Dante's grip on the paper tightened, his knuckles turning white. The words burned into his mind like a brand. Slowly, he set the note down on the table, his movements eerily calm despite the storm brewing inside him.
Isabella entered the room, her cheerful smile fading as she caught sight of Dante's expression. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Dante stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His dark eyes locked onto hers, a mixture of fury and protectiveness swirling within them.
"Nothing" he said, his voice clipped. "Mirella, take Isabella to the garden."
"Dante—" Isabella began, but he cut her off with a sharp look.
"Now, Isabella." His tone left no room for argument, though his eyes softened briefly when they met hers.
Mirella quickly guided Isabella out, but not before she cast a worried glance back at Dante. As soon as they were gone, Dante's calm façade shattered. He slammed his fist onto the table, the sound echoing through the room.
"Find out who sent this" he growled, his voice low and deadly. "I want them found now."
His men nodded, scattering immediately to follow his orders. Dante stood alone in the room, the weight of the threat pressing heavily on him.
_
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_
The tension in Dante's house was palpable as Matteo returned with the information he had uncovered. Dante stood near the window of his office, his silhouette cast against the morning light, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. His eyes were distant, calculating, and lethal.
Matteo entered cautiously, a thick file in his hands. "I've tracked the note back to someone" he began, placing the file on Dante's desk.
Dante's eyes flickered to Matteo, sharp and expectant. "who?"
Matteo's jaw tightened. "Igor Sokolov."
The name hung in the air like a death sentence. Dante's grip on his cigar faltered slightly, but his composure remained intact. He exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing as old memories resurfaced.
"Igor" Dante repeated, his tone low and venomous. "That bastard is still alive?"
Matteo nodded grimly. "Not only alive but thriving. He's been quiet for years, but recently he's made moves in Europe, particularly in Milan. It seems he's still bitter about what you did to his organization a decade ago."
Dante's mind flashed back to the brutal takedown of Igor's human trafficking ring. It was one of the first major operations Dante had orchestrated when he was solidifying his reign as Il Diavolo. Igor had been left penniless, humiliated, and exiled from the criminal world. Dante had assumed he'd crawl into a hole and die.
Apparently, he was wrong.
"And now he's come for my wife" Dante growled, his voice like a blade slicing through the tension. His hand clenched into a fist.
Matteo opened the file, revealing photos, documents, and a map. "He's been in Milan for the past few months, building connections and resources. He's working under a new alias—The Viper. He's slippery, Dante. No base of operations, no visible alliances, but his reach is spreading. And he's fixated on you."
"On Isabella" Dante corrected coldly. His expression darkened further as he scanned the photos of Igor's associates and hideouts.
Matteo hesitated. "There's more."
"Speak."
Matteo's voice was laced with tension. "Igor has hired a team—mercenaries from the Bratva. They've been surveilling you and Isabella for weeks. The note was just the beginning."
Dante's hand shot out, sweeping the file off the desk in a sudden burst of rage. Papers and photos scattered across the floor. "He's marked himself for death" Dante snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "If Igor wants a war, I'll give him one he won't survive."
Matteo nodded, his loyalty unwavering. "What's the plan?"
Dante's lips curved into a chilling smirk. "No warnings, no mercy. I want Igor dragged out of whatever hole he's hiding in and brought to me. Alive."
"And if the mercenaries get in the way?" Matteo asked.
"Kill them all" Dante replied without hesitation.
_
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_
While Dante strategized, Isabella was oblivious to the storm brewing in her husband's world. She sat in the garden, a small smile playing on her lips as she listened to Clara recount one of her dramatic stories. Her laughter was soft and carefree, a stark contrast to the chaos Dante was preparing for.
Mirella watched from the doorway, shaking her head in amusement. "She really has no idea, does she?"
Clara grinned. "Not a clue. But honestly, it's better this way. Let her enjoy her peace."
_
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_
The day started with an air of peace, a fleeting moment of calm before the storm that Dante knew was coming. He had decided to take Isabella out, away from the looming threat of war, to enjoy the little moments of normalcy that still existed. They wandered through the cobbled streets of Milan, Isabella's bright laugh echoing in the air as they went from shop to shop. It felt like any other day, a pleasant distraction from the chaos lurking just beyond the horizon.
