Page 27 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

It was nearly midnight, and I was still sitting on the couch, legs crossed, surrounded by a mess of paperwork I hadn’t touched in an hour. I kept my eyes on it anyway, pretending to read—until the sharp snap of the door jolted through the silence, making my heart jump before I could stop it.

I looked up, waiting for Luca to walk in. And when he did, my heart sank.

His shirt was white—meant to be, anyway. Now it was soaked with blood and wrinkled, the sleeve stuck to his arm like glue. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. But his silence said more than anything else.

This wasn’t how any of this was meant to go.

If I just blocked out the fact that I’d abandoned my boundaries, ignored every warning bell in my head, missed my son so bad it hurt to breathe, and pretended that shacking up with Luca wasn’t the definition of delusion…

Then yeah. Everything had been just fine.

Like we were in that first, feral stage of something we hadn’t named yet.

Like this was normal. And I was happy. Stupidly, dangerously happy.

Right up until Chrissy’s name lit up my phone and her rushed voice on the other end of the line changed everything.

George had submitted a new investigation report—the one containing the fake name Luca’s informant had fed Tony.

Proof. It was the one thing Luca needed to confirm what he’d already suspected.

The shift had been immediate. Luca made it clear I was staying home while they went to “talk” to him.

I’d pressed for answers, but none came. Instead, he had dismissed me without so much as a glance.

Enzo hadn’t even met my eyes, his silence reinforcing Luca’s decision.

They had gone in ready to confirm Tony’s betrayal, but if Luca’s shirt was anything to go by, things hadn’t gone according to plan.

“Jesus. What the hell happened?” I didn’t mean for it to come out that sharp.

He didn’t flinch. Just met my eyes for half a second, then nodded at his arm. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re bleeding.”

He gave a half shrug, already turning toward the bathroom like the conversation was over.

I followed him anyway.

“Luca, what happened?”

He went straight to the sink, pulled open the cabinet, grabbed the first aid kit, and dropped it hard on the counter.

“The asshole realized it was a setup. Pulled a gun and tried to bolt.”

I hovered at the door, staring as he worked the buttons loose and shoved the bloodied shirt off. A tie around his arm was biting deep, blood running down his forearm in uneven lines.

“Oh my God, you need a doctor,” I said, somehow keeping my voice steady.

He tugged the tie loose and glanced at the damage without so much as a flinch.

“No.”

I stood there, helpless for a second, then forced myself forward.

“All right. Then let me help. ”

“I can handle it.”

He snatched a towel, soaked it, and didn’t so much as blink as he pressed it hard to the wound.

I, however, blinked like a woman who’d watched a five-minute YouTube video on battlefield medicine once and suddenly felt qualified.

“Let. Me. Help,” I repeated, my patience thinning with every second.

“I don’t need—”

“Shut up and sit down,” I snapped.

That earned a faint curve of his lips. “Bossy tonight, aren’t we?”

“Sit,” I nodded toward the edge of the bathtub.

He didn’t move right away. Just gave me this look—half challenge, half something else. Then he finally sat, his movements slow, like he was letting me win.

I grabbed the antiseptic and gauze, setting them down beside him. My pulse hammered, while I carefully peeled the towel away from his bicep.

The wound was shallow, the bleeding was slowing.

Which, frankly, was kind of insulting considering the performance I’d already acted out in my head.

I’d pictured blood loss, whispered goodbyes, maybe a soft “I love you” before he passed out dramatically.

But in my defense, he was bleeding in a way that would’ve made Tarantino clap.

Our eyes met, and the look on his face made it clear he was having a great time—and I was the show.

“You didn’t have to bark at me. I would’ve sat if you’d just asked nicely.”

“Hold still.” I gripped his arm gently, dabbing the antiseptic onto the torn skin.

He hissed, pulling back slightly, his jaw tightening as he gave me a glare that was more dramatic than serious .

“Jesus, Siren. Trying to finish the job?”

“Stop whining. You act like this is worse than getting shot.”

“That’s because it is… You’ve got no bedside manner,” he smirked.

I tied off the bandage and looked up. “Maybe because you’re a terrible patient.”

He didn’t move. His eyes locked on mine—blue, intense, impossible to read—and I couldn’t pull away. There was a weight in them I didn’t understand, but it rooted me there.

“You’re supposed to say thank you,” I whispered.

No words.

Just his hand sliding up, fingers framing my face, thumb brushing along the edge of my jaw like he needed the contact as much as I did. His eyes held mine for a beat long before he finally leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Barely there.

Warmth spread through my chest, sharp and unwelcome and impossible to fight.

“Thanks,” he murmured, lips brushing mine again, soft, lazy.

