Episode 2: The Enemy’s Eyes

Isabella

I didn’t sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—Matteo DeLuca—standing in the shadows of my father’s garden, his voice curling around me like smoke. I told myself it was only shock, only fear, but the truth pressed harder.

I craved the danger in his eyes.

The mansion was quiet the next morning. My father was already gone, summoned to some meeting across town. My mother moved through the halls like a ghost, pretending not to see me. She always said I was too curious, too reckless.

If only she knew.

By afternoon, I sat in the library with a book open on my lap. Words blurred together. All I could think about was the way his gaze stripped me bare. I hated myself for wanting to see it again.

The door opened. My cousin Chiara slipped inside, grinning. “You disappeared last night. Tell me, Isa—what secret did you find in the garden?”

I forced a smile. “Only roses.”

She flopped into the chair across from me. “Roses don’t make your cheeks pink like that.”

I pressed the book tighter, heat rushing to my face. If Chiara ever guessed the truth, she’d never let it go. Worse, she might tell Adriano. My brother would burn Naples to ash if he thought a DeLuca so much as looked at me.

I swallowed the lie and prayed it held.

But in my chest, the memory burned.

⸻

Matteo

I should have forgotten her.

The mission was simple: slip inside, listen, disappear. I’d done it a hundred times before. The Romano family was planning something, and Don Salvatore wanted answers.

But all I brought back was her.

Isabella Romano.

I stood in Don Salvatore’s study that morning, giving him the details. Who spoke to whom, which guests lingered too long. He listened, grunted, poured himself whiskey. He didn’t ask about her. He didn’t know that every word I spoke felt hollow because I couldn’t shake the image of her tongue on a rose.

When I left his office, Lorenzo was waiting in the hall. My cousin leaned against the wall, smirking.

“You look distracted, Matteo,” he said. “Something at the Romano party catch your eye?”

I kept my voice flat. “Only business.”

Lorenzo’s smirk sharpened. He always sniffed for weakness, for cracks he could use. I pushed past him, but his voice followed. “Careful, cousin. Get too close to a Romano, and you’ll bleed.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because his words were too close to the truth.

⸻

Isabella

Three days passed before I saw him again.

It was dusk, and I was leaving the chapel after evening prayers. My driver waited at the curb, but a car pulled up beside it—sleek, black, humming with quiet menace.

The window rolled down. And there he was.

Matteo.

“Get in,” he said.

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Are you insane?”

“Probably.” His eyes locked on mine, steady, dark, pulling me in. “Five minutes. That’s all.”

I should have walked away. I should have screamed for my driver, for the guards. Instead, my feet betrayed me. I opened the door and slid into the leather seat beside him.

The door shut, sealing me in with danger.

⸻

Matteo

She smelled like roses.

Up close, in the confined space of the car, it was worse than I imagined. Her perfume, her hair, the heat of her body—it wrapped around me, sank its claws in.

“You’re reckless,” I said.

Her chin lifted. “You’re the one who told me to get in.”

I almost laughed. God, she was fire under silk.

For a long moment, I just looked at her. The Romano princess, untouchable, sitting beside me like temptation made flesh. I wanted to taste her, to see if her lips were as soft as they looked.

But instead I asked, “Why didn’t you call the guards that night?”

Her breath caught. She looked away, lashes sweeping her cheek. “Because I didn’t want to.”

The words hit me like a punch. Raw. Honest. Dangerous.

I leaned closer, my voice dropping. “You have no idea what you’re playing with, princess.”

Her gaze snapped back to mine, defiant. “Then show me.”

Fuck.

Every instinct screamed to push her away. But my body betrayed me, just like hers.

The car filled with silence, thick and heavy, as our hunger pressed closer.

⸻

Isabella

The space between us was a breath, a heartbeat. His scent—smoke, leather, danger—wrapped around me. I felt my pulse in my throat, my wrists, my thighs.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Say what you want.”

His jaw clenched, eyes burning. “What I want would ruin you.”

The words thrilled me. Terrified me. Made me ache.

I leaned closer, reckless, desperate. “Then ruin me.”

For a moment, I thought he would. His hand twitched, as if he’d grab my face, drag me into him. But he didn’t. He tore his gaze away, slammed the brakes, and the car lurched to a stop.

“Not here. Not now.” His voice was ragged. “Go home, Isabella. Before I do something neither of us can take back.”

The door opened. Cold air rushed in. I stumbled out, my legs weak, my heart burning. The car sped away, leaving me trembling on the curb.

I should have felt relief. Instead, I felt hunger.

Velvet. Dark. Endless.

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