A month had passed since Isabella's life took a sharp turn, and the once-terrified girl had begun to bloom. The shadows that clung to her seemed to lighten as she grew more comfortable in Dante's house—and with Dante himself. While he remained the mysterious and stoic man she had come to know, his sharp edges had softened around her, revealing a man who was fiercely protective but, at times, surprisingly kind.
She had found her voice, even her confidence, which had been buried under years of fear and control. One morning, as they were in the living room, she had made a cheeky comment about Dante's inability to fold his own shirts properly—something she had quietly fixed for him the previous night.
Dante had leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk ghosting across his lips as he muttered, "My kitten has gotten claws."
Matteo, seated nearby, let out a bark of laughter. "Claws, huh? Careful, boss. She might use them on you next."
Isabella crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Dante. "Only if he deserves it" she quipped, her tone teasing but firm.
Dante shot Matteo a warning glare that instantly silenced his amusement. Isabella, however, only smirked, pleased that she could hold her ground.
It was a moment so small yet so significant, marking how far she had come and how much the house—this home—had started to feel like hers.
The morning, as Isabella was enjoying a quiet cup of tea, she heard a furious banging on the front door. Frowning, she set her cup down and opened it, only to be greeted by an enraged Clara.
"You!" Clara pointed a finger at her, her face flushed with anger. "Do you know how close I was to filing a missing person report on you? A whole month, Isabella! A whole month, and you didn't think to call me?!"
Clara stomped inside, not waiting for an invitation. "What are you even doing here?!"
Isabella stepped back, hands raised defensively. "Clara, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"
Before she could finish, Mirella appeared from the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand. She smacked Clara on the shoulder with a loud thwack.
"Ow!" Clara yelped, rubbing her arm. "What was that for?!"
"For yelling at her" Mirella said matter-of-factly, glaring at Clara. "You don't know what she's been through. Lower your voice, girl."
Isabella, hiding a giggle behind her hand, finally managed to get a word in. "Clara, I'm fine, really. I was just… adjusting."
"Adjusting?" Clara crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. "To what? Living with him?"
Mirella rolled her eyes and walked back into the kitchen, muttering about dramatic young people.
Clara grabbed Isabella's hand and pulled her to the living room. "Okay, spill. What's been going on? And why are you suddenly all cozy in Il Diavolo's lair?"
Isabella hesitated but eventually shared bits and pieces of her life over the past month—how Dante had been patient and kind, how she was beginning to feel safe, and how Matteo had become like an older brother to her.
Clara's jaw dropped. "Wait a second. Are you telling me that the devil himself has been playing saint for an entire month?"
Isabella shrugged, smiling softly. "I think… he's not as bad as everyone says. He's actually… different."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Different, huh? You sure he's not just plotting something? I mean, look at him"
Isabella shook her head. "Clara, he's… I don't know. I can't explain it. But he's not what I thought he'd be."
Clara leaned back on the couch, staring at her friend with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You've changed, Bell. I don't know if it's him or this place, but… you're different. Stronger."
Isabella smiled, her heart warming at the observation. "Maybe it's both."
Clara smirked. "Well, I'm still not sold on him being a saint. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see this side of him you're talking about."
As the two friends talked and laughed, the house that once felt cold and unfamiliar now felt warm and full of life.
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Isabella was in the kitchen, her focus entirely on the baking process as she carefully mixed ingredients for her batch of cookies. The first two batches, however, had already been sacrificed to the trash bin—burned to a crisp, their edges blackened in a tragic display of her culinary misadventures. But Isabella was determined, wiping flour from her cheek as she tried again. The kitchen smelled of sugar and butter, and despite the few mishaps, there was a sense of peace in her actions.
Clara, perched on the counter beside her, raised an eyebrow as she watched Isabella throw the ruined batches into the trash. "How come you're baking in here and not your own place?" Clara asked, genuinely curious.
