Fiery Journey

The days after Marco's death passed with a surprising calmness in the Vitale household. Isabella found herself slowly returning to her usual self, her laughter ringing more often and her demeanor lighter. Dante, however, remained his stoic self, though there was a noticeable twitch in his jaw every time Clara hovered over Isabella like a second shadow.

Clara was relentless, always within arm's reach of her best friend. Whether it was teasing her, helping her with something trivial, or simply chatting about nonsense, Clara seemed determined to ensure Isabella never felt alone.

Dante, however, had had enough.

That evening, as they all sat in the living room, Dante fixed Matteo with a cold stare. His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the thinly veiled threat beneath his words. "Matteo, take Clara home."

Clara bristled, immediately turning to Dante with a frown. "Excuse me? I'm not some package you can just send off—"

Dante cut her off with a sharp look. "You've been here every single day, hovering over my wife. Don't you have a life of your own?"

Clara huffed, crossing her arms. "I'm here because Isabella needs me. Unlike someone who's too busy growling at everyone to show her proper support."

Matteo coughed awkwardly, clearly wanting to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Isabella, meanwhile, bit back a laugh at Clara's audacity. But before things could escalate further, Dante stood, his towering presence immediately silencing the room.

"Matteo" Dante repeated, his tone dangerously low, "take her home. Now."

Matteo quickly stood, gesturing to Clara. "Come on, let's go."

Clara shot Dante a glare but allowed Matteo to guide her out. As soon as the door shut behind them, Isabella couldn't hold back her laughter anymore.

"You're so jealous" she teased, looking up at Dante with an amused smile.

Dante arched a brow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "I'm possessive, micia. There's a difference."

Still chuckling, Isabella shook her head and settled back into the couch, thinking the evening was over. But then Dante sat beside her, his expression turning serious.

"Isabella" he said, his voice softer now but carrying a weight that made her sit up straighter.

"What is it?" she asked, her amusement fading as she saw the intensity in his eyes.

"You need to train" Dante said bluntly.

She blinked, confused. "Train? Train for what?"

"To fight. To defend yourself. To shoot, if necessary" he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to become strong, Isabella. Strong enough that people don't just fear Il Diavolo, but also the angel who captured his heart."

Isabella's eyes widened as his words sank in. "You want me to learn how to... fight? To shoot?"

"Yes" Dante said, leaning closer, his gaze unwavering. "I will always protect you, micia. That will never change. But I need to know that if something happens—if I'm not there—you can protect yourself. You need to be able to stand on your own, no matter what."

Isabella swallowed hard, processing his words. "You don't think you can keep me safe?"

Dante's jaw tightened. "I can. And I will. But I won't take any chances with your life. Not ever."

For a moment, there was silence between them, Isabella's mind racing. Finally, she nodded, determination flickering in her eyes.

"Okay" she said quietly. "I'll do it."

Dante cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin as his gaze softened. "That's my girl" he murmured.

The days that followed were a whirlwind for Isabella. Her training began under the watchful eye of Matteo, though Dante often took over when he felt his wife wasn't being pushed hard enough—or when Matteo got a little too comfortable joking around with her.

"Focus, micia" Dante murmured as he stood behind her at the shooting range, his hands steadying hers as she aimed the pistol. His warm breath brushed against her ear, making it nearly impossible to concentrate.

"I am focusing" Isabella huffed, though her racing heart begged to differ.

Dante smirked, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Are you? Because your aim says otherwise."

Isabella blushed furiously, her grip tightening on the pistol. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and fired. The shot landed closer to the center of the target this time.

"There we go" Dante said, his voice dripping with pride.

Matteo, watching from the side, muttered, "You're supposed to be teaching her to shoot, not seducing her."

Dante shot him a glare. "Do I need to remind you who's in charge here?"

Matteo raised his hands in surrender, chuckling.

When the day's training ended, Isabella slumped into a chair, exhausted but satisfied. Dante handed her a glass of water, sitting beside her.

"You're getting better" he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Better than Matteo?" she teased.

Dante smirked. "He wouldn't survive if I trained him the way I train you."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement.

Later that evening, Clara joined them for dinner, her usual dramatic flair in full swing.

"So" Clara said, leaning back in her chair as she speared a piece of pasta, "how's the training going, Isabella Bond? Learned to kill anyone yet?"

Isabella laughed. "Not quite, but I'm working on it."

Clara grinned, but her expression turned mischievous as her eyes darted between Isabella and Dante. "Speaking of working on things... you two have been married for months now. Surely you've, you know... consummated the marriage?"