He didn’t move back. Just stayed there, close enough I could feel the way he was smiling against me.

“But damn, you’ve got a habit of insulting the wounded. Lucky for you, I’ve got more patience for you than I do for the rest of the world combined.”

My heart fluttered once, then twice, then completely lost rhythm as I met his eyes.

He stood and flexed his arm, casually testing the bandage like he hadn’t just left me completely off balance.

I shut the first aid kit with mechanical focus, anything to avoid the question clawing at the back of my mind: Did he mean it the way it sounded?

“Yeah, well, you’d better have patience with me.” I forced a grin to keep the moment light. “I’m the one keeping you from bleeding out.”

“Bleeding out?” He gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a scratch. Tony can’t say the same.”

Tony.

His name hit like a punch to the gut. The butterflies flipped. They turned into something sharp and awful, clawing up my ribs.

What the hell’s wrong with me? I’d managed to forget about Tony entirely.

“What happened to him?”

“It’s handled.”

“Handled?” My breath hitched, my voice dropping lower. “What does that mean?”

Luca leaned against the sink, casual, calm. “It means my men took care of him. He’s not breathing anymore.”

I swallowed hard. “They killed him.”

The words barely made it out.

“He killed himself the second he crossed me. All we did was bury him. He made his choice. Disloyalty’s not something you walk away from.”

I stared at him. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe around the way my heart was slamming against my ribs. It wasn’t what he said. It was how he said it. Like it was normal. Like it was necessary.

My eyes followed every sharp angle, every shadow, and none of it made sense. How the same man who kissed me like I mattered could so easily order someone’s death. The softness he showed me didn’t match the cold in his voice now. How could both be true?

I shook my head and backed away, the weight of the room pressing down until I couldn’t even draw a full breath.

“You didn’t even let him explain? What if he—”

“Isabelle. ”

I stopped cold, instincts screaming louder than logic.

He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. “I don’t need a full story to know when I’m being lied to. Even if I let them talk.”

“And you’re okay with that? Just getting rid of him like he was nothing?”

Luca stepped closer. His hand came up gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Siren, there’s no other way. Betrayal means death. You have to understand—every decision has its cost.”

His voice was calm. Like he was explaining something obvious.

I didn’t look away. Couldn’t. I searched his face for anything—some crack, some second-guessing.

Nothing. Not even a hesitation.

And suddenly, it slammed into me—

What if it had been me? Would it make any difference? Would he hesitate then?

The thought was sharp and suffocating.

If I ever found myself on the wrong side of his line, would he let me explain? Would he give me a chance? Or am I already a name waiting to be crossed off, wiped away clean and easy like Tony?

I swallowed and pushed the words out before I lost my nerve. “What if you have to betray someone to save them?”

Luca tilted his head, studying me, that small movement carrying more weight than a dozen words.

The pause stretched tight between us, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to find the truth I wasn’t saying out loud.

“Betrayal is betrayal,” he said finally. “The reason doesn’t matter. Damage is damage.”

The lump in my throat burned. I forced it down.

“Even if it’s the only choice?”

“There’s always another way. You just didn’t want to pay the price it would’ve cost you. No matter how you justify it, you chose the outcome that made you feel better—not the one they might’ve chosen for themselves.”

“You make it sound so simple.” My voice didn’t shake, but I barely managed to meet his eyes.

“It’s not. But once you’ve betrayed someone, you’ve chosen a side. Even if you pretend otherwise.”

The finality of his words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But guilt was a living thing, tightening its grip with every beat of silence.

“You’re quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

My breath caught, chest squeezing tight, every lie stacking up, pressing harder, begging for a way out.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

His thumb skimmed my cheek.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine.

Fear twisted low in my gut, but he didn’t push.

After a beat that felt way too long, he dropped his hand and stepped back. “I’ve got a call to make. Meet you in bed.”

I nodded, my throat locked up, the words thick and useless.

He tossed his shirt and towel into the trash and paused, his eyes pinning me in place. Waiting. Like he already knew the secret I was choking on, waiting for me to say it.

When I stayed silent, he left.

I wrapped my arms around myself, as if it could stop the ache building under my ribs. My eyes caught the door he’d walked through and stuck there, stupid and stubborn.

Betrayal is betrayal. Betrayal means death.

His voice was still there, needling under my ribs, impossible to shake. There was no space for deception—or forgiveness. And yet, here I was, straddling the line, pretending I could belong in it while holding onto a truth that would shatter everything if it ever came out .

I dragged in another breath, but it didn’t help. I wasn’t ready for bed. I wasn’t ready for anything, least of all for Luca to look at me and see the cracks beneath the surface.