Chapter 2
The surprise on Dante’s face lasted only a second.
But Isabella had learned something important during the months she had lived beside him.
A man like Dante Moretti did not react quickly unless something had truly reached him.
He was a man who could sit across from enemies with a calm expression while deciding their future. He could walk into rooms where everyone else lowered their voices and somehow make silence obey him.
But now he looked confused.
“I didn’t give her my shirt.”
Isabella studied him.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Isabella.”
“No, I’m serious.” She closed the book she had not read a single page of. “Because five minutes ago, your former fiancée was standing outside our bedroom wearing something that belongs to you and telling me you gave it to her.”
Dante rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’ll ask Marco.”
“You’ll ask Marco.”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
He looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happens after you ask Marco? Do you apologize because someone crossed a line? Do you explain why she’s in our home? Do you tell me why I had to meet her on a staircase instead of hearing about her before she arrived?”
The room went quiet.
Dante had faced angry men with guns pointed at him and never looked uncomfortable.
But Isabella’s questions made him look like a man who had finally realized he had walked into a room without knowing where the exits were.
“She was in danger.”
“I know.”
“I needed to protect her.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you angry?”
Isabella almost smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because that question hurt more than the shirt.
“Because Dante, you still don’t understand.”
He frowned.
“Understand what?”
“That protecting someone else does not give you permission to disrespect the person standing beside you.”
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“I would never disrespect you.”
Isabella looked toward the window.
Rain covered the glass, turning the garden lights into blurred gold.
“You brought another woman into our home in the middle of the night. A woman you once planned to marry. You made the decision alone. You told me to leave the room instead of explaining.”
“She was scared.”
“And I wasn’t?”
Dante stopped.
The question stayed between them.
Because Isabella had not raised her voice.
She had not accused him.
She had simply asked him to notice her.