A week without Isabella felt longer than any war I'd ever fought.
Her absence had turned the villa into something hollow—a shell of its former self. Every sound echoed. Every shadow felt wrong. The walls still carried her scent, faint and tormenting, and I hated how it clung to me like guilt. I told myself I was fine, that I didn't need her, that I could go back to the man I was before. But the truth was simpler and crueler.
I couldn't.
Every time I tried to sleep, I saw her walking away from me that last night—the storm in her eyes, the tremor in her voice when she said she was done. I'd fired her to protect her, or at least that's what I told myself. But it hadn't protected either of us. It had just left a wound that refused to close.
Daniel came by the villa two days ago. He tried to talk business, but all I could see was the way his hand had brushed Isabella's shoulder once in the office, months ago. My jaw clenched before I realized it. He noticed, smirked, and left before I could say anything I'd regret.
I've never been the kind of man to chase what's gone. But with her… everything felt different. Even silence sounded like her name.
By Thursday, I couldn't take it anymore. I told myself I'd just drive past the company, just to see if she was doing fine. Just to convince myself she was better off without me.
I ended up parking across the street like some goddamn thief.
Through the glass, I could see her in the lobby, handing some files to a junior associate. Her hair was tied up, her expression calm—professional. But when she smiled faintly at something someone said, something in my chest tightened, painful and real. She looked lighter… freer.
I hated it.
I almost stepped out of the car, but then I saw Daniel walking toward her, his hand brushing her arm as they talked. She didn't move away.
That was when I drove off.
The next few days blurred together. I buried myself in the work that used to define me—meetings, numbers, deals that meant nothing now. But even during the noise, my mind wandered back to her voice, her laughter, her stubbornness. The way she'd look at me like she saw something worth saving.
By Sunday, I'd stopped pretending.
I missed her. And I needed to fix what I broke.
That night, the rain came hard—cold and relentless, like it wanted to wash everything clean. I sat in my office, staring at the security feed of the villa's front gates. It was past midnight when the intercom buzzed.
"Boss," came Luca's voice, low and uneasy. "You should see this."
I frowned. "What is it?"
"There's someone outside the gate. Says she wants to talk to you."
My heart jumped. "Who?"
He hesitated. "She didn't say. But she looks… scared."
I didn't think. I just moved.
By the time I reached the gate, the rain had turned the gravel road into a slick mess. The headlights cut through the dark, and that's when I saw her.
Isabella.
She was drenched, hair plastered to her face, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes—God, those eyes—met mine through the bars of the gate, full of something that made my breath stop. Fear. Not of me… of something else.
I hit the switch, and the gates groaned open. She stepped forward slowly, like she wasn't sure if she was making a mistake. My voice came out rougher than I meant.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I didn't know where else to go," she said, her voice trembling, barely above the rain. "I—I think someone's following me."
I took a step closer. "What?"
"I tried to ignore it at first," she whispered. "But it's been days. A car keeps showing up near my apartment. I thought it was just my imagination, but tonight… someone broke in. I saw the door handle move."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I didn't think. I pulled her inside, slammed the gates shut, and scanned the road behind her. Nothing but rain and shadows. Still, something felt off—too quiet, too deliberate.
"Did you call the police?" I asked, turning back to her.
She shook her head. "I didn't want to. I just… I thought maybe it was connected to you."
The words hit me like a punch.Because deep down, I'd wondered the same thing.
For weeks, I'd been getting fragments—unmarked letters, photographs left on my doorstep, a warning whispered through the criminal grapevine. Someone was watching me. And maybe, now, watching her.
I led her inside, wrapping a towel around her shoulders. Her hands were shaking. I wanted to pull her close, to promise she was safe now—but I'd lost that right the day I let her walk away.
Still, she looked at me like I was her only anchor in the storm.
"I shouldn't have come," she said quietly. "But I didn't know where else—"
"You did the right thing," I interrupted. "You're safe here."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—the past, the hurt, the distance. It was just her and me again, standing in the echo of everything we'd tried to forget.
Then Luca came rushing in, his face pale.
"Boss," he said, breathless. "You need to see this."
He handed me a small black envelope, soaked from the rain. It had been left outside the gate—no name, no markings. Just my initials scrawled across the front in a hand I didn't recognize.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Isabella. Standing in her apartment window.
And across the street—hidden in the dark—a figure holding a camera.
But that wasn't what froze the blood in my veins.
Pinned to the photo was a note, written in thick red ink.
"She was never meant to leave you alive."
The room went silent. Isabella's hand brushed mine as she looked down at the photo, her face draining of color. I could feel her trembling beside me.
"Marco…" she whispered. "What does this mean?"
I stared at the note again, the handwriting jagged and familiar—too familiar.
It couldn't be.
The realization hit me like a blade to the gut.
The handwriting belonged to my brother.
Before I could speak, the villa lights flickered—once, twice—then went out completely, plunging us into darkness.
Outside, the wind howled.Then, faintly, from the garden—came the sound of footsteps.