Page 9 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

As expected, my appointment had drawn unwanted attention, but the spotlight had outlived my worst nightmares.

Publicity was inevitable, sure, but the media frenzy that erupted was something else entirely.

Reporters had started camping out at my office, bombarding me with requests for interviews and updates, each person more persistent than the last. They acted like I had nothing better to do than hand out juicy soundbites on command.

I didn’t budge. One wrong word and it’d be like handing a loaded gun to a toddler—no way I was signing up for that kind of disaster.

Still, the pressure built day after day, leaving me feeling like I’d been through a battle by the time I got home.

Today really took the cake. The leak of Michael’s coroner report, including the most humiliating details, turned the day into an absolute nightmare.

Reporters didn’t just swarm—they attacked, digging into the most private parts of his death like it was gossip.

It was hard enough to manage the cases without the added burden of fending off relentless inquiries about something so personal, so raw.

If there was ever a day for wine, this was it—and probably not just one glass either.

I popped the cork and filled the glass like it were life support. The wine spun lazily in the glass, the rosé catching the low light, as if any of this was about flavor .

I wandered into the living room, half-draining my glass just getting to the couch. I sank into the cushions as if they might swallow me whole.

Pretty sure the couch was judging me—and honestly, it had a point.

As I absently traced the rim of my glass between sips, my thoughts drifted to Jake.

He’d be back in a couple of days, finally home from his stay with my mom.

Just thinking about it twisted something tight in my chest—relief, longing, all of it knotted together.

God, I missed him. Missed the way he filled the house with noise and energy, missed his stupid jokes and his too-big heart.

Now, the house was dead silent.

The neighbor’s cat, stretched out on the couch like she paid rent, flicked an ear at me but didn’t bother moving.

Fine. She could stay.

I shuffled into the kitchen, ready for round two.

The wine bottle sitting there caught my eye.

Weird.

I could’ve sworn I stuck the stopper in.

I even remembered smiling at the little phrase etched on it: ‘Stoppers are for quitters.’ Chrissy always said that when I insisted on using one.

That’s why she bought it for me in the first place.

But there it was—no stopper, just the open bottle as if it had been waiting.

Maybe I was more wiped than I thought.

I poured another glass—heavier this time—and dropped back onto the couch.

The cat must’ve decided I was staying because she stretched once, slow and lazy, then wandered over and curled up next to me.

I ran my hand over her fur while flipping through the book, drinking slowly, letting the soft sounds—pages, purring—wrap around me .

The wine spread through me like a slow exhale, dulling the buzz in my brain until I almost felt weightless. I caught myself smiling and didn’t bother asking why.

After a while, the easy buzz settled into my bones, making everything look a little brighter, a little less real. I stared down at my glass, half-laughing at myself. Maybe Chrissy was right—only quitters stop when it gets good.

But the feeling didn’t stick. The room swayed around me, the edges going soft, like the whole place was breathing.

I leaned back, letting it drag me down to where it was quiet.

? ? ?

Morning light pressed against the curtains, soft but insistent. My head was pounding, my temples screaming, and there was a cold, empty pressure sitting right in my chest.

I turned my head, the room swimming for a second. Nothing about being here made sense because I had no memory of getting here.

Flashes cracked through the haze—someone’s laughter, a hand steady and sure at my back, and the rush of euphoria so strong it had drowned out everything.

Then, suddenly, a sharp flash: signing something.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I fought to focus, but it was all tangled—only hazy images of my trembling hand dragging a pen across paper. I rubbed my face, trying to shake off the fog—

And froze.

I sat up so fast the room spun, heart leaping into my throat as my gaze locked onto my left hand.

No. This couldn’t be real.

But there it was—a ring.

What the actual hell ?

I stared at the glittering monster on my hand, the shock hitting so hard I thought I might pass out.

This wasn’t a cute little accessory; it was a billboard for money and commitment.

Two things I didn’t remember asking for.

Two things I definitely shouldn’t have been wearing.

I had no idea where it had come from, but there it was, looking perfectly at home on my finger.

This has to be a sick joke. Except nobody was laughing. Least of all me.

I pushed myself up, my legs wobbly under me as the weight of everything settled in hard. I stormed to the window, yanking the curtains back as if a little more daylight could somehow explain what the hell had happened.

The agents’ car sat right where it always did, like the rest of the world hadn’t gotten the memo that mine had just turned upside down.

I turned back toward the room—and that’s when I saw them: papers, right on the nightstand. Papers that sure as hell hadn’t been there before.

My heart skipped a beat as I picked up the top one. A handwritten note.

Siren,

Last night was better than I ever expected.

If anything comes up, call Enzo. His number’s already in your contacts.

Luca

“What the fuck?” I whispered, staring at the paper like it might explode. Because honestly, it might as well have.

My breath caught when I checked the others. A marriage license and a pre-application—both with my name and signature scrawled across them.

Isabelle Abruzzo .

The name sat there like a dare, daring me to lose my mind while I fought to breathe.

“No. No, it’s fake. It has to be fake.”

Because if it wasn’t? I was in a whole new kind of deep shit.

My mind was spinning so fast I could barely hold onto a thought, trying to piece together how a couple glasses of wine and a quiet night turned into… this. Married. To Luca Freaking Abruzzo.

This wasn’t just a hangover. This was some twisted, living nightmare, and I had no clue how to claw my way out.

