Chapter 2 - The Cold Exit|
The rain hit Isabella’s face the moment she pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Moretti mansion.
"Isabella! Wait!"
Dante’s voice cut through the sound of falling water, but she didn't slow down. Her heels clicked sharply against the wet stone driveway. She had walked these steps a hundred times as his bride-to-be, but tonight every lantern along the manicured drive felt like a spotlight on an accused criminal.
He caught her arm near the iron fountain. His grip was firm, warm, and entirely familiar—yet it made her stomach turn.
"Let go of me, Dante," she said, her voice dropping into an icy register he had never heard from her before.
"You're acting impulsively," he said, pulling her back slightly from the downpour. "I told you I know you didn't steal it. But I rule a family that survives on absolute order. If I cleared you without showing the process, my captains would call it weakness."
Isabella pulled her arm free with a sharp jerk. "Your captains? I am not one of your soldiers, Dante! I was supposed to be your wife!"
"And you still are!"
"A wife isn't put on trial in front of a dining room full of vultures just so her husband can maintain his political standing!" She wiped rain from her forehead, her eyes burning with pure betrayal. "You let Carlo turn me into a scapegoat within ten seconds."
Dante’s eyes narrowed in the dark. "Carlo was defending the procedure."
"Carlo framed me, you blind fool," Isabella spat softly.
Dante went rigid. "Carlo has been my right hand since we were boys. He has no reason to touch my aunt's jewelry."
Isabella let out a harsh, humorless laugh that vanished into the rain. "You really don't see it, do you? He didn't want the necklace, Dante. He wanted the ring off my finger. And you helped him take it off."
Before Dante could answer, Marco ran down the stone steps holding a black umbrella, a radio buzzing on his shoulder.
"Boss," Marco said, his face grim. "Your mother wants everyone back inside. Uncle Sal just arrived from Chicago."
Dante looked at Marco, then back at Isabella. "Get in my car. We’re going home to my apartment in the city, and we'll talk about this without my family breathing down our necks."
Isabella looked at the silver engagement ring she had left on the mahogany table inside.
"I am going home, Dante," she said quietly. "To my apartment. Alone."
"Isabella—"
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"If you follow me tonight," she whispered, stepping backward into the downpour, "I will call the police. And we both know how much the Moretti family hates police at their front door."
Dante froze. For the first time in his thirty-four years, the most feared man in the city watched a woman walk away from him, completely unable to stop her.
