The rain had stopped by morning, but the air in Verona was thick with tension.

I was shaken awake by one of my father’s men. "Miss Rossi, your father wants you at the family headquarters. Immediately."

I glanced at the clock. Six in the morning.

Twenty minutes later, I stood before the heavy oak doors of the Rossi family boardroom. I could hear the low rumble of male voices, thick with the smell of cigar smoke.

"Isabella, come in," my father called.

I pushed the door open and saw them. People who should not have been in this room together. The entire Moretti inner circle, including Dante.

The two Dons sat at opposite ends of a long table, flanked by their most trusted men. A scene that hadn't happened in five years.

"Sit." My father gestured to the empty chair beside him.

Dante sat across from me. He wore a dark grey, impeccably tailored suit, his hair perfectly combed. The wild man on my balcony last night might as well have been a ghost.

Our eyes met for a second before we both looked away.

"Isabella," Marco Moretti, Dante's grandfather and the Moretti Don, spoke first. "What happened yesterday has cost both our families a great deal."

"The markets are already reacting," my father added. "Our joint ventures are on hold. Our partners aregetting nervous."

I looked at the reports and newspaper clippings spread across the table. The headlines were all about the scene at the cathedral.

"I take responsibility for my actions," I said calmly. "But I won't apologize for my decision."

Don Marco's gaze sharpened. "Do you have any idea what that means?"

"It means I chose the truth over a lie."

Dante finally spoke. "Isabella, can we talk? In private?"

"There's nothing to discuss." I turned to the two Dons. "Gentlemen, if this meeting is just to make me change my mind, then it's over."

The air in the room turned to ice.

Don Marco slowly got to his feet and walked over to me. He was in his seventies, but his eyes were still like a hawk's.

"Little girl, do you know how our families ended our feud fifty years ago?"

I said nothing.

"Blood. A lot of it," he said, his voice low. "Your father's brother. My eldest son. Countless others. We kept killing until we both realized hate only breeds more hate."

"So you decided to use my marriage to Dante to keep the peace?" I stood up, meeting his gaze. "To use us as political pawns?"

"No," Dante cut in suddenly, his voice holding a tremor I'd never heard before. "Not pawns. Not for me."

I turned on him. "Then what? A duty? An obligation? Or was it penance for what happened to Clara?"

The room fell silent. Everyone knew that name.

Dante's face went pale. "Isabella, please don't—"

"Don't what? Don't bring up the ghost in your heart?" I sneered. "Five years ago, she wore your custom jacket, my limited-edition Cartier bracelet, and paraded around that street race. 'Dante had this Ducati made just for me,' she’d bragged. 'He says Isa is just a placeholder.'"

Dante shot to his feet. "She never said that!"

"But she wore your jacket. She wore my bracelet. She rode your bike," I shot back, closing the distance between us. "She flaunted your 'special' relationship in my face. And you? You just stood there and watched."

"Because I didn't want to hurt her!" Dante yelled, losing his composure. "She'd just lost her father, I couldn't—"

"But you could hurt me," I said. My voice was a whisper, but every word landed like a blow. "Because I was just your fiancée. But she... she's the girl who saved your life."

Don Marco slammed his hand on the table. "Enough!"

Silence again.

"Now," Marco said, returning to his seat, "we find a solution. Dante, you have one month to fix this mess. If you two are not remarried in one month, all alliance pacts are void."

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the men from both families.

"And the truce is over."

After the meeting, I walked to the parking garage alone. The autumn morning was cool, and I pulled my coat tighter.

"Isabella, wait."

It was Dante's voice.

I didn't turn around. "Is there anything left to say?"

"Give me some time." He came to stand in front of me, his eyes pleading. "One month. Let me handle everything."

"What 'everything'?"

He was quiet for a long time. "Clara. I need... to settle things. For good."

I looked at him, a storm of emotions churning inside me. Anger, disappointment, and a sliver of hope I hated myself for feeling.

"Where is she?"

"New York."

"So you're going to bring her back?"

"I'm going to get closure." He reached out as if to touch my face, but stopped his hand mid-air. "Sending her away five years ago was the right move, but the way I did it hurt you. I'm going to New York to tell her, face to face, that you are the only one for me."

"And then?"

"And then I'll come back and propose to you again. Not for the families, not for duty, but because..." He hesitated. "Because my life has no meaning without you."

