Page 152 of The Cost of Silence

“People change,” she replies. “You did. I did. My mom did. And Enzo, whatever mistakes he made, whatever silence he chose, he changed, too. You’re walking proof.” She reaches up, smudged fingers cupping my jaw. “I love you. I was planning to tell you after we dealt with your murderous relatives and their pet arsonist. I’d still like to, but you beat me to it.”

The world narrows to the space between us. “Ti amo anch’io,” I say, the Italian coming easier now than it ever has. “I love you so much. More than this house. More than this name. More than any of it.”

A tear slips down her cheek, carving a clean line through the soot. “Good,” she whispers.

I kiss her like the cottage isn’t burning behind us, like the world isn’t waiting to end. It’s messy and desperate and tastes like ash and hope. She kisses me back with equal ferocity, fingers digging into my shoulders as if this is the only solid thing in a spinning world.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing harder.

“Okay,” she says, voice steadier. “Romantic crisis portion addressed. Now, can we go stop your uncle from murdering your brothers?”

“Yes,” I say. “We can definitely do that.”

“You’re not leaving me here,” she says, sliding off the hood before I can suggest it. “So don’t even try. I’ll bite you and then chase after you.”

Despite everything, I can’t help it; a laugh escapes me. “Get in the car.”

We peel away from the cottage as the fire starts to eat through the roof. In the rearview, smoke pours up into the gray sky like a signal. We pass two fire engines that my men must have called on the way, and I hope they can save the old cottage. It was my mom’s favorite part of the estate.

Matteo’s voice crackles over the line when I patch him through. “We’re almost at the docks. You?”

“Leaving the estate,” I say. “I have her. She was in the gardener’s cottage, and they set fire to it with her inside.”

There’s a sharp exhale. “She okay?”

“Mostly singed, very angry,” I say. “You know. Normal.”

I feel Isabella’s hand find mine on the console, fingers threading through, grip firm.

“Put her on,” Matteo says.

I hit the speaker.

“Matty?” she asks.

“You better still be pretty, Romano,” he says gruffly. “I didn’t sign up for you going fullPhantom of the Operaon us.”

“Couple of smoky highlights, nothing major,” she replies. “Please don’t die. Either of you.”

“No promises,” he says, “but we’ll try to keep it to minor injuries.”

Adi’s voice cuts in, tightly controlled. “You coming here is insanely risky, Isabella.”

“She’s already been kidnapped and nearly set on fire,” Matteo points out. “We’re past the point of coddling.”

“I’m not planning to walk into the middle of the first volley,” she says. “I just want to be where the truth lands.”

I glance at her. She meets my eyes, unwavering.

“She stays behind me,” I say. “Non-negotiable.”

“Obviously,” she says.

We kill the call with directions and timing. The plan isn’t perfect; it’s not even particularly good. But we’ve fought wars with less.

Domenico wanted us on our back foot.

He’s about to find out what happens when we swing forward instead.