POV: Isabella
The guard outside the bedroom door—Leo, perpetually expressionless—became the new boundary of my world. For three days, my universe was the master suite, the attached bathroom, and the view of Central Park from a window I was not allowed to open. Meals were brought. Books were delivered upon request. It was the ultimate gilded cage, smaller and more suffocating than before.
My punishment was silence, luxury, and the echoing memory of Dante's face when he'd said, "Terrified."
On the fourth morning, a soft knock preceded the door opening. It wasn't a maid with a tray. It was Sofia, holding two porcelain cups of espresso, her smile tentative.
"I bargained with the warden," she said, slipping inside before Leo could question her. She handed me a cup. "I promised a supervised excursion to the garden. Twenty minutes. He's in a meeting and agreed it was… low risk."
The bitter, strong coffee was the best thing I'd tasted in days. "Why?"
Sofia's warm eyes held mine. "Because walls close in on everyone. And you look like you're forgetting what sunlight feels like."
And so, with Leo a discreet ten paces behind, we were allowed into the walled garden at the back of the mansion. It was a formal, manicured space, all geometric hedges and stone benches, but the late spring air was sweet with the scent of lilacs, and the sun was warm on my skin. I closed my eyes, drinking it in. This small, escorted mercy felt like a revelation.
We walked the gravel paths in silence for a few moments. Sofia linked her arm with mine, a gesture of solidarity that made my throat tight.
"He's not doing this to be cruel," she said softly, following my gaze to Leo.
"I know," I admitted, the words surprising me. "He's doing it because he thinks it's the only way to keep me safe from a world I barely understand."
Sofia stopped, turning to face me. "You believe that?"
"I saw his face when he found me," I whispered, the memory vivid. "It wasn't just anger. It was… panic. Real panic. For me."
A soft, sad smile touched Sofia's lips. "Then you've seen something few people ever do. The man beneath the Don." She sighed, leading me to a stone bench tucked behind a large rose trellis, momentarily shielding us from Leo's direct line of sight. "He's been that way since we were children. After our mother died, after Alessia… he decided love was a vulnerability that got people killed. So he replaced it with absolute control. If he controls everything, nothing can be taken. It's his way of loving. It's just… very hard to live inside."
I sipped my coffee, the truth of her words settling heavily. "How do you stand it?"
"I pick my battles. I have my charities, my approved friends, and my long leash." She paused, her fingers tightening around her cup. She glanced toward the house, then back at me, her expression shifting into something anxious and earnest. "Isabella… I need to ask you for something. A favor. And you can say no. You should probably say no."
The shift was sudden. This wasn't just a comforting visit. "What is it?"
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a man. His name is David. He's a teacher. A music teacher." A faint, genuine blush colored her cheeks. "He's kind and normal, and he has no idea who my family is," she said. I told him my last name is Rossi and that I work in nonprofit administration."
My heart ached for her. The longing in her voice was so familiar it was a physical pain. It was the sound of someone gasping for air in a rarefied atmosphere. "Does Dante know?"
"God, no." Her eyes widened with real fear. "If he found out… David would disappear. Or worse. Dante would see him as a threat, a vector for exposure or betrayal. He'd remove him. Permanently." She reached out, gripping my hand. "I'm careful. We meet at David's apartment or in public places far downtown. My driver thinks I'm at the Met or on a long lunch with friends. But… there's a fundraiser at Lincoln Center next Thursday evening. A chamber music thing. David is playing. I have to be there. But Dante has a thing that night too—some meeting with the Irish. He won't be able to go, but he'll expect me to be at the mansion, or at least accounted for."
I saw where this was going. The pieces clicked into place with a sense of inevitability. "You want me to cover for you."
"If Dante asks, or if Marco checks, you could say I'm with you. In the library, or watching a movie. Something quiet." Her words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I know it's a huge thing to ask. You're already in so much trouble because of me, because of this family. And asking you to lie to my brother…"
She trailed off, the weight of the request hanging between us. I looked at her—Dante's sister, the one person he truly loved, living a secret life in the shadows of his protection. She was as much a prisoner as I was, just with a prettier view. Her need for a sliver of real life, for a connection untouched by blood and fear, was a mirror held up to my own soul.
