Florence - 2:03 a.m. - Valentini Estate
The guards at the gates didn't even raise their weapons.
They'd heard stories, of course-of her.
The girl who stormed into Santa Maria Nuova barefoot.
The one who took a bullet fragment out of Leonardo's chest with shaking fingers.
The one who spat blood on the floor while telling the Don himself-
> "He's mine."
Now she was back.
And she wasn't asking for permission.
Her boots crushed gravel.
Her black coat swung behind her like wings.
And her eyes-
Her eyes looked like vengeance wrapped in silk.
---
"Signorina Moretti," one of the guards stammered.
"We... we can't let you in."
She didn't stop walking.
> "Move."
> "Miss, the boss-he's not well. He hasn't eaten, he-"
> "I said. Move."
Her voice was death.
The gate swung open.
---
Inside, the Valentini mansion was chaos.
Shouted voices.
A crash.
A nurse crying near the staircase.
A blood trail up the marble.
She followed it.
Her heart a drum.
Her steps calm.
She didn't knock.
She kicked open the door.
---
And there he was.
Leonardo.
Half-dressed.
IV ripped from his arm.
Blood seeping through bandages.
A chair overturned. His mother crying in the corner.
One of his brothers stood near the window with a bruised jaw.
Another wiped a cut on his cheek.
Leonardo stood in the center of the room-
eyes wild.
Hair soaked with sweat.
Chest heaving like a feral animal.
> "Get OUT!" he roared. "All of you! I don't need anyone- I don't want anyone-"
Then he turned-
And saw her.
---
The world stopped.
Everything froze.
His breath.
Her heart.
Time itself.
He blinked once, as if she were a ghost.
Then-
> "Isabella?"
She dropped her coat.
He stumbled backward.
> "You... you're real?"
She walked to him.
> "You're late," he whispered, voice cracking.
> "No," she said, touching his face. "I'm right on f***ing time."
He collapsed.
Into her arms.
Onto the floor.
Head buried in her neck like he hadn't breathed since she left.
> "You left me-" he rasped. "They took you-I couldn't-I couldn't-"
> "I came back," she whispered. "I walked through hell to get here."
> "You shouldn't have."
> "Don't you ever tell me where I belong, Leonardo Valentini. I belong right here."
---
She held him all night.
And for the first time in weeks-
He slept
Valentini Mansion - Still Night, but Not Quiet
They'd never seen Leonardo like this.
Not his brothers.
Not his father.
Not even his iron-veined mother.
He had crushed bottles with his bare hands.
Threw a gun at his own consigliere.
Tore off monitors.
Threatened the family doctor at knifepoint.
He hadn't slept.
Hadn't eaten.
Just whispered her name between breakdowns.
And now-
She was here.
And everything stopped.
---
The hallway outside his room filled with shadows-
Curious faces. Men with scars. Women who hadn't cried in decades.
All of them silent as they watched her kneel before him,
her hands cupping his ruined face,
her voice soft but steady.
> "I'm not leaving. So kill me or get used to me."
A cousin murmured, "She's mad."
His uncle muttered, "She's got f***ing balls."
His youngest brother whispered, "He's going to marry her."
---
And then-
Don Marco Valentini, the Godfather himself, stepped through the doorway.
Old. Sharp-eyed. With hands that had signed peace and war alike.
He looked at her.
Then at his son-the heir.
The boy who once killed with a steady hand and never begged for anything.
Now on his knees.
Wrapped around a woman who bled for him.
Weeping into her shoulder like a man unmade.
> "Who is she?" Don Marco asked.
And Leonardo, voice wrecked, lifted his head-
> "She's mine."
---
Silence.
Then-
The Don nodded.
One slow, ancient movement.
As if he'd just seen a war end, or perhaps begin.
> "Then protect her. With your f***ing life."
And walked out.
---
She looked up, wide-eyed.
> "Was that... your father?"
Leonardo laughed. Croaked. Nodded.
> "And I think you just became the most feared woman in Italy."
Three Weeks Later - Somewhere Between Recovery and War
Leonardo could walk again.
Slow. Shaky. But upright.
And every step he took,
every sip of water,
every wound that healed-
was because of her.
---
She bathed him.
Not with ceremony.
But with trembling hands, quiet devotion, and kisses to every scar he tried to hide.
She helped him eat.
Held his head when the pain made him sick.
Slept beside him through fevers and night sweats.
She read to him in the evenings.
Italian poetry. Books on war. Fables from childhood.
And one night, she crawled under the covers, kissed his stitched ribs, and whispered-
> "You are not alone anymore."
---
But outside those walls,
Florence was catching fire.
---
Don Moretti had lost his mind.
He wasn't sending messages.
He was sending men.
Car bombs in Valentini territory.
Assassins caught at the gates.
Contracts being torn, one by one.
Because to him-
Isabella was the deal.
The price for a billion-euro alliance.
A signature in heels and lipstick.
And now?
She was in enemy hands.
Worse-she chose to be.
---
He stormed his own council room, slammed his fists on the table, and roared:
> "You think she loves him? That's weakness. That's nothing. She's MY blood. She's MINE."
Someone whispered, "Sir... your daughter isn't a possession."
He turned on them with fire in his eyes.
> "She was an asset. Now she's a liability."
> "I will burn Valentini's house to the ground before I let her become his."
---
But across the city,
in that forbidden estate,
Leonardo stood shirtless on the balcony-bandages fresh, scars pink, pain pulsing down his spine-
and watched Isabella sip her coffee in his robe.
He was quiet a moment.
Then said:
> "He's coming for you."
She didn't blink.
> "Then let him."
---