It is never truly silent after a celebration.
Somewhere beyond the ballroom, whose walls now draped in velvet made it appear smaller than it was, where the champagne had poured freely and laughter had bounced off gold chandeliers, the Caruso estate had found an uneasy stillness. But for Matteo Romano, who now 35, the stillness brought his senses into clearer focus.
He peered down from the balcony of his guest suite at the sprawling gardens now washed in moonlight. His tie loosened, a jacket draped over a chair behind him. The stars above Rome were dimmed by the haze, but he didn't need starlight to perceive the dread weaving itself into his thoughts.
He reached for a cigarette, fingers quivering just enough to give away what he wouldn't speak out loud.
Something was wrong.
His phone buzzed on the marble table next to him. He dropped his ash over the railing, turned to it and picked it up.
Encrypted Message – Source: Luca
"Plans compromised. Confirmed leak. Likely internal. Delay engagement. Don't let her speak. It's not safe."
Matteo looked at the message, chest constricting.
Too late.
Isla had already informed her father. The private announcement had proceeded, low but symbolic — a promise made not in front of the hundreds of attendees in an ornate ballroom, but in front of trusted family and allies. A vow that, if violated, would be considered treachery by both sides.
(The person who received the message deleted it immediately.)
"Matteo?" a voice called behind him. Light. Familiar.
Isla.
He looked up to see her in the doorway, barefoot and wearing one of his shirts, her hair tousled around her shoulders. For a brief moment, he longed to be able to lie to her. Keep her in the world they'd made tonight — one of soft touches and whispered futures.
But he saw it in her eyes. She'd heard something.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Your light was on."
He approached her, pulling the cigarette from his lips and putting it out in a glass ashtray. "Neither could I."
She looked him up and down for one beat too long. "My dad was down with Dario meeting him. They didn't realize I was still in the hall."
Matteo's spine tensed.
"What did you hear?" he asked, tone careful.
Isla walked through the entry and closed the door. "Enough to know someone has betrayed us."
There was no pretending now. He stepped by her, poured himself two fingers of whiskey into a glass, and downed it in one shot.
"They told them that the engagement… could be this spark. That someone got hold of the plans for the alliance. My father wanted to annul the announcement, but it was too late."
"I told him to wait," Matteo said softly.
"You knew?" Isla's voice cracked. "You suspected something and you didn't tell me?"
"I wanted to." He faced her now, jaw tight. "But if there's a leak, I could not afford you reacting, or being seen pulling away. That would have been the confirmation they were looking for."
She walked back and forth in the room, arms crossed over her chest. "So what now? "Say nothing is wrong while someone is sharpening the knives behind our backs?"
"You think I haven't been honing mine?" Matteo's voice was low, hard. "You have no idea what I've had to do to keep this alliance from unraveling before it even started."
"I know enough," she shot back, "to hear the panic in my father's voice. One of theirs," he said, "but the way he phrased it, he said 'one of ours' — who is one of ours — someone inside. That could mean anyone."
They were both quiet.
Then, softer, Isla said, "Is it someone close to you?"
Matteo hesitated.
Luciana's name floated through his mind like a curse. She had hated the alliance all along — disguised her antipathy behind smiles and diplomacy, but he knew her ambition. Her hunger for control.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But I'll find out."
Isla stepped closer to him. "You should go. Tonight. You shouldn't be here if—"
"I am not leaving you here without knowing who's behind this."
Her voice dropped. "And if it's you?"
The words struck a little harder than he envisioned. Matteo took a step back, eyes narrowing. "Isla."
She looked away. "I don't want to believe it. I can't. But this — this uncertainty — it's ripping me apart. I am behind closed doors, and hear whispers. People behave differently when they don't think you're listening."
He took her hand, and for an instant, she let him. His thumb brushed hers.
"I would set the earth on fire before I let it touch you," he said. "You believe that, right?"
She nodded, barely. "I want to."
He closed the distance, pressing his forehead to hers. "Then hold onto it. Even when all else is on fire."
A knock broke the moment. Sharp. Urgent.
Isla turned and Matteo was already on the move. He answered the door to find Dario on the other side, pale and tight-lipped.
"We're in trouble," Dario said.
Isla stiffened.
"What kind of problem?" Matteo asked.
"One of our couriers was apprehended an hour ago. He was carrying names. Sensitive names."
"Who has them?" Matteo's voice dropped.
"We don't know yet. But he's dead. Shot twice. Execution style."
Matteo's stomach turned. "Where?"
"Half a mile from the estate. Someone wanted us to know they were there."
Dario briefly glanced over at Isla.
She knuckled the edge of the table.
They need to deal', Matteo said. "Wave your people off the perimeter. Change all secure lines. No comms tonight other than in person.'
"I'll take care of it," Dario nodded, then vanished down the hallway.
Matteo closed the door again, then turned to Isla, who had already started halfway to her coat.
"I'm going with you," she announced.
"No."
"I'm not sitting in this house like a target. If this is war, I want to be in the room.'
He took her hand, strong but gentle. "You don't know what you're asking for."
Her gaze didn't waver. "I do. Let me in."
Matteo looked at her for a long moment, then nodded once.
"Get dressed. We leave in ten."
She headed to the bedroom but stopped in the doorway. "Matteo?"
He looked up.
"If this goes sideways… if the wrong people get hold of us—"
"They won't."
"But if they do," she said, more softly now, "I need to know … are you still with me?"
His throat tightened. He didn't answer immediately.
For in that moment, a sound fell on the air — distant, faint but unmistakable.
A car engine — roaring when it should have been silent.
Then—
Gunfire.
Just outside the gates.
Isla faced him, her expression paling.
Matteo was already walking toward the hidden drawer in the dresser, where his pistol rested in velvet lining.
In a single breath, he loaded it.
"They started early," he muttered.
And somewhere inside him, colder than rage took hold.
Not fear.
Resolve.