I saw myself in her. Not in her circumstances, but in the quiet, desperate rebellion. The need to have something that was hers. To feel a heartbeat that wasn't monitored.
"Of course I will," I said, the decision feeling right in my bones.
Her eyes filled with tears of relief. "You will? Isabella, thank you, I—"
"But you have to be smart," I interrupted, my voice low and urgent. I thought of dark alleys and watching eyes. "You have to be sure you're not followed. You have to have a plan, a real one. Not just hope."
She nodded fiercely. "I do. I have a friend—a real one, from college—who will lend me her car. I'll change in her apartment. We've done it before."
We sat in silence for a moment, the conspiracy binding us together in the dappled sunlight. For the first time since I'd been brought here, I didn't feel alone. I felt part of something. A secret alliance within the fortress walls.
"Why are you doing this for me?" Sofia asked, wiping her eyes. "You hardly know me."
"I know what it's like to want to breathe your own air," I said simply. "And I'm starting to understand that in this family, we have to look out for each other. Because it seems no one else will."
The word "family" slipped out, unfamiliar and yet not entirely untrue. I was bound to them now, by law, by danger, and by this strange, growing web of complicated loyalties.
Sofia squeezed my hand, her gratitude wordless and profound. We sat in companionable silence, listening to the birds in the garden, a fragile peace woven from shared secrecy.
It was broken by the crunch of gravel under a heavy, familiar tread.
We both looked up, our hands springing apart as if burned.
Dante stood at the opening of the trellis archway, having approached silently from the house. He was still in his meeting clothes—a dark suit, no tie—but his expression was all Don. His dark eyes took in the scene: the two of us, our heads close together on the bench, and the sudden, guilty cessation of conversation.
His gaze lingered on Sofia's slightly red-rimmed eyes, then swung to me, sharp and analytical.
"Sofia," he said, his voice neutral. "I didn't realize you were in the garden."
"Just getting some sun with Isabella," Sofia said, her voice impressively light, though I could feel the tension thrumming through her arm where it brushed mine. "The garden is medicine."
"Indeed." His eyes didn't leave my face. "What were you two discussing so intently?"
The air grew cold despite the sun. It wasn't a casual question. It was an interrogation.
"Nothing of consequence," I said, echoing the line I'd used about Volkov. I held his gaze, forcing my expression to remain calm. "The roses. The weather. The crushing existential weight of our gilded existence. The usual."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn't appreciate the sarcasm, but he couldn't prove it was a lie.
His eyes flicked to Sofia, then back to me. The suspicion in them was a living thing. He knew women. He knew secrets. He could smell a conspiracy a mile away.
"Sofia, Marco is looking for you in the study," he said, his tone dismissing her. "Something about the charity ball guest list."
"Of course." Sofia stood, giving my shoulder a quick, surreptitious squeeze before she left, her walk just a shade too hurried.
Dante waited until she was out of earshot, until it was just him, me, and the watchful Leo by the garden door.
He stepped fully under the trellis, the space suddenly shrinking. He looked down at me, his head tilted, studying me like a complex equation he couldn't quite solve.
"Be careful, Isabella," he said softly, the words a velvet-wrapped threat. "My sister's heart is gentle. It's easily led. And it's easily broken." He leaned down, planting his hands on the back of the stone bench, caging me without touching. "If I find out you're involving her in any of your… rebellions… the guard on the door will be the least of your concerns."
He was warning me off. Protecting her. From me.
The irony was so thick I could taste it. He saw me as the corrupting influence, not the co-conspirator in her bid for happiness.
I looked up at him, at the man who was both my jailer and, in his own twisted way, my protector. The man who was terrified for me and suspicious of me, all at once.
"I would never hurt Sofia," I said, and it was the truest thing I'd said to him.
He searched my eyes for a long, silent moment, looking for the lie. He must have found only conviction, because he finally straightened, the intensity easing by a fraction.
"See that you don't," he said, and turned to walk back to the house, leaving me in the fragrant, sunlit garden that no longer felt like a sanctuary but the setting for a new, more dangerous game.
I had just promised to lie for his sister.
And he was already watching.