Sparks Of Passion

The house was quiet when they returned, the soft glow of the foyer lights contrasting with the storm of emotions brewing in Isabella. The adrenaline from the gala had worn off, leaving her with the weight of her actions. As the door clicked shut behind them, she fidgeted with her fingers, her nervousness palpable.

Dante shrugged off his jacket and turned to her, a curious expression on his face. "What's on your mind, micia?" he asked, his voice calm yet tinged with intrigue.

Isabella hesitated, her gaze darting to the floor. "I... I wanted to say I'm sorry" she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "For causing a scene at the gala. I should've handled it better—"

"Stop" Dante interrupted, his tone firm yet soft. She looked up at him, surprised to see a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I—" She faltered, unsure of how to answer.

"I'm proud of you, Isabella" he said, his voice steady, the words weighted with sincerity. "You stood up for yourself. You showed them exactly who you are—my wife, a Vitale. You didn't let anyone walk over you, and that's exactly what I want. Never apologize for that."

The word proud hit her like a thunderclap. She froze, staring at him in disbelief.

"Proud?" she echoed, the word tasting foreign on her tongue.

Dante nodded, his expression unwavering.

Her mind spiraled, unbidden memories flooding her consciousness. Snippets of her past played like a cruel montage—her father's harsh reprimands, her sister's biting remarks, and the countless times her accomplishments were belittled or dismissed.

"Isabella, can't you do anything right?" her father had barked when she was just a child, tears streaming down her cheeks after she'd spilled a tray of tea.

"You'll never be anything but a pretty doll" Giulia had sneered, her tone laced with jealousy and venom.

Her mother had loved her, yes, but she never took a stand for her, never shielded her from the storm of her family's cruelty. The warmth she craved, the validation she longed for, had always been out of reach.

And now here he was—Dante. He hadn't questioned her, hadn't doubted her. Instead, he stood by her side, unwavering, his words holding more weight than he probably realized.

Her chest tightened, and her hands trembled.

"Isabella?" Dante's voice pulled her from her thoughts, laced with concern. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

Without thinking, Isabella moved. She stepped toward him, her fingers gripping the lapels of his shirt. Before he could process what was happening, she pulled him down and kissed him.

Dante's eyes widened in shock, his body going rigid for a split second before his instincts took over. His hands flew to her waist, steadying her as she stood on her tiptoes, her lips soft yet urgent against his.

The realization hit him like a lightning bolt—this was their first kiss.

The initial surprise melted away, replaced by something primal, something fierce. His grip on her waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his other hand tangling in her hair. He kissed her fiercely, pouring every ounce of control he usually wielded into this moment.

Isabella gasped against his lips, the intensity of his response stealing her breath. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her fingers curling into his shirt as if anchoring herself.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Dante rested his forehead against hers, his dark eyes searching hers for answers.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

Isabella's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. "Because no one's ever said that to me before" she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "No one's ever said they were proud of me."

Dante's expression softened, a rare vulnerability flashing across his features. "Then they were fools" he said simply, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "Because I am. And I always will be."

Her heart swelled at his words, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly seen, truly valued. She smiled softly, leaning into his touch.

"And you, micia" he added, his voice dipping into a sensual drawl, "are full of surprises."

Isabella let out a breathy laugh, her fingers still clutching his shirt. "So are you, Dante Vitale."

He smirked, his hand still resting on her waist. "You have no idea."

_

_

_

The morning sun streamed softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the house. Isabella had barely slept a wink the night before, her mind replaying the stolen kisses and tender moments she and Dante had shared. Her heart fluttered just thinking about it. She couldn't deny it—he was her husband, but he was also a man who was slowly unraveling her guarded world, one intimate gesture at a time.

Unable to rest, she found herself padding quietly toward the guest room, curiosity guiding her steps. She opened the door a crack, peeking inside. Dante was there, lying on his back, shirtless as usual, with the comforter pooled around his waist. The early morning light danced across his sharp features, and for a moment, Isabella was struck by how utterly breathtaking he looked. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his jaw relaxed, and for once, his expression seemed free of the weight he usually carried.

She tiptoed closer, her heart racing. He looked so peaceful, so human in this vulnerable state. Her fingers itched to reach out and trace the strong line of his jaw, to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. Hesitantly, she leaned in, her hand hovering just above his face.

Before she could make contact, she found herself yanked forward with surprising speed. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she was pulled into the bed, her body landing softly against the mattress. In an instant, Dante was above her, his strong arms caging her in, his face hovering just inches from hers.

"Curiosity killed the cat, micia," he drawled, his voice deep and rough with sleep. His lips curved into a cheeky smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or were you hoping to wake me up in a... special way?"

Isabella's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her mind scrambling for a response. "I—I was just—"

"Just admiring me?" he teased, leaning closer, his nose brushing against hers.

She groaned in embarrassment and tried to squirm out from beneath him. "I wasn't doing anything like that!"

Dante chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending a shiver down her spine. Before she could escape, he caught her wrist and pulled her against him, flipping them both onto their sides. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck as he tucked her firmly against his chest.

"You're not going anywhere" he murmured, his voice softer now, the teasing edge giving way to something warmer.

"Dante" she protested weakly, but her resolve faltered as he pressed a lazy kiss to the curve of her neck.

"Shh" he hummed, tightening his hold as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Just sleep, micia."

"But—"

"Sleep" he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You were up all night, weren't you? Thinking about me?"

Isabella gasped, her cheeks flaming. "I was not!"

He let out a soft laugh, his breath warm against her skin. "Liar" he whispered, the word more affectionate than accusing.

Despite herself, Isabella couldn't help but smile. His presence was overwhelming, but it was also comforting in a way she couldn't explain. She felt safe, cherished, even as her heart raced from the intimacy of their closeness.

As he settled more comfortably behind her, making her the little spoon, she sighed, her body relaxing against his.

"You're really impossible, you know that?" she muttered, her voice laced with mock annoyance.

"And yet you love me" he quipped, his tone smug yet playful.

Isabella huffed, but the smile on her lips betrayed her. "Let's just sleep" she whispered, her eyelids growing heavy.

Dante kissed the back of her neck, his voice soft and endearing. "Finally, something we can agree on."

In his arms, the worries of the world seemed to fade away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Isabella drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Isabella had been thoroughly enjoying this new chapter of her life. Every moment with Dante, every small change in her routine, felt like a step closer to something brighter and fuller than she'd ever imagined. That morning, she decided to step out to pick up some groceries and essentials for the house. She liked doing these things now—it made her feel grounded and independent, even with Alexander trailing behind her as Dante's ever-watchful shadow.

The market was lively, the hum of voices and bustling streets filling the air. Isabella chatted idly with Alexander, her list in hand, as they moved from store to store. Everything seemed normal, routine even, until it wasn't.

They had just exited a shop when a sharp, sickening sound froze her mid-step. Her heart plummeted as she turned, only to see Alexander crumpling to the ground, blood seeping from a gash on his head. Time seemed to slow. Panic surged through her, her breath hitching as she instinctively moved toward him, but she barely took a step when she felt a rough hand grab her arm.

"No!" she screamed, twisting and jerking in desperation, but the grip was ironclad. Another man appeared, blocking her path. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tried to fight them off, clawing and kicking with everything she had.

"Let me go!" she cried, her voice breaking, but they were too strong.

Before she could register what was happening, a sharp sting pricked her neck. Her vision blurred almost instantly, her body growing heavier by the second. She stumbled, her knees buckling as the world tilted and spun around her.

The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Alexander's bloodied form lying motionless on the pavement.

And then there was nothing.