Vendetta Of The Heart

Isabella

The night pulsed with the rhythm of whispered deals and clinking glasses, the grand ballroom of the Romano estate filled with men who wore their wealth as armor and women who carried secrets like hidden weapons. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a soft golden glow, illuminating silk gowns, polished shoes, and the kind of smiles that never quite reached the eyes. The annual charity gala was a spectacle of power, a careful dance where alliances were strengthened, and threats were disguised as polite conversation.

I stood near the edge of the room, the delicate stem of a wine glass cool against my fingers, my posture poised yet detached. From here, I could observe everything-the way my father, Alessandro Romano, held court in the center of the room, his booming laughter masking the sharp calculation behind his eyes, the way the men surrounding him leaned in, hungry for his approval. My father had spent decades building an empire carved from blood and fear, and tonight was just another reminder of his dominance.

"Isabella, there you are," my father's voice cut through the crowd, smooth but edged with authority. He beckoned me forward, his sharp gaze appraising me. "You've been hiding all evening."

"I wouldn't call it hiding," I said lightly, moving toward him, careful to keep my expression neutral. "Just observing."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A good habit, but tonight you should be engaging, not watching. There are people you need to meet."

I swallowed the sigh threatening to escape and nodded, following him through the crowd as he introduced me to a series of men I barely recognized-business associates, politicians, and powerful figures whose hands were just as dirty as ours, if not worse.

"This is Isabella, my pride and joy," my father said with a flourish, his hand resting on my shoulder in a possessive grip that reminded me of my place. "Isabella, meet Signor Moretti, a dear friend and ally."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said smoothly, offering a polite smile, though I could feel Moretti's eyes lingering too long on me.

"Ah, Romano blood runs strong," Moretti mused, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "Beauty and intelligence-dangerous qualities in our world, don't you think?"

I forced a smile, used to these kinds of veiled compliments that always carried an undercurrent of something darker. "I suppose that depends on who you ask."

My father chuckled, but his fingers tightened briefly on my shoulder, a silent warning to stay composed. The conversation drifted to business-import deals, territorial disputes, and coded references to more illicit affairs. I nodded where appropriate, my mind half elsewhere, scanning the room for Luca.

He found me first, slipping beside me with his signature smirk, his presence a mix of arrogance and ease. "Enjoying yourself, Bella?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's the same as every year. Lavish, excessive, and painfully dull."

Luca laughed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Always the cynic. Try to have some fun, will you? Tonight's important."

"Every night is important in this world," I muttered, but Luca had already turned his attention to a group of businessmen, leaving me standing alone once more.

I let out a slow breath, trying to shake the feeling of unease that had been settling in my chest all evening. Something felt off-the air was too thick, the conversations too tense. I glanced toward the entrance, where security stood rigid, their gazes scanning the crowd with unusual focus.

And then the lights flickered.

A hush fell over the room, an uneasy murmur spreading like wildfire before the chandeliers cut out entirely, plunging the ballroom into darkness.

For a single heartbeat, silence reigned. Then chaos erupted. Screams shattered the air as glasses crashed to the floor. The rhythmic click of high heels turned frantic, bodies pushing and shoving in the darkness.

"Luca-" My voice barely carried before I felt it-a rough hand clamping around my wrist, yanking me backward with terrifying force.

"Don't fight, princess," a voice murmured near my ear, cold and smooth, laced with dark amusement. "It'll only make things worse for you."

Panic surged through me as I twisted in the iron grip, my heart pounding against my ribs. I turned my head, and even in the dim emergency lighting, I recognized him instantly. Matteo De Luca.

The man I had been warned about my entire life. The enemy my father had spent years plotting against. And now, he was here, his hold on me unyielding, his ice-blue eyes locked onto mine with a dangerous gleam.

I tried to fight, nails digging into his arm, but he only smirked, dragging me effortlessly toward the exit. "You're wasting your energy, Isabella."

"You won't get away with this," I spat, my breath ragged.

Matteo leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "I already have."

Before I could scream, a cloth pressed against my mouth, the sickly sweet scent of chloroform filling my lungs. My vision blurred, and the last thing I saw was Matteo's face-calm, composed, victorious.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

---

Matteo

The Romano estate crumbled into panic behind me as I carried Isabella Romano through the side entrance, my men closing in like shadows, ensuring no interruptions. The night was ours.

She was lighter than I expected, her body limp in my arms, but I knew better than to underestimate her. Even unconscious, Isabella Romano was a threat-sharp, cunning, and bred in the same world of power and deception as I was. She would fight when she woke, and that was fine. I enjoyed a challenge.

"Get the car ready," I ordered, my voice low but firm.

The black SUV idled nearby, and I wasted no time shoving her inside, my gaze lingering on her face for a brief moment. Dark hair spilling over her shoulders, lips slightly parted, breathing steady. She looked delicate, almost innocent. But I knew better.

I settled into the seat beside her, the leather creaking under my weight. My men exchanged silent glances, knowing better than to question me.

"Drive."

As the car sped through the darkened streets of Rome, I allowed myself a moment to savor my victory. Isabella Romano was mine now, a bargaining chip in a game her family had started when they took my brother's life.

But vengeance wasn't the only thing on my mind.

She stirred beside me, her lashes fluttering, and I smiled to myself.

This was just the beginning.