Page 15 of Twisted Vows

He exhaled, gripping the wheel tighter. “She was used as leverage. A pawn in a war my father never saw coming. And when it was over, she was gone.”

Isla swallowed hard. “Gone?”

Matteo’s jaw clenched. “Dead.”

The word hung between them, heavy with unspoken history. Isla stared at him, studying the sharp lines of his face, the barely concealed rage in his eyes. He had been a boy once. A boy who had lost something irreplaceable.

She looked back at the villa, its windows shattered in places, vines creeping up the walls. “Why bring me here?”

Matteo turned to her then, something raw flickering beneath his usual control. “Because you need to understand what happens when people underestimate their enemies.”

A chill slithered down her spine. “Are you warning me, Matteo?”

His gaze never wavered. “I’m making sure you don’t become history.”

The truth of it settled deep inside her. He wasn’t just showing her his past—he was showing her his greatest fear.

And for the first time, Isla didn’t know if she wanted to run from him or stand beside him.

Because the walls between them weren’t just crumbling.

They were being torn down.

Chapter Eleven

The morning had been unexpected. Isla had thought Matteo’s cryptic words meant another cold display of control, but instead, he had taken her into the heart of Rome.

They walked through the cobbled streets, the weight of unspoken words between them. It wasn’t freedom—Matteo never let her stray too far, his presence always a shadow at her side—but it was something. A rare glimpse of the world beyond the walls of his villa.

She had watched him as much as he had watched her. The way he interacted with shopkeepers who greeted him with wary respect, the way his hand sometimes found the small of her back, a subtle reminder of his control.

When they had stopped for coffee at a small café tucked into the streets near Piazza Navona, he had slid a box across the table to her without a word.

She had frowned, glancing from the elegant black ribbon to his unreadable expression. “What is this?”

Matteo sipped his espresso, his gaze steady. “Something to wear tonight.”

She had hesitated before pulling at the ribbon, revealing a deep crimson gown inside. The fabric was luxurious beneath her fingertips, the design meant to highlight every curve of her body.

“Why?” she had asked, looking up at him.

His lips twitched at the corners, just the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Because you’re my wife, and appearances matter.”

The conversation had ended there, but the dress had lingered in her mind the rest of the day, a symbol of the game they were playing.

Now, as she sat beside him in the sleek black car winding through the city streets, she felt the weight of the dress, theweight of everything unsaid. The crimson fabric clung to her like a second skin, and she hated how much she felt like she belonged in it. Like she belonged at his side.

Matteo was silent beside her, his hand resting casually on his knee, but she could feel his attention on her.

“Behave,” he murmured, breaking the silence as they neared their destination.

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze. “Or what?”

His fingers drummed against his knee, slow and controlled. “Or you’ll regret it.”

She smirked, looking away. “That sounds like a challenge.”

The car pulled up to the grand villa hosting the night’s event, and before Isla could react, Matteo was at her door, offering his hand. She hesitated for only a moment before placing hers in his, allowing him to lead her inside. The warmth of his skin against hers sent a shiver through her, but she masked it with indifference.

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