I searched his eyes, looking for the truth, for a lie. All I saw was exhaustion and something close to desperation.

"Isabella, please. Give me this chance."

I didn't answer. I just turned and walked away.

Back home, the world started to spin. "Miss, you look pale," our housekeeper, Mrs. Romano, said with concern.

"I'm just tired."

But as I reached the second-floor landing, the room tilted. The last thing I remembered was collapsing on the stairs and Mrs. Romano's terrified scream.

A high fever. I was in and out of consciousness.

In the fog, I heard my father talking to Dr. Martinez.

"Physically, she's fine. It's stress and emotional strain."

"She's always been too sensitive," my father's voice was heavy with guilt. "That business with Clara five years ago... I should have put a stop to it."

"Eduardo, you can't blame Dante. The girl saved his life. It's understandable he feels a certain... obligation to her."

"Understandable? My daughter turned down Harvard Medical School for him. Turned down a London art institute. She stayed home to be a pawn in a family alliance. And for what?"

"It's too late for that. What matters now is what Dante chooses to do."

I wanted to open my eyes, to speak, but my body wouldn't obey.

In the haze, I was back in that hot summer night five years ago.

Clara, standing by her red Ducati, wearing Dante's black leather jacket, my Cartier bracelet glinting under the streetlights.

"Dante had this Ducati custom-made just for me," she told the crowd, her voice dripping with triumph. "He said no one deserved it more."

Then she looked at me, her eyes filled with a sick, taunting excitement.

"Not even his fiancée."

I woke up with a start, my nightgown soaked in cold sweat.

It was the middle of the night. I was alone. On my nightstand was a glass of water, some pills, and a note.

Isabella,

I'm flying to New York tomorrow. Give me one month.

—D

I crumpled the note in my fist.

One month.

Long enough for a woman to see a man's true heart.

And long enough for a man to lose a woman's trust for good.

The fever lasted three days.

On the fourth morning, my brother, Luca, came into my room. His expression was grim.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting on the edge of my bed with a file in his hand.

"Better." I struggled to sit up. "You look like you have bad news."

Luca was quiet for a moment. "Dante sent his men to Chicago."

"Chicago?" I frowned. "I thought he went to New York."

"Clara's not in New York. She vanished three years ago, no one knew where." Luca handed me the file. "Until yesterday. A PI found a trail in Chicago."

I opened the file. It was full of grainy photos and reports. The woman in the pictures was skeletal, but I could still see it was Clara.

"What... what happened to her?"

"Married some low-life gangster. He was killed over a gambling debt. She got hunted by loan sharks, ended up working in a strip club, and got hooked on drugs." Luca's voice was low. "Isabella... Dante thinks our family did this."

"What?"

"He thinks you had our people ruin her life out of jealousy."

I looked at Luca in disbelief. "Is he insane? I didn't even know where she was!"

"But the timeline fits," Luca said grimly. "Clara's life went to hell three years ago. Right when you turned eighteen and started taking on some family responsibilities."

A wave of dizziness washed over me, but this time it was from pure rage.

"So he thinks I'm some vindictive monster who would destroy a woman's life out of jealousy?"

Before Luca could answer, the door was thrown open.

Dante stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing. His clothes were rumpled; he clearly hadn't slept.

"Isabella Rossi." His voice was a low growl. "We need to talk."

Luca shot to his feet. "Dante, she's still sick—"

"Get out." Dante didn't even look at my brother. His gaze was locked on me. "Now."

"Luca, it's okay. You can go," I said, my voice steady. "I want to hear what Mr. Moretti has to say."

Luca gave me a worried look but left the room. I knew he was right outside the door.

Dante strode to my bed and pulled a stack of photos from his pocket, throwing them on the covers.

"Look at what you did!"

I picked them up. Each one was a chronicle of Clara's fall from grace: from a pretty girl to a gaunt dancer, to a hollow-eyed addict.

"This is your masterpiece, isn't it, Isabella?" Dante's voice trembled with rage. "You were jealous, so you destroyed her. You used your family's resources to push her into the abyss, step by step!"

I looked at him, a coldness I'd never felt before creeping into my heart.

"You think I did this?"

"Who else could it be?!" he roared. "Clara had everything when she left Verona! Money, an education—she could have had a good life! But someone kept sabotaging her in the shadows—got her kicked out of college, got her fired, set her up with that goddamn low-life husband!"

