Chapter 3

****Isabella's POV

The morning after the explosion was cold and gray, as if even nature recognized the malevolent forces at work within the De Luca family. I hadn't set foot inside Marco's building in months-not since I'd left the family business. Now, standing on the curb in front of the familiar structure, the weight of my brother's death and the danger surrounding us pressed heavily on my shoulders.

Enzo stood beside me, solid as ever. He had been silent the entire way, his eyes flicking from street to street, always vigilant for any sign of danger. Despite everything, I felt a strange sense of relief having him here, though I would never admit it aloud.

"Just be careful," Enzo murmured as we approached the door. "This guy might have bugged his apartment. You never know who else is watching us."

I nodded, swallowing the anxiety that lodged in my throat. "I just want to know what he was hiding," I whispered. "I need to know why he got mixed up in all this."

"You may not like what you find, *Bella,*" Enzo warned, his voice low and grave.

A shiver ran down my spine, but I steeled myself. "I have to know, Enzo. Whatever it is, I have to know."

We entered the building and took the elevator up to Marco's floor. The familiar hum of the elevator heightened the tension between us, the unspoken fears and worries hanging thick in the air. Outside his door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle as I tried to steady my racing heart.

"Do you have the key?" Enzo asked, his gaze steady on me.

I nodded, pulling a silver key from my pocket. My heart pounded as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The apartment was exactly as Marco had left it: tidy, ordered, and depressingly quiet. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of his presence that tugged painfully at my heart.

"He was always so meticulous," I murmured, my eyes scanning the living room. "Everything in its place."

"Let's start looking," Enzo said, moving to the corner of the room. "If he was hiding something, it would be somewhere no one would think to look."

I nodded and began searching alongside him, our movements growing frantic as we rummaged through Marco's belongings-opening drawers, sliding aside closet doors, running our hands along shelves, pulling open cabinets. My pulse quickened when Enzo stopped at the bottom drawer of Marco's desk and pulled out something curious.

"Here," Enzo said in a low voice, holding up a folder he had retrieved from a false bottom in the drawer.

My hands trembled as I took the folder from him. Opening it, my eyes widened in shock at the documents inside: bank statements, contracts, and correspondence. But what really caught my attention was a letter in Marco's own handwriting.

It was addressed to our father, Giovanni, and as I read it, chills ran down my spine.

*Papa, I know I've been walking a fine line, and I don't think I can do it much longer. They're starting to get suspicious. The Romano family is watching me closely, but for now, I've managed to keep them off our backs. But there's something bigger at play, something I can't quite figure out. If anything happens to me, it's not business-it's personal. I'm sorry I couldn't protect the family like I promised. I'm sorry for everything.*

I felt like I couldn't breathe. The implications of the letter were staggering. Marco had been playing a dangerous game, working with the Romanos to protect us, but it had gotten him killed.

"Enzo," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He knew. He knew he was in danger and couldn't get out."

Enzo's expression darkened as he read the letter. "Mamma Mia. Questo cambia tutto," he muttered. "Your father's in the crossfire now. If the Romanos find out about this, they'll come after him next."

Panic surged through me like a tidal wave. "We have to warn him. We have to do something before it's too late."

Enzo nodded, his eyes already distant as he planned our next move. "We need more information. We need to find out who Marco was dealing with and what they wanted."

"Where do we start?" My voice shook with fear.

"Nico's bar," he replied without hesitation. "If anyone knows something, it's Nico. He and Marco were like brothers."

The thought of involving Nico, Marco's childhood best friend, twisted my stomach into knots. Could I trust him? Did I really know him? But I had no choice. We needed answers.

We left Marco's apartment with heavy hearts and heavier revelations. The ride to Nico's bar was tense, the silence between us thick with unspoken fears. My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of my brother's life. Enzo remained focused, his face impassive as he navigated the city streets.

By the time we arrived at the bar, evening had set in. The place was quiet, dimly lit, with only a few patrons scattered about. Nico was behind the counter, arranging glasses. When he saw me, his face lit up with a warm smile.

"Bella," he greeted, stepping out from behind the bar to embrace me. "It's been too long."

"Hey, Nico," I said, returning his hug, though it felt stiff, forced. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course." His smile flickered as he led us to a quieter booth at the back of the bar. "What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "Nico, I need to ask you about Marco."

Nico's expression darkened instantly. "I still can't believe he's really gone," he murmured. "I keep trying to make sense of it, but nothing adds up."

"That's why we're here," I said gently. "We found some things in Marco's apartment-things that suggest he was involved in something dangerous."

Nico stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "What kind of things?"

I glanced at Enzo, who gave me a subtle nod. "Documents, letters It seems Marco was working with the Romano family, but he was also trying to protect us. He was caught in the middle, and I think it got him killed."

Nico's face grew somber as he crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "That doesn't sound like Marco. He was always loyal to the family."

"I know," I said softly. "But he was trying to protect us all, Nico. He was in over his head."

Nico looked down at the table, clearly troubled. "I wish I could have done something," he mumbled. "I wish I had known."

I reached across the table and took his hand. "We need your help, Nico. We need to find out who Marco was dealing with and why they wanted him dead."

Confliction played in his eyes as he met my gaze. "Bella, you know I'd do anything for you," he said seriously. "But this is dangerous. Digging into this will make a lot of enemies."

"I don't care," I replied firmly. "I have to know."

Nico hesitated, his eyes flicking to Enzo, who returned the look with a hard stare. "And him?" Nico asked, nodding toward Enzo. "Can we trust him?"

Before Enzo could respond, I answered. "Enzo's been with me through all of this. I trust him."

Nico still seemed unsure but eventually nodded. "Okay. I'll help you. But be careful, Bella. This could get messy."

"Thank you, Nico," I said, squeezing his hand gratefully.

Enzo stood, his voice cold and measured as he thanked Nico. "We appreciate your help. I'd hate to think there's something you're not telling us, something that might help us understand why Marco died."

Nico squared his shoulders, meeting Enzo's gaze head-on. "I'm as much in the dark as you are."

Enzo nodded, but the tension between them was palpable. I felt uneasy, my instincts telling me something was off.

As we left the bar and walked to the car, I gripped Enzo's arm, anxiety gnawing at me. "Do you think we can trust him?"

Enzo's expression was grim as he unlocked the car. "I don't know. Something about him made me uncomfortable. But right now, we don't have many options."

"What if he's involved? What if he knows more than he's letting on?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Enzo glanced at me as we got into the car. "That's exactly what we need to find out."