The sun never really rose that day—it lingered behind the clouds, pale and reluctant, as if even the sky didn't want to witness what came next. The villa had quieted to a strange rhythm. Too still. Too expectant.
I watched Isabella move through it like a ghost. Every small sound she made—footsteps on marble, the soft click of porcelain as she set down a cup—felt amplified against the silence. She was pretending not to watch me, and I was pretending not to notice.
Luca had taken the men to check the perimeter. That left us alone, surrounded by walls that suddenly felt too small for everything unsaid between us.
"Are you really going to meet him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turned from the window. "You already know the answer."
Her arms folded across her chest, as if holding herself together. "You think walking into a trap will fix this?"
"No. But it might end it."
Her eyes burned when they met mine. "At what cost?"
That question cut deeper than it should have. I wanted to lie, tell her it would be fine, that I'd come back. Instead, I said nothing. The truth was a wound between us, open and unhealed.
She stepped closer, her gaze fierce. "You don't get to make that choice alone."
"Isabella—"
"No." Her voice broke, then steadied. "You pulled me into your world, Marco. You don't get to shut me out when it gets dark."
I stared at her, this woman who had once been a stranger, now the only thing tethering me to the last good part of myself. The distance between us crackled like a live wire.
I took a step toward her. She didn't move back.
"Do you have any idea what he'll do if he sees you?" I said, my voice low.
"Do you have any idea what it feels like watching you walk into danger alone?"
The air thickened, charged with something far greater than fear. Her eyes shimmered, not with tears this time, but with something that felt like defiance—or maybe love in its rawest form.
"You think you're protecting me," she said. "But you're not. You're leaving me behind."
I closed the space between us in a heartbeat. My hands found her waist, and she didn't resist. Her pulse trembled beneath my fingertips.
"I'm trying to save you," I murmured.
Her voice came out softer, but no less steady. "Then save us."
Her words hit like a spark in dry air. The tension that had been building between us for weeks finally caught fire. I cupped her face, tilting her chin upward. Her breath mingled with mine—unsteady, sharp, wanting.
The kiss wasn't gentle this time. It was all the things we couldn't say—fear, anger, need, the desperate ache of two people who knew tomorrow wasn't promised. She pressed against me, fingers curling in my shirt, anchoring herself. My heart pounded like a war drum.
For a moment, the world disappeared. No Matteo. No debt. No past. Just her.
When we finally pulled apart, her lips were trembling. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she whispered.
"Then I won't promise," I said, my forehead resting against hers. "I'll just come back."
Her laugh was quiet, almost broken. "You always say that."
"Because one day, I'll make it true."
She shook her head, but her hand lingered against my chest. I could feel her heartbeat beneath my palm, fast and fragile.
Outside, thunder rumbled somewhere far off, a distant echo of what was coming.
"Tell me something," she said suddenly.
"What?"
"When you look at me… what do you see?"
The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, searching for words that didn't sound like lies. "I see the one thing in this world I can't afford to lose."
Her eyes softened, and I saw the battle inside her—the need to believe me fighting against the terror that I wouldn't return.
"You're terrible at saying goodbye," she said.
"That's because I hate doing it."
She smiled faintly, a ghost of warmth against all the cold. "Then don't."
I brushed a strand of hair from her face. "If I could keep you safe by never leaving, I would."
"Then don't talk about safety," she whispered. "Talk about after."
The word hung in the air like a fragile hope. After. As if there could be one.
I leaned in, kissed her again—slower this time, as if memorizing the shape of her mouth, the taste of her breath, the small sound she made when she leaned closer. My hand slid up the curve of her back, drawing her in until there was no space left between us.
When I pulled away, I could barely speak. "You make it hard to walk away."
"Then don't walk," she said softly. "Run back to me."
I smiled at that, but it didn't reach my eyes. She knew it. I think we both did.
The clock struck eleven. One hour until midnight. One hour until everything changed.
I let my hands fall from her waist. The loss of her warmth felt like stepping into winter.
She caught my hand before I could turn away. "If you see him," she said, her voice shaking, "don't let him drag you into the past. That's where he lives. You don't."
I squeezed her fingers. "I'll remember that."
Then I left the room before I could change my mind.
The night was heavy when I stepped outside, the kind that swallows sound. The sea stretched black beneath the cliffs, whispering against the rocks below.
Behind me, the villa glowed faintly through the mist. Somewhere inside, Isabella was probably pacing, waiting, praying.
I touched my lips, still tingling from her kiss, and felt the weight of what I was walking toward.
Matteo wanted me alone. He'd get what he wanted.
But for the first time in years, I wasn't fighting for revenge. I was fighting to make it back—to her.
The wind tore at my coat as I started down the path toward the cliffs. Each step echoed against the stones, counting down the minutes until midnight.
And somewhere far ahead, I could already see the faint silhouette of a man waiting in the dark.
My brother. My ghost. My reckoning.
I took a breath that tasted like rain and memory, and whispered into the wind,"Hold on, Isabella."
Then I kept walking.