"So you just decided it was me?" My voice was dangerously quiet. "No investigation, no proof. You just decided?"

"What more proof do I need?!" He lunged forward, bracing his hands on either side of me on the bed. "You've been jealous of her for five years! Jealous of her place in my heart!"

"Yes, I was jealous of her," I said, meeting his eyes without flinching. "I was jealous of the attention you gave her, jealous she could wear your clothes, jealous of the special place she held for you. But Dante, I never, ever wanted to hurt her."

"Liar!" He was completely unhinged. "You vicious bitch! You ruined her life! Clara never hurt anyone, she was kind, innocent—"

"Enough!" I snapped. "Kind? Innocent? The woman who humiliated me in front of the entire city was kind?!"

"She was young! She didn't know what she was doing!"

"She was twenty years old! She knew exactly what she was doing!" I pushed myself up. "And you? You saw her humiliating me, and you did nothing, because in your heart, she was more important!"

"Yes! She was more important!" Dante screamed, his face contorted. "She saved my life! I'd be dead if it wasn't for her! And you—you were just the woman I was supposed to marry for the good of the family!"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"So," my voice started to shake, "you think I would ruin her life out of jealousy? In your eyes, I'm just a vicious, ruthless monster who will stop at nothing to get what she wants?"

"Aren't you?!" Dante had lost all reason. "Every one of you Rossis is cold-blooded. You were raised to be the perfect Mafia princess—elegant on the outside, poison on the inside!"

"Dante Moretti!" I was shaking with fury now. "Get the hell out of my house!"

"I'm not leaving!" He suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Tell me you did it! Admit it!"

"Let go of me!"

"Admit it!" His grip tightened. "You destroyed Clara, didn't you?!"

The rage and humiliation boiled over. "So what if I did?!"

His eyes turned blood-red.

"You evil bitch."

His hand shot from my wrist to my throat, and he squeezed.

"I'll kill you for what you did to her!"

I clawed at his hands, but my body was weak from the fever. My vision started to blur, the air cut off.

Just as I thought I was going to die, the door burst open.

"Let her go!" Luca bellowed.

There was a blur of motion, and Dante was thrown off me. I gasped for air, my hand flying to my bruised neck.

Luca stood over me, murder in his eyes. "Dante Moretti, have you lost your mind?!"

Dante stood there, staring at his own hands as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"I... I didn't mean to..."

"Get out!" Luca roared. "Get out of my house, now!"

Dante looked at me, his eyes a storm of regret, pain, and simmering rage.

"Isabella, this isn't over," he said, his voice a low, demonic curse. "You destroyed her life. I will never forgive you."

He turned to leave, then looked back one last time, his gaze as cold as a winter wind.

"From this moment on, I declare war on the House of Rossi."

He stormed out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

I sat on the bed, my hand still on my aching throat as silent tears streamed down my face.

Not from the pain.

From a completely shattered heart.

Luca sat beside me, gently rubbing my back. "Isabella, it's over."

"Luca," my voice was a hoarse whisper, "I really didn't do it. The thing with Clara."

"I know."

"He doesn't believe me."

"He's blinded by rage right now. When he calms down—"

"No," I shook my head. "He'll never believe me. In his mind, I'll always be the jealous monster who ruined an innocent woman's life."

I looked out the window. The Verona sun was shining, but my world had gone completely dark.

"Maybe it's for the best," I whispered. "At least now, neither of us has to pretend anymore."

Luca looked at me, worried. "Isabella, what are you going to do?"

I didn't answer. I just watched the clouds drift by.

Some things, once broken, can never be fixed.

Like Dante's trust in me.

And my love for him.

From that day on, Dante Moretti and I were enemies.

Three days later, all of Verona was talking about one thing: Dante Moretti had personally flown to Chicago and brought Clara back.

I stood at my window and watched a luxury sedan glide past on the street below. Through the tinted glass, I could just make out Clara’s profile. She wore expensive pearls and a custom silk dress, as if the gaunt woman in the photos had never existed.

"Miss, your father will see you now," the maid said softly from the doorway.

I turned and walked toward my father's study. The family portraits lining the hall seemed to judge me with their silent eyes. Isabella Rossi, the daughter who brought disaster to the family.

"Sit," my father, Lorenzo, said without looking up from his papers.

I sat obediently, bracing for the lecture.

