Page 12 of Twisted Vows

She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing.

“You’ll be disappointed, then,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. “Because you can’t break something that refuses to bend.”

Matteo studied her for a long moment, the space between them charged, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, abruptly, he let her go, stepping back with an exhale, running a hand through his dark hair as if she had somehow managed to frustrate him more than anyone else ever had.

His next words sent a shiver down her spine. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to enjoy the fight.”

She swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge the way her heart pounded at the challenge in his voice. She had thought she was the one pushing him, testing him—but Matteo DeLuca was playing the long game.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for what that meant.

****

The next morning, Isla woke to find her room guarded. Not just outside the door, but at every possible exit. Matteo had tightened his grip, reinforcing her captivity under the guise of ‘protection.’

She refused to be caged.

She tested the boundaries, attempting to slip past them, but Matteo’s men were well-trained, their orders clear. They were not to let her leave. Not even to the gardens.

That night, she found herself back in the same ballroom, this time seated beside Matteo at the head of the table. A quiet, lingering tension stretched between them. The previous night’s confrontation still crackled in the air.

Luca approached, setting a fresh drink in front of her, his expression carefully neutral. But there was something behind his eyes—respect, perhaps. Or maybe just amusement at her defiance.

Matteo noticed. Of course, he did.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Keep pushing me, wife, and you’ll find out exactly how far I’m willing to go.”

A shiver ran down her spine, but she refused to react. Instead, she took a slow sip of her drink, turning her gaze to him with a smirk.

“Maybe I want to find out.”

His hand gripped her thigh under the table, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind her exactly who she was dealing with.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Isla.”

She tilted her head, meeting his eyes with a challenge of her own. “Then I guess we’ll see who wins.”

Chapter Nine

The party had stretched deep into the night, the echoes of laughter and hushed deals swirling through the halls of the DeLuca villa. The clinking of crystal glasses and low murmurs of whispered alliances wrapped around Isla like a suffocating veil. She had stood in the midst of it all, drowning in the spectacle, watching as Matteo commanded the room with an ease she despised. He didn’t have to say much—his presence alone was enough to keep men in line, to make women pause mid-sentence, shifting in their seats as his dark gaze swept the crowd.

She had barely touched the champagne in her glass, watching from the sidelines, a reluctant guest at a celebration she wanted no part of. The weight of Matteo’s claim on her had been tangible all evening, his hand resting at the small of her back whenever she moved too far. A reminder. A warning.

It had been infuriating.

Luca had been an easy distraction—charming, playful, and just dangerous enough to pique her interest. She had let her fingers trail along the rim of her glass, offering him coy smiles, whispering just close enough to draw out a reaction. And it had worked.

By the time the last of the guests had filtered out, Isla had taken her opportunity to slip away. She needed air, distance—anything to escape the weight of Matteo’s claim. She had wandered onto the balcony, letting the night air cool her heated skin, the distant hum of Rome’s nightlife a stark contrast to the opulence suffocating her inside.

And then, he had found her.

Matteo moved like a shadow, silent and inescapable. The moment she felt his presence behind her, her fingers curled tighter around the railing.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his voice rough, edged with something unreadable.

Isla didn’t turn, keeping her gaze fixed on the moonlit city. “Are you worried about me, husband?”

Matteo exhaled sharply. “I’m worried about what I might have to do if someone else finds you first.”

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