Chapter 7
The first morning after she moved back, Dante had stood outside their bedroom door holding coffee.
Actually holding coffee.
The same man who once entered conference rooms filled with armed men without hesitation was standing outside his own bedroom waiting for permission.
“Are you serious?” she had asked.
“Yes.”
“You live here.”
“I know.”
“And this is your bedroom.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you knocking?”
His answer had been simple.
“Because you live here too.”
She had not replied.
But she had opened the door.
And Dante remembered that moment.
Because for him, it was the first victory he had earned after losing her.
Not because she came back.
Because she chose to open the door.
***
The problem was that peace never lasted long in the Moretti world.
Especially not when people realized Dante Moretti had found something worth protecting.
One evening, Isabella returned from her studio earlier than expected.
She immediately noticed something was wrong.
The house was too quiet.
Not normal quiet.
The kind of silence that meant everyone was listening.
She stepped inside and found Marco standing near the entrance.
That alone was unusual.
Marco never waited for her unless something happened.
“Where is Dante?”
“In the office.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Isabella narrowed her eyes.
“Marco.”
The security chief looked away.
That was enough.
She walked toward the office.
Before she reached the door, she heard voices.
Dante.
And another man.
“You brought her into this.”
The voice belonged to Dante’s uncle, Lorenzo Moretti.
A man Isabella had only met twice.
Both times, he had smiled too much.
“You involved Isabella,” Lorenzo continued. “Now every family watching us knows exactly where your weakness is.”
Dante’s voice was cold.
“She is not a weakness.”
“She is your wife.”
“She is my family.”
“And that makes her vulnerable.”
The door opened before Isabella could move away.
Dante saw her.
The anger in his expression disappeared instantly.
“Isabella.”
She looked between them.
“How long?”
Neither man answered.
That was the answer.
Her heart sank.
“Dante.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“After you decided everything?”
His face tightened.
“No.”
But she shook her head.
“Don’t.”
The memory of that first night returned.
The guest suite.
The rain.
The words:
This isn’t the time.
Only now, the roles were reversed.
And Dante saw it.
He saw exactly what he had done.