But Dante, ever the protector, remained vigilant. He knew that soon, he would have to confine Isabella to their home, keeping her safe from the dangers that were about to unravel. Still, for now, he allowed himself this brief indulgence—watching her delight in the smallest of things, like the fabric of a dress she admired or the color of a handbag she considered.
As they approached the counter, Dante noticed a familiar face—he knew the man well, though the name eluded him. Isabella didn't seem to recognize him immediately, but something about his gaze made her feel uneasy. She was polite, as always, answering his questions with a gentle smile. It wasn't long before Dante returned from the counter, the receipt in hand. But the moment his eyes fell on the man, his jaw tightened.
The man was speaking too animatedly, his posture too casual, but the air between them had shifted. There was something off, and Isabella could feel it in her bones.
"Isabella" the man said, his tone now dripping with false warmth. "A beauty like you deserves more than a monster like him."
Isabella froze. The words, so pointed, so sharp, seemed to pierce the air like a dagger aimed directly at Dante. He had come back just in time to hear the insult, and his eyes flashed with an anger that could scorch the earth.
She could feel Dante's presence now, the suffocating tension in the air. He didn't speak immediately, but Isabella could hear the undercurrent of fury in his silence.
"Don't" she said, her voice calm but unwavering. She addressed the man as if he were a fly buzzing too close to her, dismissive and cold. "You don't know him. And you certainly don't know me."
But Igor, too confident in his own power, continued, pushing further. "I know enough" he said with a twisted smile, his eyes now gleaming as he focused on Dante, who had yet to make a move. "He's a monster. And you, sweet Isabella, deserve more than this—someone who isn't a killer, who isn't a savage."
At that, Dante's fists clenched, the rage in his chest bubbling over, but he was still silent. He wanted to see where this would go, to see just how far Isabella would allow this man to tread before she put him in his place.
But Isabella's demeanor shifted in an instant, and the change was nothing short of terrifying. The gentle, loving woman who had just been shopping with him was gone. In her place was something darker, something far more ruthless. Her gaze sharpened, her body stiffened, and the warmth in her eyes turned to ice.
"Do you want to know what I think?" she said, her voice quiet yet deadly. "I think you're a fool. A stupid, arrogant fool who doesn't know how to read the room. Because if you did, you'd know that speaking ill of my husband—who has done more for me than anyone else ever could—is a mistake. And I don't make mistakes."
The words were cold, calculated, and they hit Igor with the force of a sledgehammer. He faltered for just a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. But Isabella didn't stop there. She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. Dante watched, his anger rising to dangerous levels, but also a hint of admiration in his gaze. He had never seen this side of Isabella before—this side that was as lethal as it was beautiful.
"I will kill you if you ever speak to me or my husband again. I don't care who you think you are or what you think you can do. I will make sure your name is nothing but a whisper on the wind, a forgotten tale. And I mean it."
For a moment, Igor stood there, stunned into silence. He was used to people cowering before him, to bending to his will, but this woman—this angel of death—wasn't afraid. And that frightened him more than anything.
Dante stepped forward now, placing a hand on Isabella's shoulder, but it wasn't a comforting gesture—it was a warning to Igor. The dangerous, calculating man that Dante was had returned in full force, his eyes fixed on the Russian with a gaze that could freeze blood in veins. "You've overstayed your welcome" he said, his voice low and deadly.
Isabella didn't flinch as Dante's hand rested on her. In fact, she seemed to relish the fact that she had commanded control of the situation, her own power coursing through her veins.
The two of them made their exit, but Igor, left seething and humiliated, knew he wouldn't give up so easily. He would come back. But next time, he wouldn't make the same mistake of underestimating Isabella.
As they left the store, Dante's arm was wrapped protectively around Isabella, and yet, she couldn't shake the satisfaction of seeing Igor brought low. But Dante wasn't thinking about the man. He was thinking about how different Isabella had become in his presence—how she had stood by him, not as the gentle angel, but as a fierce woman who wasn't afraid to wield her power.
And that power, Dante knew, would not only protect her—it would destroy anyone who dared cross her path.
"That was..." Dante began, but the words died on his lips as he pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You're incredible."
Isabella smiled, the softness returning to her features, but there was a glint in her eyes that told him she wasn't done yet.
"Let's go home," she said, her voice almost teasing, yet full of command. "We have a lot to discuss. And it's not just about that idiot."
Dante's heart skipped a beat. He was falling deeper into this woman—into the angel who could bring hell to its knees.