Page 8 of Twisted Vows

“Run if you want,” he continued, his voice lower, more deliberate. “You’ll find out soon enough that this world is not kind to women who defy their husbands.”

Her stomach twisted at his words, at the cold truth in them. Was it a warning or a threat? Either way, it was a reminder of the power structure she was trapped in.

She wrenched away from him, turning on her heel and storming back toward the house. The battle had begun, and Isla refused to lose.

She would escape. No matter the cost. But she couldn’t just run blindly. She needed to understand his weaknesses, his vulnerabilities—whatever it took to turn this game in her favor.

Because Matteo DeLuca might have caught her today, but she wouldn’t let him win forever.

****

That evening, the villa was eerily silent. Isla sat in her room, staring out at the sprawling grounds. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, suffocating her beneath the weight of her captivity. She could hear the low murmurs of guards stationed outside her door, a silent reminder that Matteo had no intention of letting her slip through his fingers.

But if she couldn’t escape, she could fight in another way.

She needed to get inside Matteo’s world—to learn what made him tick, where his strengths and weaknesses lay. She needed to turn the game on him, to make him believe she was falling into line while planning her next move.

A sharp knock on her door broke her thoughts. The door opened, and Matteo stood there, his silhouette dark against the dim light of the hall.

“You’ve been quiet,” he observed, stepping inside without invitation.

Isla didn’t move from her spot by the window. “Maybe I’m tired of wasting my breath.”

Matteo smirked, stepping closer. “That would be a shame. I quite enjoy our little battles.”

She turned to face him, eyes blazing. “You enjoy control. That’s all this is to you. A game of power.”

He exhaled through his nose, his amusement dimming slightly. “You think I need to control you? Isla, you could burn this house to the ground, and I would still own the ashes.”

She lifted her chin. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make sure you burn with it.”

For a moment, there was only silence between them. A thick, charged moment where neither backed down. Then, Matteo let out a low chuckle, something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, wife. You might just start to like this war between us.”

He turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

Isla exhaled, her pulse thrumming. Matteo thought he had won. He thought she was trapped, defenseless.

But he had no idea that the real war had just begun.

Chapter Six

The air outside the DeLuca villa was crisp, a deceptive contrast to the suffocating tension inside. Isla had been restless all day, pacing the grand halls like a caged animal, the weight of her forced captivity pressing down on her. Every hallway, every locked door reminded her that no matter how luxurious her prison, it was still a prison. She needed air, needed space—even if only within the confines of the villa’s high walls.

When she stepped into the garden, the silence felt like a reprieve. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the damp earth beneath her feet. The night stretched around her, vast and endless, and for a fleeting moment, she could pretend she was anywhere else. Free. Safe.

She wasn’t.

The attack came swiftly. A blur of movement in the shadows. Isla barely had time to register the glint of a blade before she was yanked back, her body colliding with something solid. A hand clamped over her mouth as her pulse slammed against her ribs.

"Stay quiet, princess," a voice rasped against her ear, laced with malice. "This doesn’t have to be messy."

Panic surged through her, cold and suffocating. She thrashed, trying to break free, but the grip on her was ironclad. The man dragged her toward the hedges, his intentions clear. This wasn’t a warning. It was an execution.

She bit down on the hand muffling her screams, tasting copper as her teeth met skin. A curse hissed against her ear, but the momentary distraction was enough. She twisted in his grip, driving her knee into his ribs. The impact sent him staggering, but not enough to loosen his grip completely.

And then, chaos erupted.

Gunfire split the night. The grip on her loosened as her captor crumpled to the ground, a single bullet lodged between his eyes. Isla stumbled back, her heart pounding, only to see another shadow moving in the darkness—Matteo.

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