Page 45 of Twisted Vows

Matteo exhaled, his chest tight. "For now."

Luca shook his head. "She won’t come back."

Matteo’s lips curled into something bitter, something dangerous. "She doesn’t have to. I’ll find her when she’s ready."

Luca sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You really think she’ll forgive you? After Nico? After everything?"

Matteo didn’t look away from the road, from the path Isla had taken. "I don’t need her to forgive me. I just need her to understand."

And when the time came, when the dust settled and Isla realized that no matter how far she ran, she would never truly escape him, he would be there.

Because Isla might have made her choice tonight.

But Matteo had already made his.

She was his.

And she always would be.

Chapter Thirty

She walked for what felt like hours, her feet aching against the uneven cobblestones, her body exhausted, but she didn’t stop. Narrow alleys twisted between ancient stone buildings, their weathered facades whispering secrets of centuries past. The scent of damp earth and aged mortar filled the air as she wound her way through the labyrinthine streets, putting more distance between herself, her father’s villa, and Matteo. The first drops of rain kissed the warm pavement, turning the dust to the scent of petrichor. Soon, the drizzle gave way to a steady downpour, washing over the ochre walls, cascading from terracotta rooftops, and soaking through her thin dress. The chill crept into her bones, but she didn’t care. The city, eternal and unyielding, swallowed her whole. Matteo had let her go. And she didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

Her mind churned over everything—Nico’s death, Matteo’s brutal efficiency, the way he had looked at her as if daring her to stay. She had spent so long fighting against him, then fighting for him, and now, there was nothing left to fight.

Only herself.

She reached a desolate road, lit only by the moon and the dim glow of distant streetlights. A car approached, its headlights slicing through the darkness. She tensed, ready to run again, but as it neared, the driver slowed.

The window rolled down. "Get in."

Her breath caught in her throat. She recognized that voice.

Her father’s men.

Dread curled in her stomach, but she masked it, forcing herself to remain steady. She could keep running, but where? She was weak, injured, alone. She wasn’t stupid.

Slowly, she stepped toward the car and slid inside.

As the door shut, Isla made a vow to herself.

She wasn’t running anymore.

If she wanted to end this, she needed to stop running and start fighting.

No matter what it took.

****

Matteo had followed her the moment she walked away, his footsteps silent against the worn cobblestones. He kept to the shadows, never letting his gaze waver, tracking her every move with the precision of a soldier on a mission. He knew she was furious, that she needed space—but space wouldn’t keep her safe. And losing her, even for a second, was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

When her father’s car emerged, his presence like a storm rolling in, Matteo tensed. He saw the moment Isla hesitated, the weight of old wounds pressing against her shoulders. And when she finally climbed into her father’s car, Matteo was already in motion, tracking their every turn, reading the shifting dynamics like a battlefield unfolding before him. Within minutes, Luca pulled up beside him, barely slowing as Matteo slipped into the car.

“She’s with her father,” Matteo muttered, his jaw tight.

Luca nodded, pressing the gas. The car sped through the winding streets, cutting through the rain-slicked roads as they raced toward her father’s villa. Matteo’s grip tightened on the door handle. He wasn’t going to let Isla face this alone. No, her father had already decided she was a loose end that needed tying up.

****

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