Isabella choked on her drink, her face turning crimson. "Clara!"

Dante's brow arched, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Clara's mouth fell open. "Wait. You haven't?!" She leaned forward, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you serious? It's been months!"

Isabella covered her face with her hands. "This is not a conversation I want to have."

But Clara wasn't letting it go. She turned to Dante, who was calmly sipping his wine, his expression unreadable. "How are you still alive?" she asked dramatically. "I mean, a man like you... abstaining? That's practically saintly! It must be torture!"

Dante set his glass down, his smirk now unmistakable. "Your concern for my well-being is touching, Clara."

"I'm serious!" Clara exclaimed. "Do you know how many women would kill to be in Isabella's position? And here she is, keeping you on some kind of... monk's diet."

Isabella groaned. "Clara, stop!"

Clara, undeterred, leaned back with a pitying look at Dante. "You poor man. I don't know how you do it."

Dante chuckled, his gaze shifting to Isabella. "Patience, Clara. Good things come to those who wait."

Isabella's blush deepened, and she shot Dante a glare. "You're not helping."

Clara laughed, clearly enjoying her friend's embarrassment. "Well, if you ever need tips, micia, just let me know. I've read enough dark romance to write a manual."

Dante raised a brow, clearly amused. "And this is what you read in your free time?"

"Absolutely" Clara said with a grin. "And if you ever need inspiration, I've got a whole library."

Isabella buried her face in her hands, though she couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. Despite the teasing, there was a warmth in the room that reminded her she was safe, loved, and exactly where she belonged.

After dinner when Dante had excused himself for a call, leaving Isabella and Clara alone in the cozy living room. Isabella had barely settled onto the couch with a steaming cup of tea when Clara's mischievous smirk returned, more devilish than ever.

"Okay, now that His Majesty isn't here" Clara began, scooting closer to Isabella, "we need to talk about his upcoming birthday."

Isabella tilted her head, curious but wary. "What about it? I was thinking of getting him a watch or something practical."

Clara rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. "A watch? Isa, you're married to Dante Vitale, one of the most powerful, intimidating men on the planet. You can't give him something as boring as a watch!"

Isabella frowned. "Then what do you suggest?"

Clara leaned in conspiratorially, her grin wicked. "You should gift him yourself."

Isabella's jaw dropped, her face instantly burning. "Clara!"

Clara waved off her outrage. "Hear me out! Dante is crazy about you. It's obvious to everyone with eyes. And come on, don't you want to make his birthday... unforgettable?"

"Unforgettable how?" Isabella asked cautiously, though she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what Clara meant.

Clara sighed dramatically, as if explaining something painfully obvious. "You. Lingerie. A trail of rose petals leading him to you. Do I need to spell it out?"

Isabella's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Clara, I—what—no! I can't do that!"

"Why not?" Clara demanded. "You're his wife! If anyone has the right to drive him wild, it's you. And honestly, the poor man deserves it. You've kept him on ice for months. Don't you think it's time to... defrost?"

Isabella buried her face in her hands, groaning. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

Clara laughed, pulling Isabella's hands away from her face. "Come on, micia. You've been training to become stronger, fiercer, more confident. Why not let him see that side of you in a way he'll never forget?"

"I don't know" Isabella mumbled, her blush spreading to her neck.

Clara softened, her teasing tone turning sincere. "Hey, I'm not saying you have to do anything you're not ready for. But you love him, don't you?"

Isabella looked up, her expression vulnerable but sure. "Of course I do."

"Then show him" Clara said gently. "Not just with words or gestures, but with you. Trust me, it'll mean the world to him."

Isabella hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "You really think he'd like that?"

Clara smirked, her mischievous side reappearing. "Isa, he'd lose his mind. And between you and me, I think it's about time he did."

Isabella laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And you love me for it" Clara said, winking.

Though still flustered, Isabella couldn't help but consider Clara's suggestion. As scandalous as it sounded, there was a part of her that wanted to surprise Dante in a way he'd never forget.

Clara noticed the thoughtful look in Isabella's eyes and grinned triumphantly. "That's my girl. Let me know if you need help picking out the perfect outfit."

"Clara!" Isabella protested, but her laughter betrayed her embarrassment.

Somewhere in the house, Dante's sharp senses caught the sound of Isabella's laughter, and a small smile played on his lips. Whatever mischief Clara was stirring, he'd deal with it later. For now, hearing his wife's joy was more than enough.