Isabella twisted in her sheets, sweat beading on her forehead. Her body tossed from side to side as the nightmare gripped her mind. In her dreams, flames licked at the walls of a grand home. The fire crackled and roared, eating everything in its path. Men with black masks stormed through doorways, their guns glinting in the firelight.
"Run, Isabella!" a man's voice shouted through the smoke. His face was blurry, but somehow familiar. The voice was deep and urgent. "Run and don't look back!"
She tried to move but her legs wouldn't work. They felt heavy, like concrete blocks. The masked men grabbed her, their rough hands digging into her skin. Their grip was painful and cold.
"Papa!" she screamed, the word surprising her even in sleep. "PAPA!"
Isabella bolted upright in bed, her scream echoing through the mansion. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she clutched the blankets to her chest. Her nightgown clung to her sweat-soaked body. The room spun around her as she tried to catch her breath.
"Just a dream," she whispered to herself, though the images felt too real to be just her imagination. The smell of smoke still seemed to fill her nose. "Just a stupid dream."
The bedroom door flew open with a loud bang. Matteo stood in the doorway, wearing only pajama pants, his chest bare and his dark hair disheveled. His eyes were alert and dangerous. Behind him, two guards peered into the room, hands on their weapons.
"What happened?" Matteo demanded, his voice sharp with concern. His eyes scanned the room for threats, checking every corner and shadow.
Isabella hugged her knees to her chest, trying to make herself smaller. "Nothing. I'm sorry for waking everyone."
Matteo waved the guards away with a quick gesture. "Leave us." His voice was firm and commanding. Once they were gone, he closed the door and approached her bed slowly. "That didn't sound like nothing."
"It was just a bad dream." She wiped tears she hadn't realized were falling. Her cheeks were wet and cold. "It felt so real."
Matteo sat on the edge of her bed, his weight creating a dip in the mattress that pulled her slightly toward him. The bed creaked under his weight. "Tell me about it."
Isabella shook her head, her hair falling across her face. "Why would you care?"
"Try me." His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it. There was something different in his tone, something almost gentle.
"There was a house on fire," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Men with guns. Someone calling me... telling me to run." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. "Why would I dream of something like that?"
Matteo's jaw tightened. She could see a muscle jumping in his cheek. "Dreams are strange things."
"These don't feel like dreams. They feel like..." She struggled to find the words, her hands shaking.
"Memories?" Matteo finished, his voice quiet.
Their eyes locked. For a brief moment, his cold exterior seemed to crack. Isabella could see something vulnerable in his dark eyes.
"You've been having these nightmares often?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
Isabella nodded, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. "Since I came here almost every night it has been getting worse."
"Worse how?"
"More real, more detailed. Sometimes I wake up and I can still smell the smoke."
Matteo reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. The touch sent electricity through her skin. For a man with such a reputation for cruelty, his fingers were surprisingly gentle.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
His hand froze against her cheek. Something flickered in his eyes—desire, confusion, or maybe both. He leaned closer, his eyes dropping to her lips. Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
At the last moment, Matteo pulled back, a mask of indifference falling over his features like a curtain.
"You should try to sleep," he said, his voice hardening again. "We'll speak about this tomorrow."
"Wait," Isabella grabbed his wrist as he stood. His skin was warm under her fingers, and she could feel his pulse beating fast. "Why did you come here tonight? You could have sent one of your guards to check."
Matteo stared at her hand on his wrist. His expression was unreadable. "I heard you call for your father."
Isabella's heart skipped. "My father?"
"You screamed 'Papa.'" His dark eyes studied her face carefully. "What do you remember about your father, Isabella?"
She released his wrist, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Nothing. My adoptive father was a quiet man who worked at a factory. He never talked much."
"And your real father?"
Isabella shook her head, confusion clouding her features. "I don't remember anything before the accident. You know that. The doctors said I lost everything."
Matteo's expression darkened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'm beginning to think your memory loss wasn't an accident at all."
"What do you mean?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
He stood, creating distance between them. He walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. "Some things are better left forgotten, Isabella. But fate doesn't seem to want to let you rest."
"You know something," she said, climbing out of bed to face him. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. "Something about me, about my past. Tell me."
"You're not ready for the truth."
"That's not for you to decide!" Her voice rose with frustration.
Matteo turned and crossed the room in two quick steps. He cupped her face in his hands, the sudden contact silencing her. "If I'm right, people will kill to keep these secrets buried. Including you."
Isabella's heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "I'm not afraid."
"You should be." His thumb traced her lower lip, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her after all. "When you remember who you are, everything will change."
"Then help me remember," she pleaded, her hands coming up to cover his.
Matteo dropped his hands and stepped back, the warmth leaving her face. "I'm calling in a doctor tomorrow. Someone who specializes in memory loss."
"Why would you do that for me?" She searched his face for answers.
His expression was unreadable, like a mask had fallen back into place. "Get some sleep, Isabella. Tomorrow will be a long day."
He turned and walked to the door with measured steps. With his hand on the knob, he paused.
"Matteo," she called softly.
He didn't turn around. "Yes?"
"Thank you for coming when I screamed."
He stood still for a moment, his shoulders tense. "Lock your door behind me."
As the door closed behind him with a soft click, Isabella sank back onto her bed, her mind racing with questions. The way he'd almost kissed her, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes—none of it made sense. Why would the cold-hearted heir to the De Luca empire care about her nightmares?
And more importantly, what did he know about her past that he wasn't telling her?
She lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, replaying the nightmare in her mind. The burning house. The men with guns. The voice calling her name. It all felt so real, so vivid.
"Papa," she whispered to the darkness, testing the word on her tongue.
Why did it feel so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time?
Outside her door, a floorboard creaked. Isabella froze, her entire body going rigid. She held her breath and listened. Was Matteo still there, guarding her door? Or was someone else watching, waiting to strike when she was vulnerable?
The silence stretched on, broken only by the pounding of her heart in her ears. Something was coming and she could feel it in her bones. The nightmares were just the beginning and Matteo De Luca knew why.