Chapter 6 Under Watchful Eyes
“Am I interrupting?” Matteo asked, staring at Dante.
“No,” Dante replied, though his tone suggested otherwise.
Matteo walked closer to them, stopping just a step away from the table. He lowered his voice in a deliberate way reserved for strict conversations. “I had men report in this morning about strange activity along the docks and on the east end. There are faces we don’t recognize.”
Luca’s lazy grin faltered slightly. “Strange activity?”
Matteo’s gaze hardened. “Not just strange. Familiar. Old ghosts.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “We think De Luca’s men have been spotted.”
The room went still. Even the ticking clock on the wall seemed to hesitate.
Dante’s jaw tightened. “You’re certain?”
“Nothing’s certain yet,” Matteo answered, voice low and grave. “But the signs are there. Same methods. If he’s back, he’s moving quietly, maybe testing the waters before striking.”
Luca leaned forward, brows arched in something between curiosity and unease. “And you’re only telling us now?”
“I wanted confirmation,” Matteo shot back. “And now I have enough to be concerned.” His gaze shifted back to Dante. “If De Luca’s returned, this family, it’s already in his sights. Especially given what you did to him and the way you ran him and his gang out of New York.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Dante’s hand curled into a fist on the table. “Then find out. Confirm it. I want eyes everywhere, docks, clubs, every shipment that moves in and out of the city.”
“Already in motion. But if it is De Luca…” His eyes flickered to Luca, then back to Dante. “Then you’d better be ready, because men like him don’t just return. They return for blood.”
—
Isabella walked slowly down the endless hallway, her steps barely making a sound against the floor. The silence pressed against her and for the first time since she’d stepped into this mansion, she felt completely alone.
Her throat tightened. She had forced herself to eat at breakfast, to keep her back straight, to mask the shaking of her hands under the table. But now that she was away from Dante’s watchful eyes, the weight she’d been holding cracked her chest open.
Tears slipped down her cheeks hot and angry, and she didn’t bother wiping them. The mansion walls could watch her break, what did it matter? She was already a prisoner here.
“Does mum know?” she whispered to herself. Her voice echoed faintly against the empty hall. “Does she even know I traded myself like some bargaining chip? Does she think I left her willingly?”
“And Marco…” her voice cracked, breaking the silence again. “Is he free? Is he out of trouble? Or is he already making another mistake while I’m stuck here in this… this cage?” Her fingers clenched into her hair, nails biting into her scalp.
The thought broke her heart. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, choking back a sob, as her tears fell harder, rolling down her cheeks. She thought of her mother’s fragile body, of Marco’s reckless grin.
She had sacrificed herself, stepped willingly into Dante's world, but for what? To sit at a stranger’s table, to wear a mask while her family might still be falling apart miles away?
“God,” She muttered, “Please… please let them be safe. Don’t let this all be for nothing.”
The mansion might have been beautiful, but at that moment, it felt like nothing more than a cage.
A voice broke through her spiral.
“Talking to yourself already?”
The teasing yet mocking voice startled her. Isabella turned only to find Lucia standing a few feet away.
Lucia leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression a curious mix of amusement and sharpness.
“Oh sorry,” Isabella stammered, quickly wiping her tears. “I didn’t realize anyone was there.”
Lucia pushed off the frame, her steps graceful as she approached.
“Relax,” she said, a small smile tugging her lips. “You don’t have to apologize. Everyone talks to themselves in this house sooner or later. Helps keep you sane but you cry loud for someone who’s supposed to be strong.”
“Maybe you should be in my shoes.” Isabella retorted calmly.
Lucia stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you even here? Dante doesn’t bring home strays.”
Isabella stiffened at the choice of words. Stray. That was exactly how she felt, lost, displaced, like something scooped off the streets and thrown into a world that would never be hers.
Her jaw tightened, but she forced her voice steady. “Why don't you ask Dante or are you afraid of him?”
Lucia smirked faintly, though there was no kindness in it. “I’ve seen girls come and go. Pretty faces, nervous eyes. They never last.” Her voice sharpened like a blade. “You won’t either.”
“Do you think I want to be here?” Isabella spat out bitterly.
“Welcome to the house, Isabella,” she said over her shoulder. “Try not to cry too loud, the walls here have ears.” She walked down the hallway.
----
Marco paced the length of their apartment, phone clutched so tight his knuckles were white. He had already dialed the number twice and hung up, but this time, when the line clicked, he forced himself to speak.
“Pick up. Please, pick up,” he muttered under his breath.
Finally, a female voice came through, calm and steady.
“Marco?”
Relief washed over him, “It’s me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I—I didn’t know who else to call.”
“What happened?”
“I need to see you.” Marco said with haste, panic evident in his voice.
“Now?”
“As soon as you can.” He exhaled slowly.
Her tone sharpened, the warmth slipping into suspicion. “You sound… tense. Is something wrong?”
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll talk at the cafe. The one on Via Roma. Noon.”
She didn’t reply at once. The faint hum of the city filled the silence between them.
“Alright. I’ll be there. But, Marco…” her voice softened a bit, “this better not be something you’ve dragged me into without warning.”
He almost smiled, but it never reached his
eyes. “Just come.”
He hung up before she could press further, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
