The Devil's kitten II

PRESENT,

The city streets were cold, the harsh glow of streetlights casting long shadows across cracked pavement. Isabella's breath came in shallow gasps as she ran, her torn dress clinging to her skin, a trail of blood marking her every step. Her feet were bare, the soles raw and bruised, each step more painful than the last, but she didn't dare stop. her wrist also leaving the trail of blood behind.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm of her fear matching the frantic pace of her flight. She could still hear the sound of the car engines in the distance, their headlights cutting through the night like predators searching for their prey. They were close—too close.

She rounded a corner, her ankle twisting as she stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. The sudden sharp pain shot up her leg, but Isabella didn't even flinch. She couldn't afford to. Not now. Her hands shook violently as she pressed against the side of an abandoned building, the smell of mold and rot thick in the air.

The night was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the occasional car passing by, too far for her to hide from. Her breath hitched as she ducked into a narrow alley, barely wide enough to fit her body, and squeezed herself into the shadow of a rusted metal dumpster. She pressed herself against the cold concrete, her body trembling, her clothes barely clinging to her skin, and her heart threatening to burst from her chest.

She couldn't keep running forever. But she would try.

Isabella bit down on her lip, her hands covering her mouth as she tried to control the rising panic in her chest. She had to be quiet. If they found her now....if anyone saw her—there was no chance of escape. Not when they had already taken everything else.

"Micia…"

The voice came from nowhere, but it was unmistakable. The nickname, so soft and tender, meant "little kitten" in Italian. It was a name only one man had ever called her, Her husband. The one who had promised to protect her. The one who had given her that name, that sense of safety, that sense of belonging.

But now, that name was no comfort. The voice wasn't Dante's. It was foreign, filled with a coldness that sent a shiver up her spine.

"Micia…" The voice called again, this time louder, almost mocking. "I know you're here. There's no point in hiding."

Her breath caught in her throat as she held herself perfectly still, praying that whoever it was wouldn't hear the frantic thumping of her heart. She covered her mouth harder, forcing herself to remain silent. The nickname… she couldn't bear to hear it from anyone else.

They couldn't find her. Not now.

Footsteps echoed down the alley, slow and deliberate. Isabella's body went rigid, her every muscle tense, as if holding her breath could make her invisible. She closed her eyes, mentally willing herself to vanish, to melt into the shadows. But then—

Her hiding place was yanked open. The metal lid of the dumpster scraped harshly against the concrete, and before Isabella could react, a hand shot down, grabbing her by the hair, lifting her off the ground with brutal force.

A strangled scream barely escaped her throat as her body was yanked from the shadows. She twisted in the woman's grip, the pain in her scalp searing, but it was useless. She was too weak, too broken, to fight.

And then, as if to confirm her worst nightmare, the woman's face came into view.

Isabella's blood ran cold.

Her sister.

"Did you really think you could run from me, cara mia?" the woman sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. The familiar, venomous tone twisted Isabella's gut, making the air seem impossibly thick and suffocating.

"No" Isabella whispered, her heart hammering in her chest as her entire world came crashing down. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Her sister's lips curled into a smile that wasn't the least bit comforting. "Because you don't belong here. You never have."

The words struck like a blow to the stomach, leaving Isabella gasping for breath. There was no escape from this. She was trapped—trapped by blood.

The woman pulled her roughly to her feet, her grip unyielding. "And you'll learn quickly, darling, that no one—not even Dante—can protect you from me."

Isabella's legs felt weak, her knees trembling beneath her. Her sister's eyes burned with a cold, cruel fire, and the terror that had been building in her chest finally broke free, flooding every inch of her body.

The streets of the city were alive with danger, but it wasn't the world outside that terrified her now. It was the woman standing before her, the one who is her own blood, who now seemed like the cruelest enemy of all.

She was caught in a nightmare, and the worst part was that she had no idea how to wake up.

Giulia tugged at her roughly, pulling her up, her grip unyielding. Isabella's legs trembled beneath her, her knees buckling from the sheer weight of what she had heard. The woman standing before her—her own flesh and blood—had turned into something monstrous, and the realization hit her with the force of a freight train.

"You've become strong, haven't you?" Giulia mocked, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Dante's wife now... thinking you're untouchable. But no one, not even he, can protect you from me."

Isabella's breath came in short bursts, her chest tight as the fear continued to claw at her, suffocating her. She tried to push away the bile rising in her throat, tried to block out the words, the hate, the venom. Her sister's eyes burned with a cruelty Isabella had never imagined could exist within her. The world around her felt like it was caving in, the walls closing in, and there was nowhere to run.

Giulia dragged her forward, her grip harsh and unforgiving. Isabella stumbled, almost collapsing under the weight of her sister's cruelty. "You thought you could escape this life by being with him, didn't you?" Giulia hissed, a wicked grin stretching across her face. "But you're wrong. He was mine, you stole him. And you will pay for it you bitch!"

Isabella's mind raced, desperately trying to grasp at any hope, but there was none. She couldn't fight this. She couldn't fight her own blood, not when her body felt so weak, so broken.

Giulia's grip tightened, and Isabella felt her heart sink further into despair. Her sister's cruelty was like a vice around her throat, suffocating her will to fight. But then, something inside her snapped.

I won't give up.

Her eyes flitted around, searching for something, anything. A way out.

But before she could find the strength to make a move, she felt the cold, metallic glint of a knife against her skin. "I'm going to sell you. Sell you to the highest bidder. Maybe your precious Dante will finally learn that no one, no one, is untouchable. And he will see you are a worthless whore."

