Bella’s POV

The moment I followed my brother into that warehouse, my entire body trembled.

This was where I’d been tortured. Where I’d died.

Matteo walked in slowly, eyes scanning the space. The Moretti were nowhere in sight. Maybe Victoria had warned them—given them just enough time to run before Matteo arrived.

It didn’t take long for Matteo to find the room.

The room where they’d kept me.

Blood was everywhere—splattered across the floor and walls. The chair I’d been tied to was stained with things I didn’t want to name. The smell alone made Lorenzo gag.

Even Matteo recoiled.

I stood there, frozen, staring at that chair.

And the memories came rushing back.

I’d arrived at the address the Moretti gave me, expecting a tense negotiation. A confrontation over the contract, maybe.

Instead—I blacked out.

When I woke, I was already here.

Back then, I still believed the Moretti were simply mad at me for that contract. About business.

But it was never about the contract.

They were mad at the DeLucas.

Turns out, the Moretti were the same family our parents had been meeting when they were killed.

“If it wasn’t for your stupid father, the FBI wouldn’t have started sniffing around our family,” a man growled, the one with deep scars on his face. He spat at me. “Do you even understand how long we’ve been running?”

Gang wars weren’t new. Crossfire happened. It was the cost of the life we lived.

But federal attention? That was the death sentence no one wanted.

Because of the chaos that day, the FBI targeted the Moretti—relentlessly. Years of investigations, trials, attempted takedowns.

“All because of your father,” he hissed. “He brought hell to our door.”

“My father died,” I shot back. “It was one of your men who pulled the trigger first. How is any of this his fault?”

The man looked at me, his face unreadable.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he said. “Your father’s right-hand man—Victoria’s father—had already agreed to the deal before the meeting. If your father hadn’t changed his mind last minute, none of it would’ve happened.”

He stepped closer.

“So yeah. I blame your father. For the blood, the fallout, and everything that happened to my family.” He yanked my hair, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And you don’t get to walk away clean. I know you whispered something to your dad before that meeting. So yeah—you get some of the blame too.”

I overheard Marco—Victoria’s father—whispering to the Moretti Don before the meeting.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. Just mentioned it to my father in passing.

Then everything unraveled—shouting, drawn guns, shots fired.

And then...My parents were dead. So was Victoria’s father.

“It wasn’t like that…” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the chair. “I just mentioned something I overheard. I didn’t mean—”

The man with the scarred face strode over and struck me hard across the face.

“I know exactly what you told your father,” he snapped. “You said his right-hand man betrayed him. That our contract was a setup. If you hadn’t planted that idea in his head, the deal would’ve been signed.”

He leaned in close.

“And you’re still telling me you don’t bear responsibility for what happened?”

After that, everything blurred.

Not because I forgot—but because some part of me refused to remember all of it at once.

They questioned me about the DeLuca business secrets, who we worked with, where did we get our products from. Of course, I remained silent the entire time.

Soon, the Moretti lost all their patience. They shattered my ankle and wrist with a baseball bat. Then they hit my stomach until I couldn’t breathe.

Through the haze, I remembered hearing the Moretti mention Victoria’s name during a phone call—thanking her. Saying they never would’ve gotten to me so easily without her help.

Victoria sounded she didn’t just hate me. She hated both Matteo and me.

She’d driven a wedge between us—not only because she blamed me for her father’s death, but because keeping us divided gave her control. She needed Matteo close. She needed me isolated.

Bella’s POV

A loud bang snapped me back to the present.

Matteo was searching the room now, scanning every corner for proof that I’d been here.

He accidentally kicked over the chair.

I stared at that chair. At the claw marks gouged into the wood.

I’d been in agony. But I’d held on—so long that even they’d seemed surprised.

The scarred man shoved a phone into my hand at the end.

“I’ll give you this,” he said. “You’re tough. Call your brother. Convince him to meet with us, and I’ll let you live.”

I dialed Matteo’s number.

I never planned to tell him to come. I just wanted to tell him the truth. To give him something—anything—to understand what had really happened.

I didn’t get the chance.

“Don’t call me unless it’s necessary,” Matteo snapped. “And don’t tell me you’ve screwed up another deal. Honestly, Bella—when will you grow up and take responsibility?”

I felt my strength drain away with those words.

“Don’t call me until you fix what you’d done wrong.”

The line went dead.

The scarred man laughed softly, almost pitying. “Damn. Your brother’s cold.”

He stepped closer.

“Guess you’re useless to us now.”

He raised the gun and pointed it at me.

“Let’s just hope you’re worth something after you’re dead.”

…

“Don, we’ve searched everywhere,” Lorenzo said, stepping up beside Matteo. “Looks like the Moretti cleaned out the place after they killed that woman.”

He held something small in his hand.

“All we found was this—caught under the chair.”

A torn shred of fabric.

Floral.

Matteo froze the second he saw it.

His eyes locked on the pattern. Recognition flickered. I could almost feel him remembering—

the dress.

The one he’d given me. Before everything went wrong.

He stared at it for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Hollow.

“This… this can’t be it.”

He looked away.

“It must be a coincidence.”

…

It wasn’t long after Matteo and Lorenzo returned to the casino that the forensic came back with the results.

“Don…” He couldn’t even bring himself to look Matteo in the eye. “That body...It's Bella DeLuca. I ran multiple tests. They all confirm the same result.”

Matteo looked shattered.

Finally, I saw it—the crack in him.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No. That’s not real.”

I drifted closer, reaching for him even though I knew he couldn’t feel it. “It’s true, Matteo. I’m dead.”

Relief tangled with anger and guilt.

Part of me felt awful that even in death, all I’d done was bring Matteo more trouble. And part of me burned with the question—why couldn’t Matteo trust me? Not even once.

If he had… maybe things wouldn’t have ended like this.

“No,” Matteo shouted suddenly. “Take me to the body. I need to see it myself.”

“Don,” the forensic said carefully, “the body decomposed quickly. It was really hard to recognize just by looking at it. But I can assure you—the DNA results are conclusive.”

Matteo sank back into his chair.

I hadn’t expected this. The grief on his face was raw, devastating. I’d thought brother no longer cared about me.

“Bella…” he whispered.

“Yes, Matteo,” I answered, though he couldn’t hear me.

“I was angry,” he said, voice breaking. “But I couldn’t lose you. You’re the only family I have left in this world.”

Tears slipped down his face.

“Bella, please… you can’t do this to me. I was wrong. I was wrong.”

I pressed my hand to his cheek, wishing—aching—for him to feel it.

If only you’d admit you cared about me while I was alive.

If only I could’ve heard it then.

But nothing could go back to how it was.

The brother who loved me was finally back—and I was too dead to ever hold him again.