Page 60 of Lupo

I haven't checked the news in a few days. Haven't let myself spiral into paranoia.

I open the browser and type searches again.

Naples mafia missing boss.

A few articles come up. I scan them quickly. There's mention of a power struggle, someone disappearing, but the details are vague. No names. No photos clear enough to tell me anything.

It could be Lupo. Or it could be someone else entirely.

I'm about to close the browser when I hear it. Tires on gravel. I go to the window and freeze.

There’s an expensive black Mercedes stopping in front of the house.

I know that car.

I know it because I used to ride in it. Used to sit in the passenger seat while Draco drove, his hand possessive on my thigh, his voice smooth as he told me how much he loved me.

Before I knew what love meant to him. That it was all lies.

The driver's door opens, and he steps out.

Draco Vitale.

Tall, still handsome in that polished way, his dark hair starting to gray at the temples. He's wearing a suit, charcoal gray, perfectly tailored. He looks exactly the same as the day I left him.

Except for his eyes. Even from here, I can see the coldness in them.

He found me.

After eighteen months, he finally found me.

I'm still frozen in fear, watching him walk toward the house like he owns it. Like he owns me. Like he owns Elena.

Then my mother's instinct kicks in.

Elena.

I run to her room. She's still sleeping, thank God. I close her door quietly, then stand in front of it. If he gets in, he'll have to go through me first.

The knock on the front door is polite. Almost gentle. That's always how it starts with Draco. Polite. Gentle. Until you say no. Until you try to leave.

"Isabella," he calls through the door. "I know you're in there. Your truck is here. I can hear you moving around."

I don't answer.

"Come now, darling. Don't be childish. Open the door. I just want to talk."

Darling.

He used to call me that when we were together. Before I became a possession. Before love became prison.

"Go away, Draco," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I can't do that. We have things to discuss. Our daughter, for instance."

"Leave her alone."

"Leave her alone?" His voice rises slightly. "She's my daughter, Isabella. My flesh and blood. And you stole her from me. Took her in the middle of the night like a thief."