Page 18 of Twisted Vows

Gasps rippled through the room, but Isla barely registered them. Matteo kissed her like a warning, like a brand—like he was staking his claim in front of an audience that didn’t need the reminder.

And the worst part?

She kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his thumb brushed her swollen lips, his expression dark and triumphant. “Mine,” he murmured.

Isla should have corrected him.

She should have slapped him, stormed away, something—anything.

But instead, she just stood there, breathless, the taste of him still lingering.

Because for the first time, she didn’t know if she hated it at all.

Chapter Thirteen

The echoes of the ballroom still clung to Isla’s skin, the weight of Matteo’s hands burning into her memory. She had played with fire on the dance floor, and she had seen the embers smolder in his gaze. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

The game wasn’t over.

She needed to be smarter, bolder. The DeLuca villa held secrets—secrets that could set her free. She had spent weeks watching, listening, piecing together the whispers of Matteo’s business dealings, the way his men operated, the names that held power in his world. Tonight had proved one thing: Matteo might hold the leash, but Isla wasn’t meant to be caged.

Slipping from her room under the cover of night, she moved with careful, measured steps. The villa was heavily guarded, but she had learned its blind spots. She had counted the rotation of the guards, memorized their habits. It was reckless, dangerous—but so was staying here, waiting for a man like Matteo to break her completely.

The study was where he kept his files. Locked, but not impenetrable. She had seen him enter the passcode enough times, watched the way his fingers moved over the keypad. Now, standing before it, she exhaled slowly and keyed in the numbers.

The safe clicked open.

Her hands shook as she reached for the files. Inside, she found pages of names, transactions, shipments—evidence of the empire Matteo controlled with an iron grip. If she could get this information out, if she could find the right leverage, she could have a bargaining chip. A way out.

She turned each page with growing fascination, piecing together the threads of his savage empire. Certain names repeated. Codes that she suspected were locations. Financialrecords that spoke of dealings that weren’t entirely legal. It was a blueprint of power, the foundation of Matteo’s rule. And she had it in her hands.

But the moment the thought crossed her mind, a deep voice cut through the darkness.

"I expected better from you, wife."

Isla’s blood turned to ice. The room was silent, save for the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Slowly, she turned, her pulse thrumming as she met Matteo’s gaze. He stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He looked relaxed. Casual.

Dangerous.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice laced with amusement and warning all at once.

She lifted her chin. "Maybe."

His smirk was slow, predatory. "And here I thought you were starting to enjoy being my wife."

She scoffed. "Don’t flatter yourself."

In a flash, he was in front of her, his body pressing hers against the desk, caging her in. The papers slipped from her fingers, scattering between them like a discarded illusion of control.

Matteo’s fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch deceptively soft. "You think you can play this game with me, Isla? That you can win?"

She swallowed hard but refused to break his gaze. "I don’t need to win. I just need to be free."

His eyes darkened. "You’re mine. And I don’t let what’s mine slip away so easily."

She opened her mouth to retort, but the words were stolen when Matteo’s lips crashed against hers. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a warning, a punishment, a promise.

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