Page 39 of Velvet Chains

I tried to hide my anxiety, but Vincenzo could see the toll it was taking on me. My calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a fragile façade that was barely holding together. I was a nervous wreck, and I knew it was affecting our relationship. Vincenzo was trying to be strong for me, but I could see the worry in his eyes. And there wasn’t much he could do with the election coming up. The scrutiny of the Cupola was too close for comfort, and we were stuck under their watchful eye.

I felt like I was losing myself in all of this. I was constantly on edge, my nerves frayed and raw. I just wanted to feel safe again, to be able to walk down the street without looking over my shoulder. But until Don Antonio was brought to justice, I knew that was a distant dream.

Sarah's arrival at the estate was a breath of fresh air. She had learned about the threats and, without hesitation, she came to offer her support. After leaving Mark for good, she had decided to remain in Palermo to celebrate her newfound freedom, and now I was grateful for her unwavering loyalty and support. I couldn’t have done it alone.

I knew now I could always count on her, no matter what.

But even with Sarah by my side, the fear and anxiety still lingered. I couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, of being a pawn in a game I didn't want to play. I knew I had to find a way to take control, to fight back against those who sought to harm me.

I couldn't keep living like this. The constant danger and need for vigilance had created a barrier between Vincenzo and me.

I couldn't help but wonder if our fake engagement arrangement had been a huge mistake.

I felt trapped, with no clear way out.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

VINCENZO

Isat in my dimly lit study, surrounded by maps of Palermo and documents detailing our operations and the ongoing disruption caused by Don Antonio. The constant threat to our family and business was a heavy burden to carry. Pietro had joined me, his presence a welcome comfort in the late-night hours.

We began our nightly ritual of strategizing, trying to anticipate Don Antonio's next move. Pietro's sharp instincts and loyalty were invaluable in this fight, and I relied on him heavily. But as we pored over the documents, I could sense his growing concern about the escalating threats.

"We need to take action," Pietro said, his voice low and urgent. "These threats are getting bolder, and I don't like it."

"I know," I replied, rubbing my tired eyes. "But we need a plan, a way to take down Don Antonio without risking losing Isabelle in the crossfire."

Pietro nodded, his expression grim. "I know, but it's getting harder to protect her. These notes, they're getting closer, more personal. It's like they're mocking us, daring us to try and stop them."

I clenched my jaw, anger and frustration simmering just below the surface. I would do anything to keep Isabelle safe, to protect her from the evil that threatened to consume us all. But I knew I couldn't do it alone. I needed Pietro, and together, we would find a way to deal with Don Antonio and restore peace to our family.

Winning the election had never been more important for me.

I stared at the papers in front of me, but the words blurred into nothing. My brother droned on about strategy, deadlines, contingencies, but all I could think about was Isabelle. She was a constant in my mind, like a shadow I couldn’t shake. Her face, her voice, the way her eyes would search mine for something I couldn’t give her—peace, maybe, or the truth.

My fingers traced the edge of the table, my knuckles tight as I struggled to focus. The plan was clear—deal with Don Antonio. But every scenario we discussed ended the same way: bloodshed, chaos. And every time, the image of Isabelle flashed before me, her gaze clouded with the confusion and hurt I knew I’d caused.

I needed to protect her, but the more I pushed my feelings aside, the thicker the wall between us grew. I could almost hear her voice, see the flicker of anger mixed with that quiet, unspoken plea for me to just let her in. My chest tightened. She never said it out loud, but I felt it every time I looked at her, and every time I turned away.

“Vincenzo, we need to move fast.” My brother’s words snapped me back, but my mind lingered with her, the ache of unspoken things between us. Every moment I hesitated, I risked losing her, yet the path forward felt like walking on a razor's edge. Killing Don Antonio meant throwing away everything I’d fought for—my position, my control. Not killing him meant risking her life, and that was something I couldn’t afford.

The garden was peaceful, the evening light casting long shadows across the stone path. Isabelle sat beside me, her posture relaxed but her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her dress. The warmth of the setting sun danced across her face, making her hazel eyes glimmer with flecks of green.

She took a breath and broke the silence. "You know, I never imagined I’d end up here," she said quietly, her gaze focused on the soft glow of the flowers. "When I left home, I was just trying to escape a small town that felt too tight. I didn’t even know what I wanted back then—just that I needed to get out."

I watched her, saying nothing, letting her words fill the space between us. She has never done this before, and I’m almost too stunned to stop her.

"I worked three jobs just to make it through college," she continued, her voice calm but with an edge that hinted at the struggle beneath. "One day, I was pulling an all-nighter at the library, and I remember thinking, ‘This better be worth it.’ All the late nights, all the hustling. I didn’t even go to my own graduation because I had a deadline to meet."

She let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. It was the sound of someone who had fought hard and won battles no one ever saw.

"You never talk about this," I said, leaning back against the bench, my eyes still on her. "Why now?"

She turned to look at me, the faintest trace of a bitter smile on her lips. "I guess… I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About where I came from, about all the things I’ve left behind." She paused, biting her lip as if unsure whether to continue. "About how sometimes, no matter how far you go, you never really escape who you are."

I could see the vulnerability in her eyes, just beneath the surface. She had been so strong, so determined. But this—this was the Isabelle who carried more weight than she let anyone see.

"You’re stronger than you know," I said quietly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. She looked at me, her eyes softening, but there was a wariness there too, like she was balancing on the edge of something she couldn’t quite trust.

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