DANGEROUSLY YOURS: INTO THE ARMS OF MY STEPBROTHER

Isabella Leonardo :

The devil doesn't wear horns or rise from hellfire. She wore pearls, smiled sweetly, and tucked me in at night. She gave me life-and took everything else with it. For me, the devil isn't a myth. She has a name. I call her Mother.

"Ella, your stepfather is dead," Mom said over the phone-flat, emotionless. Like she was commenting on the weather.

I just stood there, stunned. How could she sound so empty? Thirteen years of marriage-gone, and she didn't flinch. This was the man who gave us shelter when we had nothing. When the world turned its back on us, he opened the door.

"What? How... what happened?" I asked, my fingers tightening around the phone as if it could somehow make this nightmare go away.

"Why are you asking me? He's dead, okay?! Get a grip. It's not like I'm the damn Grim Reaper who took his life!" Her voice hissed, and in the background, I heard a faint chuckle from someone else.

"You don't feel sorry, do you?" I bit back the words, my jaw locking, my pulse spiking with anger.

Every breath I took, I hated the fact that she-the woman who never seemed to care about anything-was the one who gave me life.

"Why should I feel sorry? Huh? Did I kill him?" she snapped, the venom still thick in her voice. "Steven was 78. That's old enough. Your father died in his late 30s, so... get over it."

My pupils dilated at her words.

How could someone be this cold, this heartless?

"You're evil, Mom. So evil and pathetic... a gold digger, nothing but an evil serpent!" I couldn't hold back anymore. My anger spilled out in a rush.

She chuckled lightly, almost as if my words amused her.

"Oh, I'm pathetic, Isabella? Fine. But guess what? You went to college, had a good life, while I risked everything-married whoever I had to so I could put food on the damn table. That's what's pathetic, huh?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air. "If you really knew what I've been through, you wouldn't be standing there calling me evil. You'd be licking my feet, begging for forgiveness."

I clenched my fists, every word she said cutting deeper than the last.

"Licking your feet? Is that what you think I owe you? For surviving? For making me grow up in this hell?" The words were venomous as they slipped past my lips, shaking with fury. "You ruined everything. You used people, destroyed lives, and now you're telling me I should thank you for it?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, she exhaled sharply, like I was the one causing the inconvenience. "You think I wanted to do all that? You think I enjoyed it? Life doesn't give you the luxury of choices, Isabella. I had to do what I had to do. You think Steven would've stuck around if I wasn't 'useful' to him? Please."

"You think he only stayed because of you? You think you're the reason he loved me? Loved us?" My voice was growing tighter, the bitterness threatening to choke me. "He stayed because he saw something in me that you couldn't-he loved me more than you ever did, Mom."

"Yeah, yeah... if you miss him that bad, go meet him. Friday's his burial. You have to be back. That's the last time you're seeing him!" Her voice was cold, distant. It made the tears start to well up even more.

I sniffed back, trying to hold myself together, but reality hit me all at once. Steven was really gone. He wasn't coming back. He wouldn't be there to give me advice or simply sit with me in silence when I needed someone.

And in that moment, I broke down completely. The tears I'd been holding back for so long finally spilled over, and I couldn't stop them.

"Are you really crying?" Her voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through my raw emotion. "Have you forgotten he's not your real father?"

I let the tears flow, unable to stop them even if I tried. "I know... and I hate it so much. I hate the fact he's not my real father. I hate that I'm never going to see him again."

"Jesus Christ... you're pathetic!" she hissed, and then the line went dead. My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the ground as I sank to my knees, my sobs uncontrollable now.

"God... why?!" I screamed, my voice raw, my chest tight with grief.

But as the tears blurred my vision, my mind wandered to one person. One person I never thought I'd think about again-Christopher D'evone.

The only child of Steven D'evone. My stepbrother.

It had been over six years since I'd last seen him, six years since we spoke. And honestly, I hadn't been looking forward to facing him then, and I wasn't now.

