Chapter 3 Innocence Or Pretense

• Luca's nights were haunted, black shards of blue eyes ripped open in fear and golden locks, flung across his silk sheets. He woke up growling, sheets rucked up at his ankles, the first light of dawn forcing its way through his penthouse windows.
• He discovered Isabella in the kitchen, stooping over the counter, setting down his breakfast tray in front of him. She was shaking so hard that the fork hit the plate. She gasped when she sensed him behind her, her shoulders going stiff into position.
• She spun around slowly, looking down. "G-good morning, Mr. Moretti," she stammered, her voice as delicate and filmy as spider silk.
• He said not a word, edging nearer until the heat of his presence loomed over her. "Tell me," he ordered, voice like sharpened steel," where did you work before here?"
• She sprang back, staring at the white floor. "Little café… couple of weeks… I-I needed money," she gasped, words tumbling from pale lips.
• "Family?" he snarled, pinching shut tightly buttoned eyes.
• She swallowed, "No… no family."
• Her gentle voice broke something inside him that he could not even define. He detested it. He wanted to shake her, force her to meet his eyes. "Look at me when I'm talking to you", he snapped.
• But as she raised her face for a moment, tears stopped, took a deep breath, and continued, he remained rooted.
• A steaming cup of coffee sat on the tray, and as she moved to pour it, her shaking hands slipped. The cup crashed to the floor, shards skidding across polished stone. Isabella gasped, knees buckling as she dropped to gather the broken pieces. “I-I’m so sorry, sir,” she stammered, tears spilling freely now. “Please—don’t… don’t fire me.”
• Silence fell like a guillotine.
• She had the nerve to glance up and find him staring, teeth gritted. She braced for a roar of rage.
• He pushed out one hand, fingers wrapping around her chin in a tightening grip. He yanked her face upwards, eyes flashing into hers with purposeful heat. His thumb stroked her cheek, sweeping away a tear, rough but not harsh.
• Her lips parted in a gasping breath, her eyes wide and wet. His own held to them, a fraction too long.
• He took a step back from her, putting her away with a snort as if burned. "Don't make mistakes again," he muttered, his voice too low.
• "Yes, sir," she whispered, so softly he barely heard it.
• And there he caught her in the drawing room, polishing the pianoforte softly. There was a muffled hum that sounded as if it came from between her lips—a soft, ethereal tune floating by. She jerked back in shock at seeing him looking at her, almost overtopping a crystal vase on the floor. There was a hunched fear in her eyes that was innocent, her lips quivering as she tried to speak.
• He stepped forward, his eyes wary. "You're half-scared to death," he growled, his voice low enough to wrap around her spine. "Don't tell me you're scared of me, Isabella?"
• Her lips trembled as she nodded, a breath letting out on a stutter. "N-no, I'm not… but… I…."
• "Have dinner served to my study this night," he ordered. His voice was cold, but the hurt fighting to be expressed cut it to a croak.
• She nodded a fright-struck "yes," her eyes brimming and staring. "Y-yes, sir."
• Storm clouds congealed on the edges of the city that evening. Luca's phone screamed with news that fueled his blood to burn fiercer than ever: someone from a rival gang undercut a key shipment, a deliberate insult of his kingdom. He slammed the phone down on the desk, out of breath, every nerve searing with fury.
• A light knock was made on his study door, hardly. Isabella floated in, her head down, her enormous tray trembling in her hand. Trembling hands set the tray down on his desk. His eyes followed all movement, the helplessness in her constricting his chest in pain.
• "Look at me," he growled. She flinched, her eyes looking up to his, her pupils huge like moons.
• But he did not have an opportunity to say anything when there was a voice beyond the door cutting in upon him, pacing, light feet. He opened the door wide, his gaze raking Isabella's white form in the doorway, staring with wide eyes, a deathly white face.
• She stepped back, nearly falling. "I-I… I got lost… I'm s-sorry, sir," she gasped frantically.
• He took her wrist and pulled her to him. His hand was rough, his eyes brooding and stormy. "Listening?" he gasped, low and killing.
• She leaked teardrops in her eyes, breath caught up in agonized gasps. Her head shook uncontrollably. "N-no… please… I swear…"
• They stood still, his rough breathing on her face, her eyes showing horror and something softer—something that tortured him.
• And in that charged silence, the night caught its breath.