Page 76 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Seventy-Five

Isabella

T he secret panel closes with a muted click, and the room seems heavier without Luca in it.

Brief as it was, the echo of his kiss still lingers on my lips, as if he had sealed something between us.

I lean a hand against the wall for support, my palm pressed to the cool plaster. The chill seeps into my skin as exhaustion sweeps through me like I’ve swallowed lead. With Luca gone, I can finally admit to myself that I’m running on fumes.

I draw a slow breath through my nose and let it out in a long sigh through my mouth, the sound barely stirring the quiet.

My gaze wanders over the dim outlines of the room. The shadows in the muted light seem darker than they should be. Everything here appears cold and uncared-for… because it is.

I picture our island, the salt-heavy breeze drifting through open windows, the comfort of a home that he made for me. A place where the walls held not just warmth but safety.

Luca said I’m safe here. I want to believe him. But now that I’m alone, the silence holds something different, and doubt presses in like the dark outside the glass .

I stand still, listening. For what, I’m not entirely sure. Sounds that warn of danger?

Something moves beyond the walls. Some noises seem harmless enough, maybe a night bird or a stray cat, but others… a faint crunch, like weight on gravel, makes my skin prickle.

This part of the city might be abandoned to most, but not everyone stays away. There have to be squatters somewhere nearby. Some buildings still look solid. What if someone saw our light and decided to investigate?

I should turn it off, but the thought of complete darkness is worse. My eyes find the pistol on the table. I cross the room and wrap my hand around it.

Luca taught me to shoot years ago, when Father refused. I never liked the weight of a weapon in my hand, but right now, it’s the only thing that offers a hint of security.

I lie down on the bed, knowing I should rest, but my body is wound tight. I pull the folded blanket over me and try to settle. The thin fabric smells of dust and something metallic, a scent that reminds me of cold keys and old locks.

I’m about to close my eyes when I notice the balcony door is still open. A faint chill drifts in from outside, carrying the scents of stone, earth, and night air.

What if someone comes through there?

I push the blanket aside and cross the room, taking the pistol with me. The balcony opens onto nothing but the shadowed cliff wall behind the villa. Still, my eyes sweep every inch, searching for the smallest shift of movement.

My skin prickles. The sensation of being watched crawls between my shoulder blades.

I stay there until my eyes ache from the strain, until the dark begins to blur into itself.

Nothing moves. There’s only empty stone and shadow. I force a small breath past my lips, which turns into half a laugh. I’m imagining things, aren’t I ?

Finally, I close the door and turn the lock with a quiet click. I tell myself that I’m safe.

And I almost believe it.

I wake several times in the night, shifting restlessly, the pistol never far from my reach. When sunlight finally brushes over my face, warm and almost ticklish against my nose, it feels like I’ve only just drifted off.

My eyes blink open, adjusting to the light, and I scan the room automatically. My gaze catches on the wooden wardrobe. The door is still open the tiniest crack, exactly as I left it. Somehow, that seems like proof the night passed without incident.

How long has Luca been down in the cellar now? Is he making progress?

He said it could take hours, but right now, it feels like it might take days. The thought makes the room seem smaller, as if the walls are leaning in to listen.

What am I supposed to do with myself while Luca’s saving our future?

He bought a book for me when we bought supplies, but the last thing I want to do is read. It’s too trivial, too detached from reality, when our world seems to be hanging by a thread.

I sit up and scoot to the edge of the mattress, listening to the silence he left behind. I miss him. More than I want to admit, even though he’s not that far away.

Just once, I want to wake with my head on his chest, tangled together in warmth, with a sense of something close to normal.

Will we ever have that?

My eyes land on Luca’s leather jacket where he tossed it last night. I go to pick it up. His scent clings to it, warm spice and salt, and I press it to my nose, breathing it in like it’s the only thing tethering me. Then I slip it on, and things don’t seem quite so bad anymore .

I cross to the door we entered through, checking it for my peace of mind. Still locked. Good.

I have a bite to eat, hoping Luca has taken a break to do the same. He’s got snacks and plenty of water, but once he’s in the zone, nothing else exists.

I’m tempted to stick my head down the chute and call out, just to hear his voice. But that would distract him, and that’s not what he needs right now.

My eyes wander over the room, and I decide to tidy up. If we’re going to be here for a few days, I might as well make it a touch more homey.

In the wooden wardrobe of all places, I find a bundle of rags and what I suppose is a broom, palm fibers bound with twine to a worn wooden stick. I take the rags and start wiping the few surfaces worth cleaning.

Whistling to myself to break the quiet, I plot my plan of attack for this place.

I need a mission name. Something like Operation: Grime Time or Mission: Improvable , because cleaning in a safe house mid-danger is downright ridiculous.

I smile to myself, wishing I could share these with Luca. Picturing his laugh, I land on an even better one.

Codename: Mop and Dagger.

Yeah, that’s the one. It’s got a bit of a Bond vibe.

The rag turns gray almost immediately, heavy with dust. Needing to shake it out, I crack the balcony door open just enough to peek through, angling my ear for any sound.

All is quiet.

I scan the view through the gap, spotting nothing unusual. Just the slope of the cliff wall, streaked with reddish dirt and scattered with dry, wiry plants clinging to cracks in the rock.

So I push the doors fully open, letting the warm sunlight spill over my skin as I step outside, the dirt on the tiles crunching beneath my shoes .

I lean on the railing and shake out the cloth, sending clouds of dust drifting into the air, where they catch the sunlight like tiny motes of gold.

A bird shrieks somewhere to my right, sharp against the quiet, and I turn my head toward the sound.

Then something sharp pricks the side of my neck.

My hand flies up, fingers pressing the spot, expecting the hot swell of a bee sting.

Instead, my fingertips brush something foreign. Thin. Hard. Wrong.

I pull it free and stare at the small dart in my hand.

“What—”

Heat surges through my veins, thick and syrupy, spreading too fast. My thoughts scatter. My legs go soft beneath me, as if my bones have dissolved.

No. No. No.

Luca.

I need to warn him. But my throat won’t work.

I grip the railing hard, fighting to stay upright, but the metal slips under my hands like it’s coated in oil. The dart clatters to the tiles, the sound far away, muffled.

The edges of my vision darken, shrinking the world to a narrow tunnel. My breathing turns shallow. My heartbeat drums loud in my ears, then dulls, like someone is turning the volume down.

Luca, please.

I try to shout, but my mouth won’t form the words. My knees buckle, and the balcony tilts violently before the darkness swallows everything… my last thought clinging to the man I love.