My pulse raced as I ran through the timeline.

I remembered coming home, the wine, the couch, the book.

The cat, maybe? But after that, nothing.

Just dream-like fragments where my memory should’ve been.

The handwriting was mine. The papers were screaming ‘You did this,’ and my brain was screaming right back, ‘Like hell I did!’

“Please, please, please. Now would be an excellent time to rewrite the script,” I whispered, glancing up like the ceiling might drop down a new reality.

But no big revelation, no flashing sign from above. Just cold hard facts: the ring gleaming on my hand and those damn papers in my death grip.

I pulled in a shaky breath, hit dial on Chrissy’s number, and prayed she would answer.

“Listen, I need your help,” I said the second she did, my panic plain as day.

“Izzy, what’s wrong?”

I froze, because this story didn’t even sound believable in my own head. Because ‘Hey, I think I married a mob boss last night’ wasn’t exactly your typical morning chit-chat.

“I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I need to get out. Can you meet me at Anderson Park in thirty minutes? ”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Just… be careful, okay?”

“I will. See you soon.”

Hanging up, I forced myself to focus. Losing it now wasn’t an option. Staying sharp was the only way to figure out how to slip past the agents without raising any red flags.

I took a quick shower, but the cold water did nothing to snap me out of it. The panic swirling in my gut didn’t vanish. But at least I became more focused and more… presentable.

Once out of the bathroom, I pulled on biker shorts, a T-shirt, and slipped into my sneakers. To anyone else, I looked like any other runner, but if I ended up killing Luca over this, my all-black outfit would be spot on.

For half a second, I seriously thought about leaving the ring behind. But one look at the massive stone changed my mind. It was safer to act like it wasn’t even there than risk explaining how I lost a small fortune. Still, it flashed like a warning signal every time I moved.

I snatched a baseball cap off the dresser, crammed it onto my head, and squeezed through the window, trying not to fall flat on my face.

I moved like my body remembered training I sure as hell never got.

Every few steps, I tossed a quick look over my shoulder, the hair on my neck standing up straight.

When my feet hit the pavement, I tucked my head and broke into a jog, praying I looked like someone just trying to get their steps in.

From afar, I might have pulled it off. Up close?

Stomach flipping, lungs burning, and already out of steam by the corner.

The street was too still, the morning shadows stretching out like hands trying to grab me.

I slowed just enough to stop gasping, but didn’t even think about stopping. I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet here I was, acting like a criminal on the run.

When I reached Anderson Park, Chrissy’s car was already parked near the entrance. I slipped into the passenger seat, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“What the hell happened?”

I held up my left hand and flashed that ridiculous ring with a grimace as my fingers tightened around the documents. “According to these papers, I’m Isabelle Abruzzo.”

“What the fuck?” She eyed the diamond before taking the papers, her face turning pale as she absorbed the words.

Chrissy glanced back at me, disbelief and concern written all over her face, while I was laying out the whole nightmare.

“This has to be fake.”

“It must be, but I’ve got to sort this out—and fast. Let’s visit my so-called husband. At least I have his address from the application.”

Facing Luca wasn’t exactly high on my bucket list, but fear or no fear, it had to happen. I needed answers, and no one was going to hand them to me while I waited.

The drive through the city felt unreal, like everything outside was happening to someone else. The ring burned against my skin like a brand. And when we finally rolled up to his estate, I couldn’t even pretend to stay calm.

This wasn’t a house. It was a fortress, and I was already trapped inside it. Those gates didn’t say “Home.” They said, “Stay out if you know what’s good for you.”

We got out of the car, both of us standing there, taking it all in.

“This is… wow,” Chrissy muttered.

“Yeah. Welcome to the dark side.”

“You sure you want to do this? We could turn back.”

“No. I have to confront him. I need answers.”

Her fingers tightened around mine for a second, a silent “you’ve got this”, before we started toward the entrance .

A guard stepped into our path, his face telling me absolutely nothing.

“It’s Isabelle Abruzzo. I need to speak with… my husband.”

Clipboard clutched tight, the guard froze for a second, then glanced down at the list.

The quiet was unbearable until he finally gave a curt nod. “Apologies for the confusion, Mrs. Abruzzo. Please follow me. The boss is inside and expecting you.”

Of course, he is. The fucker set this up.

We tailed the guard with the confidence of someone marching to their execution.

The driveway might as well have been a red carpet rolled straight into hell disguised as luxury.

Perfect gardens on either side, palm trees towering over us.

Ahead, a villa sprawled out like it owned the world, all arched doorways and too-fancy ironwork.

The smell of the jasmine was too strong, the sound of the fountain too soft, as if someone was trying too hard to say everything’s fine.

It wasn’t.

I was walking into the lion’s den, no question.

“Thanks,” I muttered as the guard held the door.

We moved across the foyer, and honestly, it was so unbelievably perfect it didn’t feel real.

Sunlight poured in, so much of it that the whole place looked like it had been bleached.

Everything in here gleamed—the staircase, the walls, even the stupid air felt polished.

Paintings everywhere, heavy frames you could probably kill a man with.

And it was so quiet that even my heartbeat sounded rude.

The guard stopped at the door and knocked once, sharp and polite.

Seriously? Polite knocks now?

My patience snapped clean in half. I grabbed the handle and didn’t give myself time to regret it.