He was a narcissist, arrogant, and always had an air of superiority about him. He was nothing like his father-nothing like the man who'd shown me love and care. But still... he was family.

I had sworn to myself I would never step foot in that house again. I'd made my peace with never going back, but now... now I was about to break that promise.

"I have to go back," I whispered to myself, the words heavy on my heart. "I'm breaking my promise... for Dad."

---

The flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles felt like a lifetime. Eleven hours in a cramped seat, staring at the back of the seat in front of me, fighting to keep my eyes open. My body ached. My mind felt numb.

I could barely keep my eyes open as I flagged down a cab. The ride home felt like a blur. The cab driver chattered on, but I barely heard him. All I could think about was the mess I was walking back into.

The home.

The house that once felt like a haven, now a prison. Christopher D'evone's house. The house that had watched me grow up, watched me endure my mother's madness, my stepfather's love. And now, it was a place that felt like a ghost of my past, an aching reminder of what I'd lost.

I stepped out of the cab and walked up the familiar driveway, the sounds of music and shouting growing louder as I neared the front door.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The sight that greeted me when I pushed the door open was a shock to my senses.

Cans of beer and soda littered the floor. People screamed and laughed, running around like it was some kind of party. The house was loud, chaotic-a far cry from the place I had once called home.

I frowned and stepped inside, my boots clicking sharply against the floor as I walked toward the living room.

And then I froze.

There, on the couch, my mother and some younger boy were locked in a kiss. They didn't even notice me at first, too caught up in their own world.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. "What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled, my voice trembling with a mixture of shock and anger.

She hissed, then straightened her dress, looking at me like I was the inconvenience. "Welcome back. You can go to your room..." she said, as if nothing was wrong, about to go back to whatever it was she was doing.

"No, ma, I can't believe this. Kissing some random guy while your husband's barely been dead a week?" My voice shook with disbelief, and anger simmered beneath my skin. "Does Christopher know about this? Does he know you've turned his house into a damn playground?"

Her face hardened, her eyes narrowing with annoyance. "Don't you dare mention it to him... Just go upstairs and leave me alone. I need some peace and quiet!"

"No!!" My voice cracked with frustration. "It's almost like you killed him! And now I'm starting to think-if you're not just a gold-digger, you're a damn murderer! You killed him!"

Before I could even process what was happening, a slap landed across my face.

The sound was so loud that it made my ears ring, my cheek burning from the impact.

"Don't you dare accuse me of killing him!" Her voice was full of fury, like she wanted to tear me apart. "You miserable little thing, you hate it whenever I'm happy. I wish I'd never had you! You're nothing but a stupid mistake!"

Christopher D'evone:

They said my father ruled the underworld with a smile and a gun. He wasn't just feared-he was respected. A king among criminals.

But even kings fall-and his crown didn't slip in battle.

It slipped in bed-with a woman.

I was thirteen when I realized love made him weak.

Now I'm thirty, and I don't make that mistake.

I don't fall. I don't trust.

And I sure as hell don't forgive.

Especially not the woman who used to call him husband... or the girl coming back to bury him.

"No!!... I want chicken sandwich and not this!" my daughter, Amara, yelled, stomping her foot so hard the marble floor echoed.

Even as a Mafia Lord-feared by governments, hunted by enemies-to her, I was a golden retriever in a suit.

"Okay, princess... easy now," I said, crouching to her level.

Her arms folded like a CEO about to fire someone. "You always say that when you're trying to trick me."

Too smart for six. Too bold for her size.

Just like her mother. God help me.

"I wouldn't dare trick the Queen of the D'evone empire," I muttered, brushing a curl away from her face. "Chicken sandwich. Extra sauce. I'll let Maria know."

She didn't move. She narrowed her eyes.

"And a unicorn diary. Pink. With glitter. Evelyn brought hers to school and it sings when you open it. I want one too."

I blinked. "You literally have six diaries. One even has your face on it."