A scream tore from someone's throat, but it wasn't from Isabella. It came when the knife pierced Giulia's hand, the sharp pain blooming through her wrist. She jerked in shock, releasing Isabella from her grasp and then it hit her. The sound of someone—no, something—arriving.

The knife dropped from her with a loud clang. Isabella's eyes locked onto the figure standing at the end of the alley. Her pulse stopped, her blood running cold as she recognized the man who now held her fate in his hands.

Dante Vitale.

His silhouette loomed in the darkness, a figure of pure menace. His eyes, once warm and full of love, now burned with an icy fire, something unrecognizable and savage. His features were hard, his jaw clenched in a way that told Isabella everything she needed to know.

The devil was awake.

Giulia backed away, her face filled with both terror and disbelief. "You—how did you—" she stammered, but her words were cut short.

The man before her was not the Dante Isabella knew. This wasn't her husband. This wasn't the man who had made promises and whispered sweet words into her ear.

This was the ill diavolo.

Dante didn't speak, didn't waste a single word on his sister-in-law. He moved with inhuman speed, his hand shooting out to grab Giulia by the throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. The raw violence in his actions sent a jolt of fear straight through Isabella's chest.

"You…" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You think you can touch my wife?" The venom in his tone made her shiver.

Giulia gasped for breath, her eyes wide with terror. "Dante… please…" she begged, but there was no mercy in his gaze.

Without hesitation, Dante slammed her against the wall with such force that the bricks cracked under the impact. Giulia crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from the back of her head, her face pale. The terror was unmistakable in her eyes now.

Dante stepped forward, the fury in his eyes unmatched. "You want to sell her, huh? You want to take what's mine?" His voice was icy, filled with a fury so intense that it seemed to boil the air around them. "You'll never lay a finger on her again."

Giulia whimpered, clutching her bleeding hand as she tried to back away, but there was nowhere to run. "Dante, I—"

"Shut up" he growled, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. His black coat billowed behind him as he stepped closer, his piercing eyes locked onto her.

"You don't speak. Not until I decide you're worth hearing."

His men appeared behind him like phantoms, closing off any escape route. But Dante didn't need them. He didn't even look at Isabella, who stood frozen in shock, tears streaming down her face. His focus was entirely on Giulia.

"You don't understand who you're dealing with" Dante hissed, his face inches from hers. "I'm not just a man. I'm the devil you pray never finds you."

He turned to his men, his voice cold and commanding. "Kill them."

Giulia's guards barely had time to react before Dante's men descended upon them. The alley became a scene of chaos, screams and gunfire filling the night. But Dante didn't flinch. He didn't even turn to look.

His focus remained on Giulia.

"You thought you were untouchable" he said, crouching down beside her. His voice was soft now, almost gentle, but it was the kind of softness that promised pain. "You thought you could play God. But there's only one God here, and it's not you."

Dante's cold eyes swept over Giulia's trembling form as she lay on the ground, sobbing and clutching her bleeding hand. He crouched beside her, tilting her chin up with the barrel of his gun.

"You'll wish for death" Dante said, his tone chillingly calm. "But I don't grant mercy to those who harm what's mine."

Giulia shook her head frantically. "Dante, please… I didn't mean—"

He cut her off with a sardonic laugh, standing abruptly and gesturing for his men to come forward. "Didn't mean? Every choice you made was deliberate, Giulia. Every insult, every threat, every wound you inflicted on Isabella. You played a game you were never equipped to win."

He turned to one of his men, Matteo, who held a black duffel bag filled with tools. Without a word, Dante selected a small, wickedly sharp knife.

"I don't need to lay a hand on you to break you" Dante said, his voice cold as steel. "But I will ensure you never forget who holds power here."

He knelt beside her once more, grabbing her hand. Giulia screamed as the blade danced across her fingers, not cutting deep enough to sever but leaving agonizing, deliberate wounds. Blood flowed freely, and the pain brought her to hysterics.

"Do you feel that, Giulia?" Dante asked, his voice low. "That's the price of betrayal. A small taste of what's to come."

He nodded to his men, who seized her struggling form and dragged her to the waiting van parked at the alley's end.

"Dante, please! Please, don't do this!" Giulia begged, her voice hoarse with fear.

Dante's smile was cruel as he spoke, his words slicing through her like a blade. "You'll be stripped of everything you value. Your wealth. Your status. Your freedom. Everything you once used to hurt Isabella will be turned against you."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You'll live your life in ruins, Giulia. Not as a queen of the underworld, but as its forgotten trash. You'll be exiled from this city, your name erased from the very empire you think you control. And every time you look over your shoulder, every time you hear my name, you'll remember this moment."

Giulia's sobs turned into hysterical cries as Dante's men threw her into the van. She would be taken to an undisclosed location, stripped of her power and wealth, and left to rot in a world where she would be nothing—a mere shadow of her former self.

Dante turned back to Isabella, who was slumped against the wall, her body trembling. He approached her carefully, the cold fury in his eyes softening as he saw her fragile state.

The moment their eyes met, all of Dante's rage seemed to evaporate. His shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, the devil retreated, leaving only the man who loved her.

Isabella took a shaky step toward him, her lips parting as if to speak, but before she could, her knees buckled.

"Isabella!" Dante rushed forward, catching her before she hit the ground.

For the first time that night, she let herself feel safe. Relief washed over her as she collapsed into his arms, her body finally giving in to exhaustion.

Dante held her close, his voice a soft whisper. "I've got you, mia micia. No one will ever hurt you again."

And as the night fell silent, Dante carried her away, leaving behind the wreckage of his wrath.