Isabella's POV:

I never imagined it would come to this.

The grand gates of my father's estate loomed before me, cold and foreboding, as the car pulled to a stop. The sight of them—once a symbol of safety, a place that represented my family's power and protection—now felt like an iron cage. I sat in the backseat, staring at those gates, unable to move. It felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything I had fought for, of everything I had believed in.

Antonio and I were over. I had to accept that.

The video haunted me—every touch, every kiss. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it, playing on a loop in my mind, poisoning any lingering thread of hope that maybe, somehow, it had all been a misunderstanding. The pain of that betrayal cut deeper than anything I had ever felt before. Antonio had shattered my heart in ways I hadn't thought possible. 

And Sofia... 

The thought of her made me sick to my stomach. 

How could they do that? 

How could they both destroy everything we had?

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm that still raged inside me, and stepped out of the car. The estate felt eerily quiet, as though it had been holding its breath for me to return. It had been years since I had spent any real time here. My life with Antonio had taken me far from my family, far from the world of the Russo dynasty. But now, with everything falling apart, this was where I had come. Back to the beginning. Back to my father.

Giovanni Russo.

As the door to the house opened, one of the guards nodded at me respectfully. The staff here hadn't changed, though their faces had become unfamiliar over the years. The house itself felt strange—still grand, still intimidating, but empty in a way that unsettled me. As I walked into the marble foyer, my footsteps echoed unnaturally, as though the walls themselves could sense that something was wrong.

I had told myself that this was temporary, that I just needed a place to clear my head. But deep down, I knew I was running. 

Running from Antonio.

From the truth. 

From the life we had built together that was now nothing but rubble.

I forced a smile for the staff who greeted me, though I was sure it didn't reach my eyes. They were used to seeing me as the strong, confident daughter of Giovanni Russo. The woman who had walked out of this house months ago with a determination to carve out her own life. But today, I was none of those things. I was a broken version of myself.

"Isabella," my father's voice called from the grand staircase, echoing through the hall.

I looked up and saw him standing there, regal as ever. Giovanni Russo had never been a man who bent easily, and he stood at the top of the stairs like a king surveying his kingdom. His gray hair was perfectly in place, his suit tailored and pressed. He always presented himself as immovable, an indomitable force in the world of the mafia. My father, with all his power and influence, had never known the pain I was feeling now. Or at least, he would never show it.

"Papa," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

His eyes softened as he descended the stairs, but even in his gentleness, there was a steel edge. My father wasn't a man who showed affection easily, and I wasn't expecting an outpouring of warmth. But when he reached me, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezed it, his version of comfort.

"Come," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. "You've made the right choice coming home."

Home. 

The word echoed in my mind, but this didn't feel like home anymore. 

My life, my love, my future had been with Antonio.

At least, it had been until everything unraveled. Now, I felt like a stranger in a place that should have been familiar. My father led me into his study, the room as dark and imposing as I remembered. Heavy wood-paneled walls, shelves lined with books that I doubted had been touched in years, and the ever-present smell of cigars and whiskey.

"Sit," he commanded, and I obeyed.

I sank into the leather armchair across from his desk, trying to suppress the rising wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. I didn't want to talk about Antonio, not now, not yet. But I knew my father. He wasn't the type to let things sit in silence.

"You did the right thing leaving him," my father said, his voice firm but lacking the venom I had expected. "Antonio Bianchi is dangerous. You should have never been involved with him in the first place."

I flinched at the mention of Antonio's name. It was like a dagger to my heart. Hearing my father talk about him like that, so coldly, made the pain even more real. I had spent so long defending Antonio to my family, telling them that they didn't understand him, that he wasn't just a mafia boss, that he was more than the man they saw on the surface.

But now... What could I say?

"I didn't have a choice," I said softly, staring at the floor. "I couldn't stay after what happened."

My father took a sip from the glass of whiskey on his desk, watching me with those sharp, calculating eyes. He was always looking for angles, for motives. He was a master of reading people, and I knew he could see how broken I was, even if he didn't say it.

"Bianchi betrayed you," he said, stating it as a fact. "He's no different from the rest of them."

A lump formed in my throat, and I clenched my fists in my lap. 

Betrayed. 

The word rang in my ears. 

He had betrayed me.

 But a part of me still didn't want to believe it, still wanted to cling to the idea that there was an explanation, that Antonio hadn't done what I'd seen in that video. But the images were seared into my mind. Antonio and Sofia, together, their bodies entwined in ways that should have been sacred to us. I felt sick all over again.

"I don't want to talk about him, Papa," I whispered, my voice strained.

For a moment, my father didn't say anything. He studied me, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he nodded, setting his glass down on the desk with a quiet thud.

"As you wish," he said, though I could tell he wanted to say more. "But you are welcome here, Isabella. You'll always have a place in this house. You are a Russo."

I nodded, though the words did little to comfort me. A place in this house. But what about a place in my heart? In my life? Antonio had been everything to me, and now, I was left with nothing but the cold comfort of my family's protection.

When my father excused himself, leaving me alone in the study, I allowed myself to finally breathe. I didn't want to show weakness in front of him, didn't want to let him see how utterly destroyed I was. But now, sitting in the silence of the room, I couldn't hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I missed Antonio. 

Despite everything, despite the betrayal, I missed him. His presence, his touch, the way he could command a room with just a look. And the worst part was, I couldn't shake the feeling that I still loved him. That somewhere, beneath the hurt and the anger, there was still a part of me that longed for the man I thought he was.

But that man didn't exist. He couldn't.

I wiped away the tears that had escaped and stood up, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit in this oppressive house with my thoughts. I walked through the familiar halls, passing by the paintings and portraits of my family's long, storied history. The Russo legacy. It was something I had been born into, something I had tried to escape by being with Antonio. But now, it felt like that legacy was all I had left.

The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the garden as I stepped outside. The air was cool, but it did little to soothe the ache in my chest. I walked aimlessly, my feet carrying me toward the gazebo at the far end of the garden, a place I had often retreated to when I was younger, when the weight of being a Russo felt too heavy.

I sat down on the bench, staring out at the darkening sky. I had once thought that love could conquer everything, that it could bridge the gap between our worlds. But now, I knew better. Love wasn't enough to stop the betrayal, the lies, the cruelty that came with this life. 

Antonio had proven that.

I closed my eyes, trying to quiet the thoughts swirling in my mind. I didn't know what the future held. I didn't know how I would move on from this, how I would rebuild myself from the ruins of my broken heart. But for now, all I could do was survive. One day at a time.

And today was just the first.

A little sad chapter :(