The Caruso estate was wrapped in an eerie hush, the kind that settles in the aftermath of a storm but buzzes with the anticipation of the next wave. Moonlight fell in streams through the thick drapes of Isla's bedroom, casting silver patterns across the marble floor. The far-away chirping of crickets accompanied her restless thoughts.
Isla sat on the edge of her bed wearing the emerald gown she'd worn to that night's engagement celebration. Now it was constrictive fabric, a sign of all that was expected of her. Her sleeve, embroidered in delicate ease, kept her fingers occupied absentmindedly, her mind still replaying the events of the night.
Her father's toast had felt warm, but his eyes lingered on a shadow she couldn't shake. A traitor in their midst, someone close — the sound of Dario's whispered conversation with her father rang in her ears. The gravity of their words hung heavy on her breast.
She picked up her phone from the bedside table, the screen lighting up her anxious face. No messages. No calls. Matteo's silence weighed on her. He'd assured her he would keep in touch, particularly given the undercurrents of danger swirling around them.
A quick check of the clock revealed it was well past midnight. The estate's residents would be in their beds, or at least tucked away in their quarters. As the decision crystallized, Isla stood, shedding her gown and putting on a simple black outfit. She put on soft-soled shoes to muffle her footsteps.
She threw a dark cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood up to hide her distinctive auburn hair. She crossed to the window, looking out into the night. The gardens lay beneath her, a maze of hedges and fountains silvery in moonlight.
She knew the guards' patrol rhythms by heart. Years of careful observation and youthful escapades had made her skilled at avoiding detection on the estate. Waiting for the perfect moment, she slipped out of her room, the door closing like a whisper.
The corridor was dim, antique sconces creating clawlike shadows. Isla squeezed herself into the corner of the room, straining to hear. I heard footsteps coming closer slowly but surely. She recognized the cadence — Marco, a senior guard. He was unvaried, a creature of habit.
As his footsteps faded down the nearby hall, Isla took her chance. She moved fast, her steps swallowed up by the thick carpet. She reached the servants' staircase, and descended quickly, footfalls soft and silent.
The kitchen was empty, the warmth of baked bread and herbs a welcome distraction from her distress. Instead of using the main exit, she passed through a side door that opened onto the herb garden. She cracked the door open, it creaked slightly, and she stopped, heart racing, listening for anything to alert them.
There was no response, and she stepped out into the cool night air. As she walked the familiar path through the gardens, the aromatic scent of rosemary and lavender filled the air. The statues appeared to watch her, the moon's glow catching the light in their marble eyes.
When she reached the perimeter wall, she examined the ivy-covered exterior. Memories of early ascents rushed back to her — the races against Matteo to see who could be the first to reach the summit. The bittersweet smile crossed her lips at the thought.
She tightened her grip on the thick vines and climbed. Her palms scraped against the coarse texture of the wall, but she embraced it—it centered her, made her remember what she was trying to accomplish. On reaching the top she stooped low and surveyed the alley below.
He was half hidden in the stones of the ruined chapel. My friends used to meet behind the church where they talked about their master's in this once-grand structure that was no longer, but the sacredness of that holy spot gave them a sense of being safe.
Her feet hit the cobblestone path, light and soft. Matteo turned at the sound; his eyes met hers. A look of relief flashed across his face before concern took its place.
"You shouldn't have come," he said softly as he closed the distance between them.
"You didn't give me much choice," she said, her tone frustrated. "Your silence was deafening."
He let out a sigh, pushing a hand through the boy of his hair. "Things are… complicated."
Isla folded her arms, unblinking. "They always are with us. But that does not mean you shut me out."
Matteo reached to touch her cheek. "I'm trying to protect you."
She leaned into him, the heat radiating from his body breaking the chill that had been seeping into her bones. "By keeping me in the dark? That just leaves me more vulnerable."
His eyes were conflicted, he hesitated. "There's been a breach. News of the engagement leaked. We suspect someone close."
Isla's breath caught. "My father said there's a traitor. Dario too. Do you think it's someone in my family?"
"We don't know for sure," Matteo confessed. "But the timing is all too precise to be merely coincidental."
She took a step back, processing his words. It was the weight of betrayal, of danger yet to be seen. "So what do we do?"
"We have to wait on the public announcement," he said. "Until we know the cause of the leak and remove the threat."
The thought broke Ilsa's heart. They had waited so long for this union, for the promise of a common future. Delaying it would be to capitulate to their foes.
Matteo moved closer, sensing her turmoil, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I understand this isn't how we pictured it. "But your safety is most important."
She scanned his face, taking comfort in the weight of his concern. "And what about you? You're just as much of a target."
A wry smile touched his lips. "I have my own precautions. But knowing that you're safe gives me strength."
The vulnerability in his admission melted her last resistance. She reached up, cradling his face. "We'll get through this. Together."
As their lips touched in a gentle kiss, vows went unspoken, souls binding together brought by fate and choice. And all else around them drowned with it, nothing exists but the beat of their hearts.
Then a sudden vibration broke the spell. Isla's phone vibrated insistently in her pocket. She fell back, withdrawing the device. A message from Dario appeared in the screen.
"Leave now. Come home. Don't trust anyone."
Her blood ran cold. She gave Matteo a glimpse of the message, and his face darkened instantly.
Before they could react further, the phone buzzed again — a call from her father's private line. Isla replied, holding the device to her ear.
"Papa?" she whispered.
A woman's panicked voice replied, "Miss Isla, it's Chiara. They're inside. You must run!"
The line went dead.
Isla gasped in horror. "Matteo, they are inside the estate."
Without a second thought, Matteo took her hand. "We need to move. Now."
They raced over narrow side streets, sirens blaring in the distance. Smoke started to waft against the night sky, a foreboding black sign of the chaos that was unfolding.
Turning a corner, a black SUV skidded to a stop in front of them. The tinted glass slid down to reveal a masked man with a gun pointed right toward them.
"Get in," the figure said, its voice cold and emotionless.
Isla's hold on Matteo tightened, her heart racing. Trapped