Page 14 of Marriage of Revenge

Did he really see me? Recognize me? My mind races, paranoia setting in. Of course, he knows I'm here. He's bidding on my hand.

He's here to finish what my father started. Unless that sign meant something. Like a piece of a puzzle where I can escape this nonsense.

My phone buzzes and for one stupid, heart-stopping second, I think it's him. But no—it's Naomi: "Remember, knowledge is power. The more you see, the more you know. Also, I need details because I'm losing my mind in this Chicago penthouse. But more importantly—you okay, Bella? Because I can totally stage a prison break. Dad's security team still loves me more than him."

That message might have made me smile. Even giving me hope.

But seeing Antonio, feeling that raw connection, even from afar, complicated things even more. My life's already a Lifetime movie gone wrong, but sure, universe, throw in the scarred ex-stepbrother with murder eyes. The one who is right to hate me.

Really handling my trauma with kid gloves here, aren't we?

The balcony doors are still open, a gentle breeze swaying the curtains. Before I can even think of closing them, the living room’s door bursts open. Georgio strides in, his face a storm of anger.

"Why are the balcony doors open?" His voice is harsh, the tension in the room escalating. He doesn't wait, storming over to slam them shut. He whirls around, his anger fixed on Luka. "You! You were responsible for her safety!"

Luka, clearly taken aback, stutters, "I–I believed they were locked, sir."

Without another word, Georgio pulls a gun from his holster.

Everything blurs like that moment when the world tilts mid-pirouette—reality going soft at the edges, but unlike my passionof dancing, this time it’s horror staying crystal clear. Georgio's hand moves toward his gun, and I want to scream, to move, to do something, but my body betrays me again. Like with Antonio. Always freezing when it matters most.

And then—the sound.

A gunshot that feels like it tears through my chest instead of the air. Sharp. Final. The kind of sound that rewrites your whole world in one second.

Luka falls.

The scream that rips from my throat doesn't sound human. It sounds like every horrible moment in my life distilled into one sound.

My mind tries to reject what my eyes are seeing, like a failed lift during Swan Lake—this can't be happening, this isn't real, this isn't... But finally, I'm moving, my knees hitting the hardwood floor beside him. His blood is warm on my hands. Too bright. Too real. Every detail brands itself into my memory: his wide eyes, the small "oh" of surprise on his lips, the way his fingers twitch against mine as I try to find a pulse that's already fading.

His blood seeps into the silk of my dress, and all I can think is how it's the exact same shade as the one rose Antonio once cut of our garden for me. When I wasn’t sure Juilliard would ever take me in.

"Clean this up," Georgio says, his voice winter-cold to one of his men. Then he turns to me, still kneeling in Luka's blood. "No more mistakes, Isabella. For your own sake."

I’m the reason he’s dead.

CHAPTER 7 – ANTONIO

Stepping out of myblack Lamborghini, I scan the perimeter—old habits die hard. That's when I catch movement on the balcony. A flash of curls (did her father get her a new fucking hairstyle for this auction?). a dancer's posture—Isabella.

Even after all these years, I'd know that silhouette anywhere. The way she holds herself like she's waiting for music to start, like she's still playing the role of daddy's innocent little ballerina.

The air between us feels electric, charged with memories and things left unsaid. My chest tightens, but I lift a hand in a mocking salute, letting her see me, letting her remember.

Remember the boy who played piano for her and see the monster who rose from those ashes.

Shit, let her wonder if I'm here to save her or destroy her.

She’s so good at playing the role of the innocent, when she’s nothing but.

She thinks she broke me. She didn’t.

She disappears from view like a ghost, and that's when I hear it—a gunshot splitting the air, followed by a scream that makes my blood run cold. Her scream. I know that sound, remember it from the night everything burned.

Franco materializes at my side, his face grim. "Boss—"

"Report," I growl, already knowing this wasn't part of the plan. Not yet.

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