Loving You Was My Poision Chapter 09

Loving You Was My Poision Chapter 09

Isa’s POV 

Everything I was about to say died in my throat. 

Dante Moretti was more devastating in person than any photograph could capture. Sharp, aristocratic features. Amber eyes that seemed to see straight through you. A thin scar cutting across his left temple–old knife wound, I’d guess. He wore a black three–piece suit like it was armor, sleeves rolled to expose corded forearms. 

But it was his presence that hit hardest. Pure predator. The kind of man who’d built an empire on 

calculated violence and iron will. 

“Threatening?” He smiled slowly, something dangerous dancing in those eyes. “Just stating facts, bella.” 

“What facts?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Dante moved closer with deliberate steps, each one radiating controlled power 

“Why? Scared I might bite?” 

“I don’t waste time on pointless meetings.” I held my ground. “We have nothing to discuss.” 

“No?” In one smooth motion, Dante closed the 

distance and caught my wrist, pulling me toward him. 

Instinct took over. I swung my free hand at his face. 

He caught it mid–swing, trapping both my wrists in his grip with casual ease. 

“Got fire in you.” His smile widened. “I like that.” 

“Let GO.” I tried to wrench free. 

“In a minute. Listen first.” Instead of releasing me, Dante backed me up until I hit the door. “Isabella Russo. I’ve done my homework. Know everything about these past six months.” 

“So what?” 

So I know exactly what you are.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “You’re not some delicate flower needing protection. You’re a goddamn wolf, bella. And wolves like us?” He leaned in closer. “We don’t play nice with sheep.” 

He released my wrists but kept me caged between his arms. “That’s why you’re worth pursuing.” 

I used his moment of distraction to drive my knee up hard toward his groin. 

Dante moved like liquid, dodging and catching my leg behind the knee in one fluid motion. “Cheap shots aren’t your style, bella.” 

“In the Russo family, we have a saying.” I met his eyes with steel in mine. “You want something? You EARN 

it. Threats and talk? That’s for cowards.” 

Dante froze. Then burst out laughing. 

The sound was genuine, unguarded–transforming his entire face. He released my leg, stepping back with undisguised admiration. “Damn. No wonder Alessandro won’t shut up about you.” 

“Alessandro?” I straightened my dress, frowning. 

Who?” 

“My little brother.” Annoyance crept into Dante’s tone. “You danced with him once six months ago. Kid 

came home mooning over you for WEEKS. Nearly drove me insane.” 

The memory clicked–that polite young man at my homecoming party. 

“We done here?” I turned toward the door. 

“Not quite.” All humor vanished from Dante’s voice. 

Next Friday. Eight PM. Private event at my casino. 

You’ll be my date.” 

Another command. Like I was one of his soldiers. 

“And why would I do that?” I faced him again. 

“Because I want everyone in Paris to know one thing. Dante approached, fingers tilting my chin up with surprising gentleness. “Isabella Russo belongs with ME.” 

I knocked his hand away. “You’re confused, Moretti. I don’t BELONG to anyone.” 

“I know.” That dangerous smile returned. “That’s exactly why I’m going to pursue you properly.” 

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear. “You’ll come Friday, Isabella. Because deep down, you want to know-” 

“What kind of man I really am.” 

He straightened and headed for the door, tossing back 

one final shot. “Eight o’clock, bella. Don’t keep me waiting long. Or I’ll show up at the Russo estate and carry you out myself.” 

The door clicked shut. 

I stood frozen, heart pounding against my ribs. Damn him. 

Meanwhile, in that abandoned mansion on the city’s edge. 

Vito sat in his wheelchair, staring at a photograph with trembling hands. 

Marco had taken it in secret–Isa leaving a restaurant with some tall, powerfully built man. She wore black silk, smile absolutely radiant. The man’s arm circled her waist possessively, looking at her like she was his entire world. 

The way Vito used to look at her. Before he destroyed everything. 

Two weeks ago, the depression had finally won. He’d 

thrown himself from a window–genuine suicide attempt, no manipulation, no games. Marco found 

him, rushed him to the ER. 

They’d saved his life. Barely. But his legs? Shattered beyond repair. The doctors said he’d never walk again. 

Three years faking disability. Now genuinely crippled. 

The universe had a sick sense of humor. 

The Castro empire had collapsed entirely. Feds seized the ports, rival families carved up the territory, every 

asset sold to cover debts. This crumbling mansion was all that remained of generations of power. 

“Boss.” Marco entered quietly. “You should eat something.” 

Vito didn’t respond. Just kept staring at that photograph, 

Işa looked so alive in it. So free, Glowing with 

happiness. And that bastard holding her looked at her with such raw devotion- 

The way he should have looked at her. From the very beginning. 

“Isa…” Vito whispered, tears streaming down his face. 

If he could go back–if God gave him just one chance 

to do it all over–he’d do everything differently. Hold 

her after the miscarriage instead of blaming her. 

Protect her instead of hurting her. Cherish her instead of destroying her. 

But there were no second chances. No do–overs. 

His world held nothing now but darkness, regret, and the ghost of what he’d thrown away. 

THE END