Chapter 2 A Love Written in Blood

Alessandro Salvatore-known also by his family name, De Luca-sat in his office, the weight of his empire pressing heavily on his shoulders. As the head of one of New York's most feared mafia families, he thrived in a world where power dictated survival. There was no room for distractions. And yet, Isabella Rossi was becoming one.

It had started with a dance. A fleeting moment in the club, a game of control between them. She had left him with nothing but a cryptic parting line- Perhaps you will, perhaps you won't. But that wasn't the end of it.

He had seen her again. Their paths had crossed more than once since that night, always unplanned, always charged with an undeniable tension. A carefully arranged 'chance' meeting at an upscale restaurant. A stolen glance at a charity auction. And then, the rooftop terrace.

His sharp gaze drifted from the stack of documents on his desk, but his mind refused to focus. Instead, it wandered to the memory of that night-the way she had felt in his arms, the way she had met his kiss with equal fire. He had been drawn to her against his better judgment, pulled into a fire he knew could consume them both.

"Boss, your meeting starts in ten minutes," Luca, his second-in-command, reminded him, standing by the door.

Alessandro exhaled sharply, pushing away his thoughts. "I'll be there."

But even as he spoke, he knew his mind wasn't on business.

Across town, Isabella sat at her desk at The New York Times, fingers flying over the keyboard. She had thrown herself into her work, determined to distract herself from Alessandro. But it was no use. The more she tried to push him from her mind, the deeper he rooted himself there.

Her phone vibrated. She hesitated before glancing at the screen.

'Can we meet tonight? 8 PM. The usual place.'

Her pulse quickened. She knew she should say no. She should be careful. But the pull was too strong.

'Yes.'

That evening, Isabella stepped into the dimly lit restaurant, the air thick with the scent of wine and spices. She spotted Alessandro at their usual corner table, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Isabella," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, but his eyes betrayed the storm within.

"Alessandro." She slid into the seat across from him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was charged, thick with the weight of unspoken words. Finally, Alessandro leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"I shouldn't be here," he admitted.

"Then why are you?" Isabella asked, her voice softer than she intended.

His jaw clenched. "Because I can't stay away from you."

Her breath caught, but before she could respond, he continued, "My world is dangerous, Isabella. You don't belong in it."

She straightened, meeting his gaze. "I can take care of myself."

Alessandro let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "It's not just about protecting you from enemies. It's about the choices you'd have to make-the things you'd have to sacrifice."

She studied him carefully, her heart hammering. "I know the risks. And I know what I feel. Do you?"

His expression tightened, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then, with a sigh, he reached for her hand across the table, his grip warm and firm. "I do."

The words hung between them, heavy and real.

Over the next few weeks, their secret meetings became more frequent, stolen moments of passion and whispered confessions. Alessandro found himself looking forward to their time together, even as he knew it was reckless.

One evening, as they sat in the quiet seclusion of a park, Alessandro turned to her with a grim expression.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Isabella frowned. "What is it?"

"A rival faction has been moving against us," he said, his voice low. "They're pushing into our territory, testing our limits."

Her stomach tightened. "How serious is it?"

"Serious enough." His jaw tightened. "I have a feeling it's going to escalate."

She reached for his hand instinctively. "What can I do?"

Alessandro shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You're already doing enough just by being here." Then his tone hardened. "But I need you to be careful. Stay away from certain areas. Keep a low profile. If anything happens to you because of me..."

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Isabella said firmly.

His fingers tightened around hers. "Promise me."

"I promise," she whispered.

Alessandro studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Good."

But danger had a way of finding its way in.

Tensions exploded a week later. Alessandro's men were ambushed-an attack so brutal it left several of his people injured. It was a declaration of war. Retaliation was inevitable.

As he prepared for battle, Luca stood beside him, watching carefully. "Are you sure about this?"

"I don't have a choice," Alessandro said, his voice hard as steel. "If I don't act, they'll see it as weakness. And weakness gets you killed."

Luca hesitated before nodding. "Just... be careful, Boss. You've got more to lose now."

Alessandro didn't respond, but as he loaded his gun, his mind drifted to Isabella.

He had too much to lose.

The fight had been bloody, ruthless. Alessandro had led his men with unshakable precision, ensuring their enemies understood the full force of his wrath. By the time the dust settled, the message had been delivered in blood and destruction. But even as he stood victorious, the cost clawed at him-a silent warning that this war was far from over.

Hours later, he stepped into his penthouse, his body aching from the night's violence. His shirt clung to him, streaked with sweat and remnants of battle, and his knuckles were raw. He was used to this, to coming home like this. But tonight, something was different.

Because Isabella was waiting.

The moment she saw him, her face paled, her breath hitching. "Alessandro."

She rushed toward him, her hands hovering over his chest as if afraid to touch him. Her eyes swept over him, searching for wounds he hadn't even registered. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he said, but the words felt hollow.

Isabella didn't believe him. He could see it in the way her lips trembled, in the way she swallowed hard like she was trying to hold back fear. Then, slowly, she reached up, her fingertips grazing his jaw before cupping his face. Her touch was warm-too gentle for a man like him.

"I was so scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Something twisted inside him. He had seen fear before-on the faces of his enemies, on the faces of men who knew their time had come. But this? This wasn't fear of him. It was fear for him. And that unsettled him more than anything else.

He exhaled, closing his hands around her waist and pulling her into him. "I'll keep you safe," he murmured against her hair. "I swear it."

Her arms tightened around him, as if she could shield him from the life he had built. "Just... promise me you'll stay safe too."

For a long moment, he didn't answer. Could he make that promise? Could he lie to her just to ease the worry in her voice?

Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. "I'll do my best."

She pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. And in that moment, as her fingers traced the line of his jaw, something terrifying settled deep in his chest.

Loving her wasn't just dangerous.

It was inevitable.

And fate had a cruel way of testing even the strongest vows.