"That one doesn't sing," she said flatly. "And Evelyn's dad got it for her. Have you forgotten the rule?"

"What rule?" I asked, even though I already knew.

She leaned in, smiling sweetly. "Whatever Amara wants, Amara gets. You made that rule, daddy."

I sighed, dragging a hand over my face. "You're such a spoiled little princess."

"I know," she said proudly, flipping her curls. "So, chicken sandwich and unicorn diary. Got it?"

"You're the reason we're on the tenth nanny," I muttered under my breath.

"I heard that," she called over her shoulder as she skipped toward the kitchen.

I stood up slowly, watching her go like a tornado wrapped in sparkles.

"Oh my God... she is one headache," my cousin Collins said, stepping into the hallway with a glass of whiskey and a smirk.

"I agree," I muttered, picking up my phone. "Makes me question all my life choices. Free tip: don't have kids."

Collins laughed. "You say that like she didn't just threaten you with glitter demands."

I scrolled through my notifications-business deals, condolences from family, and... a message.

From step_mother.

I scoffed.

"She's actually asking me for a million dollars," I muttered, turning my phone to airplane mode.

"The audacity," Collins said.

"The stupidity," I corrected.

He shook his head, chuckling. "You know, I used to think the craziest thing I'd ever see was you in a suit giving a damn speech. But this? This beats it. Asking for a million like we're running charity out of a mafia house."

I smirked faintly. "Next thing, she'll ask for shares in the family business."

"God forbid," he said dramatically, clutching his chest. "If that day comes, just shoot me."

"I'll do it gladly."

We both laughed, but the moment didn't last. Collins sighed, pushing himself off the wall. "Come on. Let's go see the old man."

We walked toward the waiting SUV. The driver gave a small nod as we got in-Collins riding shotgun, me in the back, eyes glued to the window.

The estate faded behind us as the car moved.

And just like that, the weight of reality sank in again.

We were heading to the mortuary.

To see my father.

To bury the only man I ever respected-and maybe, the only one who never betrayed me.

After long drive we arrived there.

The mortuary smelled like disinfectant and death. Cold. Silent. Except for the wailing echoing from down the corridor.

Collins and I followed the sound-and there she was.

My stepmother.

Draped in black silk, sprawled on the floor like some tragic actress in a bad drama. Her best friend stood awkwardly beside her, pretending to dab nonexistent tears.

She was screaming. Crying. Kicking her heels against the white tiles.

Anyone with half a brain could see it was all for show.

Collins didn't even glance at her. I walked past without a word, heading straight for the body.

There he was. My father. Cold. Still. The first man I ever feared-and the last one I respected.

A lump pressed against my chest, but I swallowed it down.

No weakness. Not here.

Suddenly, she was behind me. Clutching her scarf, eyes red-but dry.

"Oh Christopher," she sobbed, voice cracking like a cheap violin, "I'm so sorry-I couldn't do anything. Your father left me. I-I'm going crazy-"

I turned slowly, stared at her.

"Woman, please."

Her fake crying stopped.

"We both know those are crocodile tears. Could you at least try to keep a little dignity?"

She blinked, stunned.

"One minute you're calling me for a million dollars, the next you're flinging yourself on the floor like a soap opera reject."

Her friend gasped. Collins snorted.

"Tell me," I continued coldly, "is this performance for my benefit, or are you just trying to impress the dead?"

She opened her mouth, but I wasn't done.

"Save the tears. They won't bring him back. And they sure as hell won't save you."

Her fake sobs froze mid-breath. Then, like flipping a switch, her entire demeanor shifted.

"Do you not have any respect?" she snapped, standing to her full height like she suddenly remembered she had a spine. "I was with you for years, Christopher. I raised you. I watched you grow. And not even a shred of respect?"

"Oh no, you did not," I said, voice low.

She clutched her chest like I'd struck her. "I wish Steve was here. You wouldn't dare talk to me like this if he was."

