The soft hum of the mansion at night was comforting but deceptively so. Isla sat on the edge of her bed, a warm robe wrapped around her, while the sounds of Amara’s soft breathing from the next room lulled her into a temporary sense of calm. Dante had stepped out to take a call, leaving her to her thoughts.
But her mind was far from restful. The events of the past few days played on repeat in her head-the storm, Vincent’s madness, the fight, and finally, Dante’s unwavering determination to bring them back. Yet, something about the quiet didn’t feel right.
She reached for her phone to distract herself, scrolling through unread messages. One from an unknown number caught her attention. It simply read:
“The storm isn’t over. Watch closely.”
A chill ran down her spine. Her first instinct was to show it to Dante, but she hesitated. He had enough to handle already. Instead, she saved the message and made a mental note to investigate later.
—
Dante’s footsteps echoed softly down the hallway as he returned from his call. His face was tense, his jaw set in a way that told Isla something was wrong. She rose to meet him, her brows furrowed with concern.
“Is everything okay?” she asked softly.
He nodded but didn’t look at her, instead walking to the window and pulling back the curtain to glance outside. “Just business,” he muttered. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Isla stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. “Dante, I know when something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”
He turned to her then, his dark eyes meeting hers, filled with an intensity that made her chest tighten. “Vincent isn’t done. I thought he’d give up after the authorities got involved, but…” He exhaled sharply. “There are whispers of him regrouping. And now my father is more involved than ever.”
“Your father?” Isla’s voice trembled slightly. She remembered the man’s piercing gaze and how he had seemed more like a predator than a father figure.
“Yes.” Dante’s tone was clipped. “He claims he wants to protect us, but I don’t trust his motives. I never have.”
“What does he want now?”
“To meet again. He said he’s bringing ‘reinforcements.'”
Isla’s stomach sank. She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
—
The next morning dawned with a heavy mist that cloaked the mansion grounds. Amara was up early, her laughter echoing through the hallways as she played with one of her dolls. Isla watched her daughter, marveling at how resilient she was despite everything they’d been through.
“Mama!” Amara called, running toward her with open arms. Isla scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Isla asked, smiling down at her.
“I had a dream!” Amara announced. “We were all at the beach, and Daddy was building a sandcastle, and there was a baby!”
Isla blinked, her cheeks warming at the innocence of her daughter’s words. “A baby?” she repeated.
Amara nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! A little brother. Can we have one, Mama?”
Before Isla could respond, Dante appeared in the doorway, his brow arching as he overheard the conversation. “A little brother, huh?” he asked, stepping into the room with a teasing smile.
Amara turned to him with a grin. “Yes, Daddy! Can we?”
Dante chuckled, lifting her from Isla’s arms and spinning her around. “Well, that’s something your mama and I will have to discuss.”
Isla’s face burned as she shot him a look. “Dante!”
“What?” he asked innocently, setting Amara down. “It’s a valid question.”
Amara giggled and ran off to find her doll, leaving Isla and Dante alone. He stepped closer to her, his smile fading slightly as he cupped her face in his hands.
“You know,” he said softly, “the idea doesn’t sound so bad.”
Isla’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. She searched his eyes, seeing not just the man who had fought for her but also the one who wanted to build a future with her.
“Dante…” she began, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted her.
—
Dante’s expression darkened as he moved toward the front door. Isla followed, her unease growing with every step. When Dante opened the door, his father stood on the threshold, flanked by two men in suits.
“Dante,” his father greeted, his tone cold and formal. “May we come in?”
Dante hesitated before stepping aside, allowing them entry. Isla felt her stomach twist as the older man’s eyes landed on her.
“Isla,” he said, his voice like silk. “It’s been a while.”
She forced a polite smile, her hands trembling slightly. “Mr. Montenegro.”
He gave a slight nod before turning back to Dante. “We need to talk. Privately.”
Dante crossed his arms. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Isla.”
His father’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement. “Very well.” He gestured to the two men behind him, who handed him a briefcase. “I’ve come to discuss Vincent.”
At the mention of his name, Isla felt her pulse quicken.
“What about him?” Dante asked, his tone sharp.
“He’s more resourceful than I anticipated,” his father admitted. “He’s made alliances with people who could pose a serious threat to your empire.”
“And you’re here to help out of the goodness of your heart?” Dante asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The older man smirked. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in ensuring our family remains… untouchable.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want in return?”
His father’s gaze shifted to Isla, making her skin crawl. “Only to ensure the safety of my granddaughter. Everything else is negotiable.”
Dante stepped in front of Isla, shielding her from his father’s view. “Leave Isla and Amara out of this. If you want to help, fine. But don’t think for a second I trust you.”
His father chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “Trust is irrelevant, son. Survival is what matters.”
With that, he turned and left, his men following close behind.
—
Later that evening, Isla sat by the fireplace, staring into the flames as she tried to process everything. Dante joined her, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said softly. “I won’t let him drag you into his games.”
“I know,” Isla said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it feels like the walls are closing in.”
Dante reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
Isla turned to him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I believe you.”
Dante leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. For the first time in days, Isla allowed herself to relax, trusting that Dante would keep his promises.
But deep down, a nagging feeling told her that their fight was far from over.