Isabella hesitated for a moment before answering. "Because… it was not my house. Not until now." She gestured to the flour-dusted space around her. "But now I can do whatever I want, right?" Her voice held an unspoken feeling of freedom, of the ability to make her own choices for the first time in so long.
Clara smiled at her, impressed. "That's the spirit. It's good to see you feeling at home."
"Just... watch the cookies" Mirella called from the pantry, trying to control her amusement. "We don't need another disaster in here."
Clara laughed, recalling Isabella's earlier attempt at breakfast. "What was it again? These cookies, the 'breakfast incident'?" she asked. "I don't know how you managed to burn cookies that badly."
Mirella's voice rang through the kitchen, still amused. "I had to hide the burnt ones from sir—he would've flipped that I threw them. I still haven't forgotten the look on his face when he ate that breakfast!"
Isabella couldn't help but giggle, though a little embarrassed. "Okay, fine, I can't cook. But I'm trying, okay?" She added with a grin, "Besides, Dante has to know I'm trying, right?"
Clara burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "You're hilarious, Bell! I can't believe you actually served those to him." She slid off the counter, barely able to stop laughing. "Poor Dante! I hope he survived the experience!"
As if on cue, the sound of heavy footsteps approached, and the door to the kitchen opened. Matteo and Dante entered, both looking like they had just walked in from the outside. Matteo's eyes immediately found Clara, and before anyone could react, he grinned and said, "Looks like someone had a tumble, huh?"
Clara shot him a glare, standing up. "Oh, you're one to talk! I didn't hear you complaining when I saved you from that rat-infested warehouse last month."
Isabella watched, amused, as Matteo and Clara immediately began bickering. Matteo's smug expression faltered only for a second before he shot back with, "Please, that was more your mess than mine. You were the one who tripped over a bag of flour—don't act like I didn't pull you out of that one."
Clara, not one to back down, shot back, "You were only there because you're afraid of rats!"
Isabella rolled her eyes and looked over at Dante, whose arms were crossed as he stood in the doorway, observing the scene with his usual calm but faintly amused gaze. Dante rubbed his head, clearly exasperated by the noise. Yet, when his gaze fell on Isabella, flour covering her face and her hands busy pulling a new batch of cookies from the oven, his annoyance softened ever so slightly.
Matteo, sensing an opportunity for trouble, snuck up to the cooling tray, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Aha, cookies!" he said, reaching for one. But Isabella was quicker, swatting his hand away.
"Hey! That's mine!" she scolded, wagging a finger at him, her eyes narrowing in playful warning.
Matteo pouted dramatically, rubbing his hand. "I've been betrayed! First by my beloved boss, then by you, my little one, who I've known since forever. And now... cookies?!"
"You've had enough cookies for a lifetime, Matteo and your forever was three months ago" Isabella teased, giving him a pointed look. "Now go ahead and clean up, don't mess with my baking."
Dante's gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment before he took the first cookie. He bit into it, and a rare flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. "Not bad" he muttered, surprising both Isabella and Matteo. "For a first-timer, it's good."
The moment Dante had taken his bite, Matteo had already grabbed a cookie and shoved it into his mouth, grinning widely. "Okay, okay, this one's perfect!" he declared, devouring it greedily. He didn't stop at one, either. His hand reached for another, and soon, he was running around the kitchen, trying to stuff as many cookies as he could into his mouth, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him.
"Matteo!" Dante growled, giving him an annoyed but amused glance as he leaned against the counter.
But Matteo only winked. "It's not my fault these are amazing. But maybe if you weren't so grumpy, I wouldn't have to eat all the cookies."
"I'll eat all the cookies if it gets you to shut up for five minutes" Dante snapped back, his voice cold but with a trace of something softer beneath.
Isabella watched the two bicker, her face lighting up with a smile as she enjoyed the chaos unfolding around her. Yet, there was a warmth to it all—the bickering, the teasing, even the crumbs everywhere—that made her feel like she had found her place, her home.
And even though Dante tried to act like he was above it all, the smallest glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Something about the noise, the laughter, and the life in the house had begun to seep into him.