Chapter 3: Fractured Echoes

The mirror reflected a version of Isabella Rosetti she barely recognized.

Isabella's body ached. Every muscle screamed in protest as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, carefully dabbing at the gash on her shoulder. The dim, flickering light above the sink cast a dull glow over her pale face, the bruises along her ribs darkening into shades of blue and purple.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she exhaled, watching the blood mix with the water in the porcelain sink. She had barely made it out alive.

Luca Moretti.

The name had been a whisper in the dark corners of her mind for years, a memory buried beneath layers of survival and vengeance. Seeing him again had been like reopening an old wound—except this time, it was far worse. Because now, he was her enemy.

She clenched her jaw and turned away from the mirror. It didn't matter. He was nothing to her now.

Isabella wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm, forcing herself to focus on the next step. She needed to disappear for a while, let the chaos settle. She had done this before—fade into the background, lick her wounds, and come back stronger.

But even as she tried to push him from her mind, she could still hear his voice, see the way his gaze had darkened when their eyes met. There had been no recognition in his face at first, but she had seen something shift in his expression as he stood in the shadows, watching her fight.

Did he remember her now?

She didn't want to know the answer.

Her once-pristine skin was now marred with bruises and cuts, remnants of last night's brutal encounter. The wound on her arm had stopped bleeding, but every movement sent a sharp sting through her body. She ran a hand over her ribs, wincing as she pressed against the deep bruises.

She had been close—too close—to death.

And Luca was a part of it.

Her jaw clenched as she turned away from the mirror, forcing herself to breathe through the ache in her chest.

"It doesn't matter."

She was alive. That was what mattered.

Luca Moretti was her enemy now. The boy she once knew—the one who had made her laugh, who had sat across from her at cafés and teased her about her terrible taste in movies—was gone. The man standing in his place was ruthless, unmoved by the sight of her bleeding on the floor.

If she let herself feel anything beyond hatred, she wouldn't survive the next time they met.

She had to move on.

And she knew exactly how.

---

The sharp scent of espresso filled the air as Isabella tied her apron around her waist, stepping behind the counter of Carmine's Café. The bell above the door jingled, announcing the arrival of a pair of students, their laughter lighthearted as they debated an upcoming exam.

A businessman muttered into his phone while waiting for his order. A mother soothed a fussy toddler in the corner booth.

It was a world apart from the one she belonged to.

A world where people weren't constantly watching their backs.

A world where bullets didn't decide the future.

For a time, she had almost believed she could be a part of it.

"Maybe in another life, I could've just been Isabella—the girl who makes coffee and smiles at strangers."

But that dream had been foolish.

No matter how far she ran, her past always found her.

A memory surfaced, unbidden. The scent of freshly brewed coffee pulled her back to another time, another version of herself.

---

Years ago

A tiny café hidden from the rest of the world.

Luca sat across from her, his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair, pretending to focus on the open textbook in front of him.

They were supposed to be studying for their university exams, but Isabella had caught him watching her instead, smirking as she sipped her latte.

"Are you seriously making me drink this?" he teased, holding up the caramel latte she had forced him to order.

Isabella grinned, nudging the cup closer. "Just try it, tough guy."

With a dramatic sigh, Luca took a sip, his brows furrowing as he fought to maintain his dignity.

After a long pause, he muttered, "Okay. It's not terrible."

She had burst into laughter, watching him struggle between annoyance and reluctant enjoyment.

For a moment, they had been normal.

Two university students, teasing, studying, stealing moments of peace in a world that never truly belonged to them.

They had been safe in those moments, allowing themselves to dream of a future that, deep down, they knew was impossible.

But reality had been waiting for them just beyond those café doors.

And soon, it had ripped them apart.

Across the city, Luca Moretti sat in his penthouse, staring at the skyline with an untouched glass of whiskey beside him.

His men spoke in hushed voices, reports stacking up on his desk, but he wasn't listening.

Isabella.

She had been right there.

Bleeding. Fighting for her life.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"She means nothing to me now."

He had watched her fight. Every movement was precise, ruthless, calculated. It was a side of her he had never seen before.

His men had been too careless, allowing her to slip away. But he wouldn't make the same mistake.

And if she was on the other side, it meant only one thing—

One of them would have to destroy the other.