Page 9 of Twisted Vows

He was relentless. Efficient. A brutal force of nature as he dispatched the remaining attackers with practiced precision. The first man barely had time to turn before Matteo’s bullet tore through his skull. Another reached for a weapon, but Matteo was faster, disarming him with a brutal strike before snapping his neck with a sickening crack.

One by one, they fell, their lifeless bodies sprawled in the moonlight. The air smelled of blood and gunpowder, the garden now a battleground littered with corpses.

Isla stood frozen, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Matteo turned toward her. His dark suit was speckled with blood, his expression unreadable.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice tight, controlled.

She shook her head, unable to form words. The man who had just saved her life was the same man she had sworn to hate. And yet, as she looked into his unwavering gaze, something inside her shifted. Fear and something far more dangerous warred within her.

Matteo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "This is what happens when you underestimate the dangers around you."

Rage surged through her, slicing through the lingering fear. "You think this is my fault?" she snapped. "I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask to be here, to be your—"

His jaw clenched. "No, but you are mine to protect. Whether you like it or not."

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, defiance burning in her veins. "You don’t own me."

Matteo took a slow, deliberate step closer. "Don’t I?" His voice was low, dangerous, filled with something she couldn’t quite name. "You bear my name now, Isla. That means your life is tied to mine."

Her pulse pounded. The way he said it—like it was absolute, like it was law—set her blood on fire. She wanted to scream at him, to deny the strange pull between them. But she couldn’t deny what she had just seen.

Matteo DeLuca wasn’t just a monster.

He was the kind of monster that killed for her.

He took another step forward, his gaze locked on hers, and for the first time, Isla wasn’t sure whether she should run from him—or toward him.

Tonight, he had been her savior.

But she knew better than to believe in heroes.

Chapter Seven

The air inside the DeLuca villa was thick with unspoken tension. The metallic scent of blood clung to Isla’s skin as she sat stiffly on the edge of a velvet chaise in Matteo’s study. The attack had shaken her, but she refused to show it. She had been inches from death, and yet, here she was, alive—because of him.

Matteo stood before her, his suit still dusted with the remnants of battle, his expression unreadable as he reached for a clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic. He didn’t speak as he knelt before her, taking her arm in his grasp, inspecting the gash along her forearm where she had scraped against the gravel in the struggle.

She flinched as he dabbed at the wound, the antiseptic burning into her skin. “I can take care of myself,” she muttered, though the trembling of her fingers betrayed her words.

Matteo’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, dark and intense. “Clearly, you can’t.”

Anger flared in her chest. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a quiet scoff, continuing his task with practiced efficiency. “And yet, here you are, bleeding in my study because you walked into a trap.”

Isla clenched her jaw. He was right, but she would rather die than admit it. Instead, she turned her head away, focusing on the fireplace crackling in the corner of the room. Her body betrayed her, drawn toward the warmth of his touch despite the anger simmering beneath her skin.

For a long moment, the silence between them stretched, thick with something neither of them wanted to name. Matteo’s fingers brushed against her wrist as he wrapped a bandage around the wound, his touch firm but careful. She hated the way her breath hitched. Hated the way the air between them feltcharged, as if one wrong move would send them spiraling into something dangerous. She could feel the weight of his stare, but she refused to meet it.

“You should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice lower now.

She finally turned her head, eyes narrowing. “I shouldn’t have to live like this.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. “It’s the reality of our world. Whether you like it or not.”

A shiver ran down her spine, not just from his words, but from the way he said them—like an undeniable truth, like a cage she would never escape. But there was something else beneath the certainty, something that almost sounded like regret.

For a fleeting second, neither of them moved. The distance between them had vanished, the space charged with a tension more dangerous than any blade. Isla felt the heat of his breath, the slow rise and fall of his chest. If either of them shifted, even slightly—

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