Page 5 of Twisted Vows

The woman blinked, clearly unprepared for the bite in Isla’s words. Matteo chuckled under his breath, amused. "Feisty, aren’t you?"

She turned her glare on him. "You have no idea."

Feeling the need for some air, Isla retreated to the balcony, but the anger simmering beneath her skin remained.

“Is he treating you alright?” Nico’s voice was quieter than usual as they stood on the balcony, watching Matteo speak with his men in the reception hall.

Isla frowned, still seething. “Why does it matter to you? You put me in his car like I was cargo?”

Nico exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isla, I—”

“Save it,” she cut him off, gripping the balcony railing. “You were supposed to be on my side. You were supposed to stop this.”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t that simple.”

She turned to him, eyes blazing. “It was. You could have said no.”

He hesitated, his voice dipping lower. "I didn’t have a choice in the matter."

Isla studied him, the bitterness in her chest deepening. Something about the way he said it—like a warning, like a quiet plea — sent a chill through her. "What are you trying to tell me?"

“Don’t turn your back on him.” His gaze flickered past her shoulder, over to the reception table where Matteo was speaking to Luca, his expression unreadable. “Just remember, Isla. There’s always a way out.”

She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

By the time the evening ended, Isla had made up her mind. Escape was no longer an option — it was a necessity. She would not be a prisoner in this life, shackled to a man who saw her as nothing more than a burden. She needed a plan, and she needed it fast.

As the evening ended, she was escorted back to her room. They walked through the grand halls of the villa, Matteo finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Tomorrow, you will be expected to play the role of a dutiful wife. Appearances matter. Don’t embarrass me."

There was a deliberate weight in his words, a warning layered beneath the command. Not just for the sake of appearances, but because he needed control—over her, over their fragile truce, over the empire that now bound themtogether. He wanted her obedience, or at the very least, her compliance.

Isla stopped walking, forcing him to turn. Her voice was quiet but sharp as a blade. "If you think for one second I will play the obedient bride, then you don’t know me at all."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "I know exactly who you are, Isla. A woman trapped in a war she cannot win."

Her heart pounded, but she refused to let him see her fear. "We’ll see about that."

She turned away, entering the suite that was now hers. But as she shut the door, she vowed that Matteo DeLuca would never break her. If he thought she was a pawn in his game, he was about to learn that she was so much more.

Chapter Four

The heavy doors of the DeLuca villa slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the cavernous halls like the final toll of a death knell. Isla stood motionless in the grand foyer, her pulse hammering as the reality of her captivity set in. The wedding had been the first step in her father’s betrayal, but this—this was the cage.

The air inside the villa was cool, scented with polished wood and expensive cologne, but the opulence did nothing to soothe the fire simmering inside her. Everything around her gleamed—marble floors, intricate chandeliers, towering columns—but beneath the beauty, Isla knew it was all a gilded prison.

Matteo stood a few feet away, his broad shoulders rigid, his expression carved from stone. The man who was now her husband showed no signs of triumph, no satisfaction in having bound her to him. If anything, he seemed as displeased by this arrangement as she was.

Without another word, he turned and strode deeper into the villa, his long strides unhurried, confident. He didn’t have to check if she would follow—he already knew she had no choice.

A maid hesitantly approached her, gesturing toward the grand staircase. "Your room has been prepared, signora. This way."

Isla forced herself to move, following the woman down the long, marble-lined halls. Every step felt heavier, like walking toward a prison cell. When they reached the suite, the maid opened the door, then stepped aside. Isla crossed the threshold, taking in the lavishly decorated room. A massive bed dominated the space, silk sheets and dark wood furniture exuding wealth and power. Yet, despite its beauty, it was nothing more than another form of confinement.

She barely slept that night. Every shadow in the room felt like another reminder of the man who now controlled her fate. The hours crawled by in suffocating silence, each one pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake.

A knock at her door roused her from restless thoughts.

"Breakfast is served, signora," the maid announced before retreating down the hall.

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