The Games Begin

Chapter 8: The Games Begin

Isla had never been one to rely on anyone. She had learned early on that trust was a commodity in short supply, especially in the world she was now trying to infiltrate. But as she walked through the corridors of Inferno, a strange sensation tugged at her—an unsettling feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

She had always prided herself on being able to control her emotions, to keep her head in the game no matter what. But Dante DeLuca? He was a problem she hadn’t accounted for.

The way he looked at her. The way his presence seemed to swallow her whole. Every time she crossed paths with him, every subtle glance, every touch that lingered just a bit too long, her resolve seemed to fray just a little more. She had come here with a single mission in mind—to get close to him, to learn his secrets, to destroy the DeLuca empire from the inside out. But the longer she spent in his orbit, the harder it became to remember why she had chosen this path in the first place.

Dante was dangerous, unpredictable, and infuriatingly charming. He didn’t need to try to get under her skin; it just happened effortlessly. And she hated it. Because Isla was in control, or at least she used to be.

She had spent the entire day rehearsing her lines, going over every detail of her plan. Her brother, Alessandro, had given her this job for a reason. They both had their sights set on revenge, and every step had been meticulously mapped out. Dante was just another player in the game. But something about him had begun to gnaw at her, making it harder to focus on what she needed to do.

As she walked through the club’s dimly lit halls, Isla knew that tonight was crucial. Dante had already made it clear that he was watching her, testing her. And she had to be careful. Too much, too soon, and she’d blow her cover. But she couldn’t help herself. There was something magnetic about him—something that made her want to edge closer to the flame, despite the danger it posed.

Tonight, she wasn’t just going to be the quiet, mysterious Bella Caruso who worked the floors of Inferno. Tonight, she was going to take a risk.

The Private Room

The moment she entered the private backroom, Isla could feel the shift in atmosphere. The energy was different here—charged with something raw and intense. The space was more intimate, away from the prying eyes of the club’s patrons. It was reserved for VIPs, for those who could afford the luxury of privacy, and for people like Dante DeLuca, who didn’t need an invitation to get what he wanted.

Dante stood near the bar, his back to her as he spoke to a group of men. His voice was low, commanding, but she couldn’t hear the words. All she could focus on was the way he moved—how his presence filled the room, making it impossible for her to look anywhere else.

Isla hesitated, fighting the urge to turn and leave, but something kept her rooted in place. She was here for a reason. She couldn’t afford to back down now.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way toward him, her heels clicking against the polished floor. As she approached, Dante turned, his eyes locking onto hers instantly. There was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze. He was watching her, studying her, as if trying to figure out what she was really made of.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing.

Isla smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m never late. I simply like to make an entrance.”

His lips curled into a small smirk. “I’ll give you that,” he said, stepping aside to let her into the room. “But don’t think I didn’t notice.”

She didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to take in the atmosphere around her. The private room was lavish, filled with plush velvet chairs and a gleaming marble table in the center. A fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was beautiful—almost too beautiful. Isla couldn’t help but wonder if this was all part of the illusion, the façade that Dante had built around himself. A world of wealth and excess that masked the darkness beneath it all.

Dante moved toward the bar, pouring himself a drink. “Would you like something?” he asked, his voice laced with casual indifference.

“No, thank you,” she replied, her eyes never leaving him. She was careful not to show too much interest, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain composed. Dante was magnetic, and it felt as if every moment in his presence pulled her deeper into his web.

He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim of his glass. There was something in his eyes, something that told her he wasn’t as indifferent as he let on. He was interested, and that was dangerous. She wasn’t supposed to be the one on the receiving end of this attention. She had a job to do. She had to stay focused.

“I think we need to talk,” Dante said suddenly, setting his glass down on the table. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Isla’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t how she had planned things. She had expected him to be distant, detached—an enigma she had to figure out. But now, he was right here, his presence overwhelming, his words cutting through the distance she had tried to maintain.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she said, her voice calm, though she could feel the tension in the air. “I’ve simply been busy.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. “Busy?” he repeated. “With what?”

Isla swallowed, forcing herself to remain composed. She couldn’t let him see her falter. “You know. Work. Life. The usual.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “I see,” he said, stepping closer. “You know, Bella, you’ve been very careful about what you show me. But I’m not stupid. I know you’re hiding something.”

Isla’s breath hitched, but she didn’t let it show. She was a liar. A skilled one, at that. She could play this game.

“Oh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you think I’m hiding?”

Dante’s eyes darkened, the playful edge to his voice fading. “I don’t know yet,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “But I will. I always find out.”

Isla’s heart raced. He was getting too close. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze burning through her. Every instinct in her screamed to run—to escape this situation before she lost control. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto her face. “Maybe you should stop trying to figure me out,” she said, her voice cool. “I’m not like the other women you’re used to.”

Dante’s gaze softened slightly, though the danger still lurked beneath the surface. “No,” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “You’re not.”

Isla didn’t have time to analyze his words. She needed to regain control of the situation before it spiraled out of her grasp.

“Excuse me,” she said abruptly, turning toward the door. “I have work to do.”

Before she could take another step, Dante’s hand shot out, catching her wrist. His grip was firm, possessive.

“Not so fast,” he said, his voice commanding. “You don’t get to walk away that easily.”

Isla’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she slowly turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and she hated it. She couldn’t let herself be distracted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice low, laced with an edge she didn’t know she had. “Not unless you let me.”

Dante’s grip loosened slightly, and for a moment, the tension between them hung thick in the air. Then, as if deciding something, he stepped back.

“Go,” he said quietly. “But this isn’t over, Bella. Not by a long shot.”

Isla’s heart was pounding as she walked out of the room, but there was no denying the thrill of the encounter. She had gotten too close. Too close to Dante. And she knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.