The car ride home was steeped in an unsettling silence. Isla sat beside Dante, her eyes fixed on the passing city lights. Dante’s jaw remained tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel more firmly than necessary. He hadn’t spoken a word since they left Vincent’s party, and the weight of his tension was suffocating.
“Dante,” Isla finally broke the silence, her voice soft yet insistent.
He didn’t look at her, his focus trained on the road. “Not now, Isla.”
Her patience was wearing thin. “If not now, then when? What happened back there with Vincent?”
Dante exhaled sharply, his grip on the wheel tightening. “It’s nothing. Just Vincent trying to stir trouble, as always.”
“Nothing?” Isla scoffed, turning to face him. “It didn’t look like nothing, Dante. He knows something-something you’re not telling me.”
Dante finally glanced at her, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. “I’m handling it, Isla. That’s all you need to know.”
Her chest tightened at his dismissal, but she held her ground. “You can’t keep shutting me out, Dante. We’re supposed to be a team.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t respond. Isla turned away, staring out the window as they pulled into the driveway of the mansion.
—
As they entered the house, the quiet grandeur of the estate felt cold and unwelcoming. Isla headed straight to the nursery, needing the comfort of Amara’s presence to calm her frayed nerves.
Amara was fast asleep in her crib, her small chest rising and falling peacefully. Isla knelt beside her, brushing a gentle hand over her baby’s soft curls.
“She’s your anchor, isn’t she?” Dante’s voice came from the doorway.
Isla didn’t turn to face him. “She’s the only thing that feels steady right now.”
Dante sighed, stepping into the room. He leaned against the crib, his gaze fixed on their daughter. “I didn’t mean to push you away, Isla. But some things… they’re better left unsaid.”
She stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you really believe that? Or is it just easier for you to deal with things alone?”
His silence spoke volumes.
“Dante,” she pressed, her voice trembling. “I heard Vincent at the party, the way he taunted you. He’s not just trying to stir trouble-he has a plan, doesn’t he?”
Dante’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “He’s trying to take everything I’ve built. The business, the power-it’s all a game to him. And if he can hurt me in the process, even better.”
Isla’s heart sank. She’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was a blow. “You can’t fight him alone,” she said firmly.
“I’m not,” Dante said, his voice softer now. “I have people I trust, people who are working behind the scenes. I just didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”
“But I’m already in it,” Isla pointed out. “We both are. And Amara-she’s at the center of everything.”
Dante met her gaze, his expression conflicted. “I know. That’s why I’m doing everything I can to protect both of you.”
—
Later that night, Isla lay awake in bed, her thoughts racing. Dante was still downstairs in his study, likely strategizing his next move against Vincent. The weight of their situation was suffocating, and Isla felt powerless to help.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced-a conversation she’d overheard at the party. Vincent’s smug voice echoed in her mind.
“You can’t protect everything, Dante. Eventually, something will slip through your fingers.”
The words were cryptic, but they carried an ominous undertone. Isla couldn’t shake the feeling that Vincent was planning something far worse than a corporate takeover.
She sat up, her decision made. If Dante wouldn’t share everything with her, she’d have to find out for herself.
—
The next morning, Isla made her way to Dante’s study. She hesitated outside the door, her heart pounding, before finally knocking.
“Come in,” Dante’s voice called from within.
She stepped inside, her gaze immediately drawn to the chaos on his desk-papers, folders, and a laptop displaying spreadsheets and emails. Dante looked up, his expression weary but curious.
“What is it, Isla?”
She closed the door behind her, crossing her arms. “I want to help.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “Help with what?”
“With Vincent. With whatever he’s planning,” she said firmly.
Dante leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Isla, this isn’t your fight.”
“It is if it affects my family,” she countered. “I overheard him at the party, Dante. He’s not just after the business-he’s after you. And I won’t stand by while he tries to tear everything apart.”
Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Maybe not,” Isla admitted. “But I know you can’t do this alone. Let me in, Dante. Let me be part of this.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. But if you’re going to be involved, you need to understand the stakes.”
He reached for a folder on his desk, opening it to reveal a series of documents and photographs. Isla leaned over, her breath catching as she took in the contents.
“This is what we’re up against,” Dante said, his voice grim. “Vincent’s been building alliances with some very dangerous people. If he succeeds, he won’t just take the business-he’ll destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
Isla’s hands trembled as she flipped through the pages. “How long have you known about this?”
“A few months,” Dante admitted. “But it’s only recently that he’s become more aggressive. The party was his way of making a statement-showing me that he’s not afraid to escalate things.”
Isla swallowed hard, her resolve strengthening. “Then we need to be ready.”
—
Over the next few days, Isla threw herself into helping Dante. She reviewed documents, made calls, and even attended a few discreet meetings with his trusted allies. Though the work was daunting, she felt a newfound sense of purpose.
Dante, too, seemed to change. He was still intense and focused, but there was a softness in his demeanor whenever Isla was around. They worked late into the night, often falling asleep side by side in the study.
One evening, as they sat on the couch reviewing plans, Dante reached for her hand.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Isla looked at him, surprised. “For what?”
“For standing by me,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Her heart swelled at his words, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re in this together, Dante. Always.”
For the first time in weeks, Dante smiled-a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. It was a small moment, but it reminded Isla of why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.
—
But their newfound unity was tested when a package arrived at the mansion a few days later. It was addressed to Dante, and the contents were chilling-a photograph of Amara, taken from a distance, accompanied by a single line of text:
“Keep playing, and she pays the price.”
Dante’s face darkened as he read the note, his hands shaking with barely contained rage. Isla felt a surge of panic, her protective instincts kicking in.
“What do we do?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Dante clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “We fight back.”
And though fear gripped her, Isla knew they had no choice. For their daughter, for their family-they had to stand together.