She sniffled again, shaking her head like the weight of the world sat on her bony shoulders.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" I asked. "Do you ever stop to think what your daughter-Isabella-would think, seeing you like this?"

The name slipped out before I could stop it. I hadn't seen Isabella in five-maybe six-years. And yet, just saying it twisted something deep inside me. Something I'd buried.

Her eyes gleamed, and with a sharp swipe of her fingers, she wiped her tears away like they were never there.

"Well..." she said slowly, letting the silence stretch. "She's back."

My body stiffened.

She's back?

I didn't flinch. Didn't blink. But something behind my ribs tightened.

"When?" I asked, quieter this time. "Why wasn't I told?"

She smiled then. Slow. Calculated.

"She came back yesterday."

My jaw clenched.

"Yesterday," I echoed. "And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me?"

She shrugged, far too casual for someone who should be grieving. "You've been so busy with your... empire. I didn't want to disturb you."

"You didn't want to disturb me?" I laughed, low and bitter. "You're a walking disturbance."

"Oh, Christopher," she said with a pitying shake of her head. "Must everything always be war with you? I thought you'd matured."

"I thought you'd learned shame."

"I'm still your mother, whether you like it or not."

"You're not my mother," I snapped. "Don't flatter yourself."

She sighed dramatically, pressing her fingers to her temple. "God, I feel so drained. My head hurts. Just... consider my message delivered, alright?"

And with that, she turned to leave, her heels echoing off the mortuary tiles like a warning.

So Isabella came back yesterday... and didn't call. Didn't text.

Not even a word.

She didn't want to see me. Was it because of what happened eight years ago?

Does she still remember it?

Hell, do I?

Even after all this time-after everything we burned down-she still managed to set something inside me on fire.

She should've stayed gone.

Because now that she's back... she's not leaving again.

Isabella Leonardo:

Mom already made a mess of the house. Staying here would be insane-and I just can't.

I stormed out right after the argument. No friends, no welcome, just tension thick enough to choke me. I had no choice but to book a hotel.

A middle-class one, at that. The best I could afford with my café paychecks and the little savings I'd scraped together. The kind of place that smelled like old bleach and regret.

I tossed my bag on the worn-out bed and collapsed beside it.

Staring at the pictures of Steven and I-the ones I'd never had the courage to delete-I felt tears slip down, silent and slow.

I wish I stayed longer. Maybe I wouldn't feel this broken.

I thought coming back would give me closure. But all I felt was... unwelcome.

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I shouldn't have come back at all.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

I stared at it until it stopped ringing.

Then it buzzed again.

A text this time.

"Be ready tomorrow. The funeral is at noon. Don't be late."

No name. But I didn't need one. Only one person spoke to me like they were issuing a court order.

Christopher D'evone.

I dropped the phone on the bed and closed my eyes.

He hadn't seen me in years. Not since-

No. Not now. I couldn't go there. Not yet.

Tomorrow, I'd see him again.

I didn't know if I was ready.

But I had no choice.

---

It was 5 p.m. when everyone gathered at the graveyard. The skies were gray, matching the mood in the air. Most of the men standing there were from the underworld-Steven's world. His world of blood, power, and silence.

No doubt, Steven D'evone was a Mafia Lord. I remembered where he used to hide his gun, the secret compartment behind the bookshelf in his office. I remembered the bodies. Cold. Lifeless. Frequent.

It didn't haunt me... it reminded me. Of how feared he was. Of how respected he was.

They stood still, like statues dressed in black. Faces pale. Eyes hollow. A kingdom mourning its king.

And mine... mine was pale too.

My mother-ever the performer-was throwing herself around, screaming like she had lost her soul.

But we all knew the truth.

Everything about her was fake.

And I bet-no, I knew-she was the happiest woman alive that Steven D'evone was six feet closer to hell.

The priest's voice echoed over the murmurs. He began the prayer, his tone heavy and steady, as if afraid to offend the dead.

Then Christopher stepped forward-the only child of Steven.

