Page 7 of Twisted Vows

She had made it halfway across the courtyard when a voice cut through the night.

“Smart,” Matteo’s voice sent an ice-cold shiver down her spine. “But not smart enough.”

She turned slowly, pulse racing. Matteo stood in the shadows, his arms crossed, watching her like a hunter who had been anticipating his prey’s first move.

As if he had been waiting for this.

“I wondered when you’d try,” he mused, stepping forward, his expression unreadable. “You’re predictable, Isla. That’s your problem.”

Her jaw clenched. “And you’re controlling. That’s yours.”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “I prefer prepared. You really thought you’d make it past my men?”

She glared at him, refusing to show weakness. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

Matteo tilted his head, considering her. “Maybe not. But I can keep you here long enough for you to realize there’s nowhere else for you to go.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a trap snapping shut. He had known. He had always known she would run. And he had planned for it.

Chapter Five

The morning sun spilled through the massive windows of the DeLuca villa, bathing the marble floors in a golden glow. But the warmth did nothing to ease the cold knot in Isla’s stomach. She stood at the edge of the balcony, her hands gripping the ornate railing as she surveyed the sprawling villa below. Guards patrolled the grounds with military precision, their presence a silent warning—there would be no easy escape.

But Isla refused to accept that.

Breakfast had been a silent affair. Matteo had sat at the head of the long dining table, sipping his espresso as if nothing about their situation was unusual. The scent of fresh bread and warm pastries had turned her stomach. She had barely touched her food, her appetite soured by the suffocating weight of her captivity. The clink of silverware against porcelain had been the only sound between them.

Matteo had finally broken the silence. "You will learn your place here," he said coolly, his voice carrying the finality of a decree. "I suggest you don’t make this harder on yourself."

Isla had said nothing. She had only stared at him with cold defiance, vowing that she would not be broken so easily.

But now, standing on the balcony, she felt her anger bubbling over, ready to spill into action. She would not play the role of the obedient wife. She would not let him dictate her every move. Every moment under this roof was a reminder of the power he held over her. She needed to take some of it back.

A plan formed in her mind. She needed to test the boundaries, find a weakness in the fortress that held her. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she could walk out the front gates, but she had to start somewhere.

She turned from the balcony and strode toward the door. She had memorized the layout of the villa, watching the movements of the guards during dinner the night before. If she was quick, if she was smart, she could slip through the gaps.

She made it down one corridor, then another, her heartbeat thrumming with adrenaline. No one stopped her. Not yet. She moved swiftly, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floor. Each turn she took sent a jolt of hope through her—until she reached the grand entrance.

A firm hand closed around her wrist.

“Going somewhere?”

Matteo’s voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the iron edge beneath it. Isla spun around, yanking her arm free, her breath coming fast and sharp.

“I’m not your prisoner,” she snapped.

Matteo arched a brow. “You’re my wife. That comes with certain expectations.”

She glared at him, refusing to back down. “You can force me into this marriage, but you will never control me.”

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a dangerous gleam. “Control? No, Isla. You misunderstand.” He reached up, brushing a stray curl from her face, his touch deceptively gentle. “This is not about control. This is about survival. And if you try to run again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

A shiver coursed through her, but she held her ground. “I will never stop trying to leave.”

Matteo’s smirk was slow, almost amused. “Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy catching you.”

His words sent a pulse of fury through her, but beneath it, something else stirred—something she refused to name. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer before he released her, stepping back with calculated ease.

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