intoxicating.
He could pretend to ignore her, but she knew the truth.
He lived rent free in her mind.
Claire sat rigid on the couch, unease radiating from her like a bad perfume. "They were everywhere tonight," she muttered, rubbing her arms as though the memory still clung to her. "What if they tell Dante? What if he comes for us?"
Isabella turned her head slowly, her expression softening into a mask of pity that fooled no one. "Oh, sweet Claire. That's exactly what I want. Let him come.Let him burn with suspicion. The more he looks at me, the less he sees. Which means you're free to strike.
Claire's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Strike how?"
Isabella's smile sharpened. "Ava. Always Ava.
Don't you see? She's his weakness. She's the only thing that makes Dante bleed. If we can tarnish her, if we can make her falter in his eyes, he will unravel. And once he does..." Isabella raised her glass in a mock toast, ..we win.
Claire nodded weakly, but bile churned in her stomach.
She hated Ava, yes. But the way Isabella spoke, with venom and lust twined together, made her skin crawl.This wasn't just rivalry. This was an obsession.
And obsession was deadly.
Two nights later, Dante arrived at a private club owned by one of his allies. The room fell into a hush as he entered--tall, dark, and commanding, every inch the Don. His presence consumed the air, and even the boldest men lowered their eyes in respect.
Isabella was already there.
She sat draped across a velvet couch, diamonds glinting at her throat, her gown slit high enough to command attention. When her gaze locked with his, she smiled as though she'd been waiting.
"Dante." Her voice was honey over glass. "How long has it been since we shared a drink?"
His jaw tightened. He didn't like games, but Isabella thrived on them. Without a word, he crossed to the bar, poured himself a drink, and let the silence hang heavy.
Only then did he speak, his voice edged with warning.
"You've been busy."
Her laugh was soft, infuriating. "You say that as though it's a crime for me to enjoy myself. Am I not allowed to have friends? To be seen?"
"You know what I mean." His eyes cut to hers, cold as winter steel. "Don't insult me by pretending you don't."
For a moment, her mask slipped. Her lips parted, breath catching, as though his voice alone had stripped her bare. Then she leaned back, hiding her tremor with another sip of champagne.
"Always so angry, Dante," she murmured. "Perhaps it's Ava who makes you see shadows where there are none. She is... fragile, isn't she? Too fragile for your world. I'd hate for her to break under the weight of it."
The glass shattered in Dante's hand before he even realized he'd squeezed it too tightly. Shards cut his palm, crimson blooming against his skin, but he didn't flinch. His glare pinned Isabella in place.
"Speak her name again," he said, voice low, lethal.
"And l'II remind you why people fear mine."
The entire room froze. Even the musicians faltered, strings quivering into silence. Isabella's chest rose and fell rapidly, her pupils blown wide-not with fear, but with something darker. Desire.
Because Dante was angry, and she wanted every piece of him, even the parts that were cut.
She leaned forward, whispering so only he could hear.
"You can't erase me.l'm still your childhood friend, and I've been with you all my life.
Dante rose, his bloodied hand clenched at his side, towering over her like judgment itself. "No, Isabella. We are no children anymore "
And with that, he turned and left, his men falling in behind him like shadows, leaving Isabella in a silence that rang louder than any threat.
She sat very still, her champagne untouched, her mask cracking. For the first time in years, fear licked at her spine.
But beneath the fear, fury burned hotter.
If Dante thought he could banish her, if he thought Ava could replace her... he would learn how wrong he was.And Isabella would make Ava bleed for every drop of attention Dante denied her.
For a moment, Isabella's mask slipped, fear flashing in her eyes before she caught herself. She opened her mouth to retort, but the door behind Dante creaked open, and one of his men stepped in--pale, breathless, and carrying news that made Dante's expression darken even further. Whatever warning he had given Isabella... it was already too late.