"The Morettis have pulled out of all our joint projects," he finally said, his sharp gaze pinning me to my seat. "They're reopening bids for the port contracts. The construction deals are terminated. Yesterday, their men blocked our land acquisition in the South District."

Every word was a hammer blow.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"Sorry?" Lorenzo sneered. "Do you know what this means, Isabella? This war between our families is a sign of weakness. The other players will see an opportunity. They'll start testing us."

"I know," I whispered.

"And that Dante boy is treating Clara like a damn queen." Lorenzo got up and paced to the window. "He took her to Bulgari yesterday and ordered a half-million-dollar jewelry set. Today they're in Milan, getting her fitted for a wedding dress."

A wedding dress.

The words stabbed me in the heart.

"The whole city is talking. Clara Benedetti is about to become the next Mrs. Moretti," Lorenzo turned to face me. "And my daughter has become the laughingstock of Verona."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting back tears.

"The question now," Lorenzo said, sitting back down, "is how we handle this."

"Father, if you think this is my fault—"

"Of course it's your fault!" he slammed his hand on the desk. "If you had just married Dante, our families would be an unstoppable force! But you—"

"Father," Luca's voice came from the doorway. "We have a guest."

"What guest?"

"Julian Torrino."

My father and I both froze. The Torrino family, along with the Rossis and Morettis, had long been the three pillars of power in Verona. But Julian Torrino was known for his cool, calculated approach; he rarely involved himself in the affairs of other families.

"Send him in," Lorenzo said, straightening his collar.

When Julian walked in, I had to admit he was striking. At twenty-nine, he had the classic handsome features of an Italian man, but it was the aura of calm, elegant power that was most impressive.

"Lorenzo," Julian nodded, then his eyes found mine. "Isabella."

"Julian," my father said, gesturing for him to sit. "What an unexpected surprise."

"I think you know," Julian said with a slight smile. "All of Verona knows about the… disagreement between the Rossi and Moretti families."

"Disagreement?" Lorenzo gave a bitter laugh. "This is a declaration of war."

"Indeed," Julian agreed. "Which is why I'm here to offer a solution."

He turned to me, his gaze warm and direct. "Isabella, I'm asking for your hand in marriage."

I almost jumped out of my chair. "What?!"

"I know this is sudden," Julian said, rising and coming to stand before me, "but hear me out. The Torrino family is prepared to form an alliance with the Rossis. My power, combined with yours, will be more than enough to stabilize your family's position during this… transition."

"Julian," my father frowned, "this is not a game."

"I never play games with marriage," Julian said, his voice serious. "In fact, I've had my eye on Isabella for a long time."

"On me?" I asked, confused.

"Five years ago. That street race," a flicker of a memory warmed his eyes. "I saw a fiery, beautiful girl in a red Ferrari, driving without a trace of fear. You made an impression on me then."

I tried to remember that night, but everything was a blur of Clara's taunts and Dante's cold shoulder.

"I've watched you from afar all these years," Julian continued. "Your intelligence, your courage, your beauty… I find myself completely captivated. I was waiting for the right moment to approach you, but the current situation has forced my hand."

"Julian," I stood up, "I appreciate the sentiment, but—"

"Isabella, let him finish," my father said, a new urgency in his voice.

Julian gently took my hand. "I know your heart is in turmoil right now. But I want you to know my feelings are genuine. This isn't just about an alliance. It's about me wanting to protect you. To take care of you."

His hand was warm, his gaze sincere. This didn't feel like an act.

"Do you think… I'm worthy of you?" I asked with a bitter smile. "The whole city thinks I'm…"

"In my eyes, you are perfect," Julian said without hesitation. "As for the gossip, time will reveal the truth."

I looked at him, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of warmth. After the war with Dante began, the whole world had felt hostile. But Julian's gaze was so steady, so sure, it made me want to believe that someone, somewhere, could actually trust me.

"Isabella," my father said, "this is an excellent opportunity."

I knew he wasn't just talking about my happiness. He was talking about the survival of our family. An alliance with the Torrinos would be our salvation.

"I… I need time to think."

"Of course." Julian released my hand. "But I want you to know, whatever you decide, I will respect it. And if you give me a chance, I will spend my life proving my sincerity."

He turned to my father. "Lorenzo, if Isabella agrees, we can begin preparations at once. Given the circumstances, I suggest we hold the wedding within the month."

One month.

The same deadline Dante had asked for.

"I'll do it."