It's been two days since the encounter.
Isabella sat on Clara's bed which she had claimed as her bed, staring blankly at the pages of her open book. The words blurred together, her mind far away. She tried to focus on the text, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the man she had met at the restaurant. The way he had caught her when she stumbled, the nickname micia he had used so casually, and that intense, unreadable look in his eyes—it all lingered in her mind like a melody she couldn't forget.
She sighed, closing the book with a thud, startling Clara, who was sprawled across a nearby chair.
"What's with the dramatic sigh?" Clara teased, looking up from her phone. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she leaned forward. "Wait, don't tell me—you're thinking about that guy from the restaurant, aren't you?"
Isabella frowned, heat rising to her cheeks. "No, I'm not."
Clara's grin widened. "Oh, you definitely are. Let me guess—tall, dark, brooding, and dangerously handsome? Sounds like something straight out of the Twisted Series." She placed her hand over her heart mockingly. "Is this your very own morally gray hero, Bell?"
Isabella rolled her eyes, but Clara's words hit closer to home than she cared to admit. "He's just a stranger. I don't even know him."
"That's what makes it exciting!" Clara leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Come on, you have to admit he was something. The way he looked at you? It was like he was ready to sweep you off your feet—or throw you over his shoulder."
Isabella laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe" Clara said, shrugging. "But you're the one blushing."
Isabella reached up to touch her cheeks, realizing too late that she was, indeed, flushed. "I'm not—"
"You so are" Clara interrupted, giggling. "And honestly, I don't blame you. If I ran into a guy like that, I'd be losing my mind too. Seriously, Bella, when's the last time you let yourself have a little fun? Maybe this is fate."
"Or maybe it's nothing" Isabella countered, standing up and pacing the room. "I don't even know his name. And he… he felt dangerous."
"Dangerous can be thrilling" Clara said with a wink.
Isabella shook her head, but deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that Clara might be right. There was something about the man—something she couldn't quite put into words.
Her mind flashed back to the way he had looked at her, his dark eyes piercing yet strangely warm. She remembered the nickname, micia, and how it had sent a shiver down her spine....but why had he called her that?
"He's just a stranger" she said again, more to herself than to Clara.
But as she lay down that night, staring up at the ceiling, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Who was he? And why did she feel as though her life had somehow shifted from the moment she met him?
_
_
Things were quite the same the other side too.
Dante paced the length of his study, his mind racing. Matteo stood by the window, arms crossed, watching his boss with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"You've been distracted lately" Matteo said, breaking the silence. "Is it about the girl?"
Dante shot him a sharp look, but Matteo only smirked.
"It is, isn't it? I've known you too long, boss. You don't get this worked up over just anyone."
"She's different" Dante admitted, though his tone was clipped. He hated talking about his feelings, even with Matteo.
"Different how?" Matteo asked, leaning casually against the window frame.
Dante didn't answer immediately. He thought about Isabella, about her wide, innocent eyes and the way she had apologized for something that wasn't her fault. It wasn't just her beauty that had struck him—it was something deeper. She had a quiet strength, a vulnerability that made him want to protect her.
"She's under Marco's thumb" Dante said finally, his voice laced with venom. "He doesn't deserve to have control over her."
"And you're planning to do something about it" Matteo guessed, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "What's the plan?'
Dante stopped pacing and turned to face Matteo. "We need leverage—something that will force Marco to let her go. If we can trap him, expose him, we can free her from his grip."
Matteo raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think she'll want to be free? What if she doesn't want your help?"
"She will" Dante said firmly. "You didn't see her, Matteo. She's… stuck. She doesn't even realize how much control he has over her. But I'll make sure she's safe."
Matteo studied Dante for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. So what's the leverage?"
Dante's jaw tightened. "Marco's business dealings are messy. He's been skirting the law for years, but he's careful. We need something concrete—something that will ruin him without implicating us."
Matteo nodded thoughtfully. "I'll start digging. But you know this won't be easy. Marco's not stupid."
"Neither am I" Dante said coldly. "I don't care how long it takes or how dangerous it is. I'll do whatever it takes to get her out of his shadow."
Matteo smirked again, though there was a hint of admiration in his expression. "You've got it bad, boss. Just be careful. You're not invincible."
Dante didn't respond. He walked over to the window, staring out at the city below. His reflection stared back at him, and for a moment, he saw a man he didn't recognize—a man willing to risk everything for a girl he barely knew.
But it didn't matter. He had made his decision.
Isabella would be free, no matter the cost.
They had started carefully laying the trap and planning for Marco's downfall. But who knew they had to use it sooner than they anticipated