Chapter 3 Bruised Heart and Bloodline

The villa didn't sleep.

Even after midnight, low murmurs traveled through the halls-guards switching shifts, encrypted phone calls in hushed Italian, footsteps that vanished before they reached her door. Isadora sat on the edge of her bed, legs tucked under her, staring at the flickering candle she'd lit on the nightstand.

She couldn't rest.

Luciano's voice echoed in her skull like a ghost that wouldn't let go.

"Because if you stay in the world your father built, you'll die."

The words clung to her ribcage, clawing at everything she believed.

And now, she had questions that only one man could answer.

She found him in the study.

Dim lighting, whiskey in hand, sleeves rolled up, tie gone. He looked more human like this-less myth, more man-but no less dangerous.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked without looking up.

She stepped inside. "Neither could you."

Luciano glanced at her over the rim of his glass. "Most people knock."

"I'm not most people." She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Tell me the truth. About my father. About the attacks."

He didn't flinch. "You sure you want it?"

"I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't."

Luciano took a long sip of whiskey, then set the glass down with a quiet clink. He stood and walked over to a locked drawer in the desk. With a small silver key around his neck, he opened it.

When he turned, he handed her a manila folder.

Isadora opened it with trembling fingers. Photographs. Surveillance. Bank statements. Handwritten notes in red ink. It wasn't just a file.

It was a confession.

Her father's secret accounts. Payments to a private security firm with known links to an international hit squad. Recorded phone conversations with a man known only by the alias Crow. One line, transcribed and underlined in red:

"Make it look like an accident. If she dies, I need it clean."

Isadora's vision blurred.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No. This can't be real."

Luciano stepped closer. "He wasn't just protecting his campaign, Isadora. He was cleaning it."

Her knees buckled. She sank into the nearby chair, folder still in her hands.

"My own father..." Her voice cracked. "He ordered it. He ordered me gone."

Luciano crouched in front of her, his voice lower now, gentler. "I know what it feels like. When the person who's supposed to protect you is the one who breaks you."

Her eyes met his. For once, there was no ice. Just shared pain.

"Who broke you?" she asked, breathless.

Luciano hesitated. The silence between them held the weight of years.

"My brother," he finally said. "He sold me out to our enemies. Left me for dead in Naples." His voice was hollow. "The only reason I'm still breathing is because I stopped trusting anyone."

Their eyes locked. Two people torn open by blood and betrayal.

She reached out before she realized she was doing it, fingertips brushing against the faint scar on his cheek. He flinched-but didn't pull away.

"You don't have to do this alone anymore," she whispered.

He looked at her hand. Then at her. For the first time, she saw the man beneath the monster.

He leaned in, slowly, as if gravity itself was drawing them together. Their lips were inches apart.

Then-

CRACK.

A single gunshot shattered the stillness.

Glass exploded behind them. Isadora screamed as Luciano threw himself over her, covering her body with his. The sound of footsteps thundered down the hall.

"Sniper," he growled, voice taut with fury. "They found you."

His gun was already in his hand, safety off.

Sirens blared from the estate's alarm system. Guards scrambled outside.

He turned to her, breath harsh, eyes burning. "Stay here. Don't move. Don't open that door for anyone but me."

"But-"

"I said stay, dammit!" His voice cracked like a whip.

And then he was gone.

The study door slammed behind him.

Isadora stared at the shattered window, her heart pounding like a war drum.

She thought she'd left the battlefield behind in D.C.

But the war had followed her here.