Page 380 of Rosetti Family New York
This is supposed to be about leverage. About power. About getting what my family needs from Chase Callahan.
Instead, I'm obsessing over a woman who looks at me like I might be worth trusting, and I can't figure out if that makes me weak or dangerous.
As we reach the SUV, Isabella slides into the backseat with a soft sigh, her shoulders finally relaxing now that we're away from prying eyes. The streetlights cast moving shadows across her face as Anton pulls into traffic, and I find myself studyingher profile, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes cast shadows.
She played her part tonight. Better than I expected, better than I had any right to ask for. But watching her perform while slowly suffocating underneath makes me want to strip away every mask she wears until I find the woman who kissed me back in the library.
It's just fascination, I tell myself. The challenge of a puzzle I haven't solved yet. A physical itch I haven’t scratched.
Nothing more complicated than that.
10
Isabella
The woman I used to be would never have done this. Would never have let a man like Matteo Rosetti see her lose control, see the cracks in the perfect facade she spent years building.
But that woman died somewhere between the champagne and Chase's gala, and whoever I'm becoming doesn't know how to pretend anymore.
She died when Senator Reynolds looked through me like I was furniture. When Tanya Morrison touched Matteo's arm and I felt something violent and possessive claw up my throat. When every conversation about my parents felt like walking through a minefield, each carefully worded condolence another weight pressing down on my chest.
The woman I used to be would have smiled through it all. Would have made polite conversation and graceful exits and never let anyone see the storm building inside her.
But I'm not her anymore.
Now I sit in the backseat of Matteo's car, watching the city disappear behind rain-streaked windows, and I can feel what's left of my control crumbling with each mile. His jacket is heavyacross my shoulders, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a reminder of everything that happened tonight. Every smile I wore, every lie I told, every moment I pretended this was my choice.
Rain starts pattering against the windows, soft droplets that create a rhythm against the glass. The sound echoes the nervous flutter in my chest.
Matteo sits beside me in comfortable silence, his presence both reassuring and suffocating. I can feel him watching me in the dim light from the dashboard, cataloguing every detail like he always does. Reading me like one of his business deals.
But my mind keeps circling back to the gala. The way people kept bringing up my parents tonight. "Such a tragedy, losing them so young." "Your parents would be so proud." "The foundation has thrived since their passing." Each comment felt like a needle under my skin, building tension I couldn't release.
There was something about the way people talked about them that never sat right with me. Too careful, maybe. Too polished. Like everyone had rehearsed the same script about the "tragic accident" that took them when I was nine.
The worst part is how little I remember about that night. Fragments, mostly. The sound of shattering glass. Red spreading across white kitchen tile. Screaming that seemed to echo forever. But the details are missing, like someone took scissors to my memory and cut out all the important parts.
The streetlights blur past the rain-streaked window, and I press my hand to my chest where anxiety builds. Something about tonight triggered it worse than usual. Maybe it was being paraded around as Chase's perfect niece while knowing I was really Matteo's captive. Maybe it was the careful way people avoided looking me in the eye when they mentioned my parents.
Or maybe it's just the growing feeling that everyone knows something I don't.
By the time we pull into the long driveway leading to the safehouse, my breathing has gone shallow and my hands are trembling in my lap. The rain comes down harder now, drumming against the roof. The moment we step inside, shadows pool in corners that felt welcoming this morning, and I can't shake the feeling that something is about to break open.
Matteo reaches for the light switch, but I stop him. "Don't. Please."
He studies my face in the dim light filtering in from outside. "Okay. Whatever you need."
The kindness in his voice cracks something open in my chest, but before I can process it, my phone buzzes in my purse. The sound cuts through the quiet like a blade.
I pull it out with shaking fingers, and the words on the screen make my blood turn to ice.
**Interesting choice tonight, Isabella. Your parents always said the Rosettis couldn't be trusted. Ironic how history repeats itself. We need to talk. Tomorrow.—C**
The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the hardwood floor. The message echoes in my head like a taunt. My parents always said... but they died when I was nine. How does Chase remember specific conversations from that long ago? Why would my parents have been talking about the Rosettis at all?
The room tilts sideways, and suddenly I can't breathe. The air feels too thick, too heavy, pressing down on my lungs. My vision blurs at the edges, and there's a ringing in my ears that sounds familiar and wrong.
"I can't breathe." The words come out strangled, desperate. My chest feels crushed, like there's a weight sitting on my ribs.
