Luca's Warning

Chapter 42: Luca's Warning

Luca paced the length of Dante's private office, his eyes sharp and his movements tense. Dante sat at his desk, staring out of the window with a stoic expression, a glass of whiskey in hand. The sound of Luca's footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent room, a clear sign of his unease.

"You need to let her go," Luca said, his voice steady but firm. "She's going to destroy you, Dante. She's done it before, and she'll do it again."

Dante's grip on the glass tightened, but his expression didn't change. His eyes remained fixed on the view outside, his mind whirring with thoughts he didn't care to express.

"She won't," Dante replied in a cold tone, his voice void of any emotion. "Isla is mine now, Luca. There's no going back."

Luca stopped pacing, fixing Dante with a hard stare. "You're too obsessed with her. You think this is love, but it's nothing but a dangerous obsession. Look at what it's doing to you. Look at how she's playing you."

Dante's jaw tightened, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink under the weight of the tension between them. His fingers twitched at his side as if he were debating whether to lash out or remain in control.

"I don't need you to tell me about Isla," Dante said, his voice low, a warning in his tone. "I'm perfectly aware of who she is and what she's capable of. But she's mine, Luca. And no one—no one—gets to tell me otherwise."

Luca wasn't deterred. He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a more serious register. "You're blind, Dante. You think you've won her, but you've only chained yourself to her. What if she turns on you again? What if you end up losing everything because of her?"

The room fell silent for a few seconds. Dante remained still, his gaze fixed on the city below, his mind torn between loyalty to Isla and the brutal reality of his situation. He knew the risks; he understood the dangers. But what he felt for Isla, what she ignited in him—it was more than just control, more than just a game. It was something deeper, something that he couldn't explain or ignore.

Luca's voice broke through the silence. "You're too obsessed with Revenge, Dante. First it was Antonio, now it's her. You're letting her define you. It's consuming you."

Dante finally turned, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something else—something darker, something more protective. "Isla will never betray me again," he said with a finality that brooked no argument. "And if you ever suggest that again, Luca, I'll make sure you regret it."

Luca held his ground, his eyes unwavering. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered, before turning and heading for the door. "I'll be here when you realize what she's doing to you."

Dante didn't respond, his gaze following Luca as he exited the office. The door slammed shut, and for a moment, Dante was left in the stillness of the room, contemplating the weight of Luca's words.

He didn't want to admit it, but there was a part of him that feared what Luca had said. He had always been in control of his world, his empire, his emotions. But Isla had cracked through every wall he had built, and now she held a power over him that he couldn't quite comprehend.

What was it about her? Her beauty? Her fire? Her ability to make him feel alive in ways that no one else ever had?

Dante took a long sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. But no matter what Luca said, he wasn't about to let her go.

Not now. Not ever.

---

Isla had never felt more conflicted in her life. After everything that had happened—everything they had been through—she was still standing in Dante's world, unsure of where it was all leading.

She knew what she was doing. She knew the role she had to play. But as each day passed, the lines between her hatred, her desire for revenge, and her growing feelings for Dante blurred more and more.

She had come into his world with a plan, a clear-cut mission. But now, every time she looked at him, she saw something else—a man she couldn't deny, a man she wanted but didn't trust. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to fall for him. But every time he touched her, every time he spoke to her, she found it harder to fight the pull.

But Dante, with his strength, his control, his power, had a way of making her forget why she had come here in the first place. And that scared her more than anything else.

When she heard a knock at the door, she jumped slightly, pulling herself from her thoughts. She didn't have to guess who it was. It was always Dante, always coming to claim her, to remind her that she belonged to him in a way no one else did.

But when she opened the door, it wasn't Dante standing there. It was Luca.

"Isla," Luca said, his voice softer than usual. "I need to talk to you."

She raised an eyebrow, stepping back to let him in. "What's this about?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Luca closed the door behind him, his eyes serious. "I need to warn you. Dante… he's obsessed with you. And I'm not sure it's healthy. He's blinded by something he can't control. You're too close to him. You've already caused him enough pain—"

"I didn't ask for this," she snapped, cutting him off. "I didn't ask to be in his world, and I didn't ask for any of this. But here I am, just like you."

Luca sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's the problem, Isla. You think you have control. But you don't. And neither does Dante. You're both heading toward destruction, and it's too late to turn back now."

"I can handle him," she replied, her voice unwavering. "I know what I'm doing."

Luca stared at her for a long moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and concern. "I hope you do. But don't say I didn't warn you."

He turned to leave, and for a moment, Isla's heart skipped a beat. She didn't know if it was fear or something else, but Luca's words lingered in her mind long after he was gone.

---

The next morning, Dante found her sitting by the window, lost in thought. He couldn't help but study her as he stood in the doorway. The way the light hit her face, the way her eyes were distant, as if she was seeing something he couldn't.

"Isla," he said, his voice low and commanding.

She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his. "What do you want, Dante?"

He walked into the room, his presence as overwhelming as always. "I want to know what you're thinking," he said, his voice steady. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Isla stood up, walking toward him, but she didn't touch him. Not this time. "I'm thinking about what I'm doing here. What this is all leading to. What it means for both of us."

Dante took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're mine," he said simply, his voice low. "And I will never let you go."

Isla felt a shiver run down her spine, but she fought to stay calm. "I don't belong to you, Dante," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I never have. And I never will."

Dante's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a cold smile. "We'll see about that."

And as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them, Isla knew that this battle—this war between them—was far from over.

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