Page 10 of Twisted Vows

Matteo pulled away first, his hand lingering for just a second too long before he stood. The moment shattered like glass, and Isla sucked in a breath, cursing herself for even noticing.

He turned from her, reaching for the bloodied cloth. “Get some rest. You’re safe here.”

Safe. The word felt hollow.

Isla watched him for a moment longer before rising from the chair, careful to keep her composure. She wouldn’t let him see how unsteady she felt, how something deep inside her had cracked just a little more.

As she walked toward the door, Matteo’s voice stopped her. “They won’t stop, you know.”

She turned back, frowning. “Who?”

“The men who came for you tonight. They weren’t just sending a message. They were testing the waters.” His expression darkened. “And they’ll try again.”

A chill slithered down her spine, but she refused to let it show. “Then I’ll be ready.”

His lips twitched, something between amusement and frustration flickering across his face. “You’re reckless, Isla.”

She shrugged. “So are you.”

Matteo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he placed the medical supplies back into the drawer. “Go to bed, Isla.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. But as she stepped into the hallway, she could still feel the weight of his eyes on her back, as if he were memorizing every inch of her.

****

But sleep never came.

Isla tossed and turned, her mind replaying the night’s events like a broken reel. The feel of the attacker’s hands on her, the moment she had thought it was over—then Matteo, appearing out of the darkness like some kind of avenging demon, cutting them down without hesitation. Without mercy.

It should have terrified her.

Instead, it made her stomach twist with something far more dangerous.

She exhaled sharply, throwing the silk sheets aside. The mansion was quiet now, blanketed in an eerie stillness, but she could feel the tension thrumming in its walls. This was Matteo’s world—ruthless, unrelenting. And she was beginning to realize she might have underestimated just how deep the darkness ran.

Unable to ignore the pull in her chest, she slipped out of bed, padding barefoot across the cold floor. She hesitated only for a second before pushing the door open and stepping into the hall.

She didn’t know where she was going. But her feet carried her down the corridor, past the grand staircase, past the dimly lit portraits of DeLuca men who had ruled before Matteo. She barely noticed them, barely noticed anything but the way her pulse quickened as she neared his study.

The door was slightly ajar. She heard the clink of glass, the low exhale of breath. Slowly, she pushed the door open wider.

Matteo sat behind his desk, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms dusted with ink. He was leaning back in his chair, a glass of whiskey dangling between his fingers, eyes locked onto the flames flickering in the fireplace.

For once, he looked almost... human.

He didn’t look up when he spoke. “Can’t sleep?”

Isla hesitated. “Neither can you.”

His gaze finally met hers, dark and unreadable. “I don’t sleep much.”

She stepped further inside, the scent of whiskey and smoke wrapping around her. “Because of nights like this?”

Matteo didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip from his glass before setting it down with a quiet clink. “Because men like me don’t get the luxury of peace.”

Something in her chest ached at his words. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t feel anything for the man who had dragged her into this world. And yet, she found herself standing closer, drawn to the cracks she was beginning to see beneath his armor.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

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