Leandro’s POV
The air between us crackled as Isabella stood there, the baby blue dress she was wearing almost swallowing her whole. She was trying to hide, trying to escape from the reality of the life she’d been born into. But it didn’t work that way. Not in this world. Not in the game we played.
I couldn’t help but admire the way she looked — even in that simple dress, she exuded something different. Something real. But she was still caught in the web of her father’s empire, whether she liked it or not.
Her voice cut through the silence. "You really have a spy inside my house?"
I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms, allowing a half-smirk to play on my lips. "Everyone has a spy, Isabella. Don’t pretend like your father doesn’t have spies in my territory too. We’re all watching each other."
She stared at me, disbelief in her eyes. I could see the way it made her stomach churn, but I wasn’t about to lie to her. In this world, trust was something that had to be earned, and that was rare.
"That’s insane," she said, pacing in frustration. "And you… you think this is normal?"
I raised an eyebrow. "It’s the way things work, princess. Welcome to the real world."
Her eyes flickered, and I could see the anger building inside her. "You’re crazy," she muttered, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite understand why she’d allowed herself to get tangled up in this mess.
She was right about one thing: I was crazy. Crazy for doing everything my family demanded, crazy for the way I lived, and insane for wanting her more than I should. But she didn’t know the half of it.
"You think I’m crazy for asking you to come to my apartment?" I asked, voice steady, though a smile tugged at my lips. "You give me the same thrill you get from me, Isabella. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it."
Her breath caught at my words, and for a moment, I saw her hesitate. The truth stung her, didn’t it? The idea that we were playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, but neither of us were willing to walk away.
"I’m not like you, Leandro," she said finally, her voice quieter. "I’m not going to be your plaything." I leaned in, my face closer to hers now, feeling the space between us tighten with each passing second.
"You’re already playing," I said, my tone a little more intimate, a little more dangerous. "And you know it."
She flinched at my words, but her eyes didn’t leave mine. She was angry, yes, but there was something else there too. Something dangerous and hungry — something that was starting to make this whole mess between us more than just a game.
"You really are crazy," she muttered, shaking her head, trying to pull away, but I wasn’t done. Not yet. "You’re telling me you think I would ever go to your house and get you?"
"I’m not the type who bluffs, princess." I said, stepping forward, closing the distance between us. "You’re already here. You don’t get to walk away now, Isabella. I’m in your head. Just like you’re in mine. It takes two to tango."
She looked down at the floor for a moment, as if gathering herself, then looked up again. "I hate my life, Leandro." The words hit me harder than I expected. I could hear the vulnerability in her voice now, the desperation that she usually kept hidden beneath layers of deflection.
"You think I want this?" she continued, her hands moving as she spoke. "This whole thing with Elio, this arranged marriage? The spotlight? The mafia life? My parents have made me a puppet, and now I’m just waiting for someone to pull the strings." I could see it — the frustration in her eyes, the way she clutched the fabric of her dress tighter as if it were her only defense against the world closing in.
"I don’t want this. I don’t want to marry Elio. I don’t want to be some perfect little mafia daughter. I want to leave this behind. I want to live like a normal person, like everyone else who gets to choose their own future." Her voice cracked at the last sentence, and I could feel the weight of it in the room. She was no longer the perfect D’Angelo daughter. She was a woman tired of the life she had been forced into.
The words I had been avoiding came out before I could stop them.
"Do you still want to marry him?" I asked softly, my voice heavy with the weight of her response.
Her eyes snapped to mine, a mix of anger and vulnerability. "No. I hate Elio," she said, her words firm, her voice low. "I’ve never wanted to marry him. I’m not even sure I ever loved him. I want something real and he will never able to give me that." I didn’t respond right away. Part of me wanted to tell her that I could give her the freedom she craved, but I wasn’t sure I could. Not yet. Not the way she wanted. But something inside me — something dangerous — was starting to feel the pull.
"I want to escape," she continued, her voice a little quieter. "I want out of this life. I want to be free of them. I want to live an ordinary life. I want to breathe without the weight of their expectations."
I swallowed, the emotions I had been holding back for so long starting to surface. "You want to run," I said. "But you know as well as I do that there’s no real running from this. Not for you. Not for me."
She didn’t answer right away, instead turning away, pacing again, as if trying to find something to hold onto. "I hate being controlled," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I hate the way my parents use me. I hate the way they make decisions for me, as if I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip in their stupid game."
"I get it," I said, stepping closer. "I hate it too. But we don’t always have a choice, do we? The game was rigged the moment we were born."
Her eyes met mine again, and I saw something shift in them. Something that had been buried deep inside her was finally coming to the surface. "I just want to be normal," she said, her voice filled with longing.
I could feel the pull between us, the way we were both caught in the same web, the same game — but she was desperate to escape. I was still playing. And maybe I was too deep in it to care.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again.
I checked it. My uncle.
“Leandro, get here. We have work to do. The job’s not finished.”
I clenched my jaw, hating the feeling that came with it. My uncle — always demanding. Always needing me to do his dirty work. I hated it, but I knew I had no choice. Isabella watched me carefully, the frustration still visible in her eyes.
"Can’t you just leave it?" she asked softly. "You don’t have to listen to them. You can walk away, Leandro."
I let out a bitter laugh. "I can’t walk away and you know that. They own me, just like they own you. The difference is, you’re still holding on to the hope that you can escape. I’m not that naive."
She looked at me, hurt flashing across her face. "So, what? I’m just another piece on your chessboard?" I stared at her, and for a moment, I felt the weight of her question.
"You’re not a pawn," I said, my voice lower, softer. "But I can’t just give you what you want. Not yet."
Her eyes were filled with something I couldn’t quite place. "Then why are you even here? Why are we even in the same room?"
I paused, stepping closer to her.
"Because right now, Isabella," I said, my voice rough, "We’re using each other and we both know we want it and crave it. So let’s just enjoy it…"
She didn’t say anything. She just stared at me, as if she understood more than I wanted her to.