Chapter 3 - THE WAKE-UP CALL IN THE BEDROOMThe heavy oak doors of the master suite didn't creak when Alessandro pushed them open; they glided silently on custom-oiled hinges, a luxury designed to keep out the noises of the world.
Except the world had already burned down downstairs, and the ash was clinging to the hem of my apron.
I followed two steps behind Alessandro. He had made me leave my torn jacket in the security room, but he hadn't let me out of his sight. “If Damian’s men are inside,” he had whispered, “you are safer standing next to the monster than hiding in the dark.”
The master suite was a palace of silk, ivory, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific coastline. Morning sunlight poured across the plush white carpets. And right in the middle of it stood Isabella.
She was wearing a cream-colored silk robe, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was standing by the vanity, fastening a diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist. In the mirror, she caught sight of the reflection of the doorway.
Her smile bloomed instantly—warm, radiant, and sickeningly sweet.
“My love,” Isabella turned, her voice a melodic purr. “You’re back. Did you forget your portfolio? I told you, Damian is already setting up the projector in the boardroom, and—”
She stopped dead.
Her eyes shifted from Alessandro’s face down to his clothes. The thousand-dollar suit jacket was scorched at the shoulder. There was soot smeared across his jawline. And right behind him stood me—the lowly maid with a bruised cheek and an apron stained with black smoke.
Isabella’s breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped. Her eyes darted toward the hallway behind us, searching for something—or someone. Like Marcus.
Like the burning Mercedes.
“Alessandro... what happened?” she asked, her voice trembling with expertly simulated confusion. She took a step forward, hands outstretched. “Your clothes—were you in an accident? Oh, thank God you’re safe—”
“Don’t touch me, Isabella,” Alessandro said.
His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even angry. It was the terrifying absence of sound before an avalanche.
Isabella froze, her hands hovering in mid-air. Her face went pale, but she quickly recovered, pasting on a look of wounded innocence. Her lower lip quivered just enough to sell the performance.
“Alessandro, what is wrong with you? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it... is it because of the council meeting? Are the board members giving you trouble again?” She turned her head, casting a glare of pure, unfiltered hatred in my direction. “And what is she doing in our bedroom? Did you drag the cleaning girl up here to interrogate her about dust while you smell like smoke?”
“She wasn't cleaning,” Alessandro said, taking a slow step into the room.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out my cracked, tape-repaired phone. He placed it down on the glass top of the vanity, right beside her expensive perfume bottles and diamond-encrusted hairpins.
Isabella stared at the phone. Her pupils dilated.
“Recognize it?” Alessandro asked softly.
“I... of course not. Why would I look at a broken piece of trash like that?” She forced a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Alessandro, you’re scaring me. Call Damian. Let’s get security up here, something is clearly wrong—”
“Marcus tried to kill me five minutes ago,” Alessandro interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a scalpel.
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn't hide the micro-expression of sheer horror that flashed across her face.
“The car bomb went off in the courtyard,” Alessandro continued, closing the distance between them until he was towering over her. “Marcus is currently bleeding out in a flipped SUV by the gates. And Damian... well, Damian is waiting in the boardroom, practicing his speech about how tragic it is that I died in a tunnel accident.”
Isabella’s back hit the edge of the vanity. She looked trapped, like a cornered viper. But women like Isabella Moretti—or rather, Isabella Ricci—don't go down without striking.
Her frightened expression vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp smirk.
“You always were arrogant, Alessandro,” she whispered, her voice losing all its warmth, turning into ice. “You thought you were untouchable. You thought your father left you an empire built on loyalty.”
“My father,” Alessandro’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, “was killed by Damian twenty-two years ago. And you knew.”
Isabella laughed. A short, ugly sound.
“Of course I knew! Damian didn't just kill him, Alessandro—he carved the foundation of this family out of your father’s bones. And you handed it all to us on a silver platter, playing master of the house while we bled your accounts dry and bought out your council members one by one.”
She pushed herself off the vanity, standing tall, her chin raised in absolute defiance.
“You can kill Marcus. You can kill Damian. It won’t change a damn thing,” Isabella hissed, stepping right into Alessandro’s personal space. “Half the syndicate already signed the transfer papers this morning. By noon, you’ll be declared legally dead, hunted as a fugitive for bombing your own estate, and I will be sitting at the head of the Moretti table wearing your ring.”
She reached up, her fingers sliding toward the heavy diamond ring on her left hand, as if to tear it off and throw it in his face.
“You’re right about one thing, Isabella,” Alessandro murmured, his hand moving with blinding speed.
Before she could blink, his hand shot out, catching her wrist in a grip of steel, pinning her arm against her side.
“The empire is built on bones,” Alessandro whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed her ear. “Starting with yours.”
He didn't hurt her. He just signaled toward the doorway.
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Two massive men in plain black tactical gear—not the corrupt mansion guards, but Alessandro’s personal shadow detail from his overseas operations—stepped silently into the room.
“Pack her bags,” Alessandro ordered, his voice echoing off the luxury marble walls. “We’re going to the council meeting. And someone bring the maid a fresh jacket. She’s coming with us.”