He knelt, picked a fistful of dirt, and tossed it onto the casket.

I watched him with glassy eyes. Cold. Calm. Controlled. Like nothing could break through that armor of his.

Then it was my turn.

I stepped forward, fingers trembling, but I managed to find my voice.

"Steven D'evone was many things to many people. A ruler, a legend, a nightmare. But to me... he was a protector. My anchor. The man who made me feel safe when the whole world was chaos. I don't know if I ever said it enough... but I loved you, papa. And I'll miss you forever."

My voice cracked at the end. I looked down, blinking away the tears. My heart clenched when I heard my mother step up next.

She gave a dramatic sigh, wiping fake tears with a lace handkerchief. "Steven... my love, my life, my everything. If only people knew how much I endured by your side..."

What?

I nearly scoffed out loud. I could feel the disgust crawl up my throat. Was she really using his funeral to play victim?

Finally, the casket began to lower. One by one, people dropped white flowers onto it.

I stood there, tears slipping down my cheeks as they buried the only father I ever knew.

Slowly, the crowd started to fade away. One car after the other.

My mother was the first to leave, of course. Probably heading home to pop champagne.

The graveyard was almost empty now.

A cold breeze brushed against my skin, sharp and cutting.

So it was real.

He was gone.

"I miss you, papa," I whispered, my voice barely rising above the wind. I sniffled and looked up-

And there he was.

Christopher D'evone.

Standing a few feet away, staring at me like I was some puzzle he couldn't decide whether to solve or break.

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard and looked away.

I shouldn't feel this.

Not for him.

Not again.

He's married, Isabella. Control yourself.

But my eyes... they betrayed me.

They found their way back to him.

And then the sky broke.

Rain poured, heavy and relentless. Like the heavens couldn't hold it in anymore either.

Still, I didn't move. I just stood there... letting it soak me.

Until I felt something above me.

An umbrella.

I looked up.

It was him.

Christopher.

We locked eyes. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. My breath caught in my throat.

"Don't get yourself a cold," he said, voice low and cold, before walking off into the rain-leaving the umbrella with me.

My heart raced.

"Oh Chris..." I murmured to myself. "What have you done to me?"

The rain was relentless, soaking through my dress, past my skin, right down to my bones. Still, I didn't move-not until the cemetery was almost empty.

I finally turned, leaving the silence of Steven's grave behind. The wind bit at my face, and my hands trembled as I waved down a cab.

The driver didn't say a word when I gave the hotel's name. I sank into the seat, shivering. My mind replayed the look in Christopher's eyes-how it lingered, how it felt like a slap and a caress all at once.

We stopped abruptly-not in front of my hotel, but on a dark, narrow street.

"Hey-this isn't the place," I said, sitting up. "What's going on?"

The driver turned around slowly. "Out. Now."

"What?"

"Out."

Confused and scared, I opened the door. The moment I stepped out, I felt hands on me.

Two guys-one grabbing my bag, the other reaching for the necklace Steven gave me years ago. I fought back, panic surging.

"Let go of me!"

One of them yanked my phone from my coat. The other punched me in the ribs when I tried to scream.

"Shut up before you make it worse," one growled.

They had what they wanted. They could've left. But one of them hesitated, looking at me like I was still holding something more.

"Check her jacket. Maybe she's hiding cash."

I slapped his hand away. "Get off me!"

That's when the knife flashed-fast, angry.

A sharp pain ripped through my side, just beneath the ribs.

I gasped.

The pain was sharp-hot and cold all at once.

I stumbled backward, hand clutching my side, warm blood already mixing with the cold rain, soaking into my clothes.

They ran.

So fast, their shadows disappeared into the blur of the storm.

"Ah!"

A scream tore from my throat as my knees hit the pavement.

The world tilted.

My vision blurred.

I could barely feel the rain anymore.

I was losing focus.

Probably sinking into darkness.

And the only thought that echoed in my head was-

Is this how it ends?