Chapter 4: A Line Crossed

The cold night air did little to cool the fire raging in Isla’s veins. She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the pavement as she distanced herself from the restaurant, from him. But no matter how far she walked, she could still feel Dominic’s gaze on her like a lingering touch.

She clenched her fists.

This was a mistake.

She should have turned down his invitation, ignored his games, and walked away before she found herself tangled in something she couldn’t escape.

But she hadn’t.

And now… it was too late.

She exhaled sharply, shoving down the unease crawling up her spine as she hailed a cab. The moment she slid into the backseat, her phone buzzed inside her purse.

She already knew who it was.

For a long moment, she considered ignoring it. But her fingers moved before she could stop them, pulling the phone out and glancing at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted.

She could pretend she didn’t know. That she had no idea who had just texted her.

But she knew.

She always knew.

Dominic Valenti.

Her thumb hovered over the screen before she finally opened the message.

Dominic: You walk away like you have a choice, Queen. But we both know you’ll be back.

Heat flushed through her. Not just anger—but something far more dangerous.

Something she wasn’t ready to name.

She locked her phone and shoved it back into her purse, forcing herself to stare out the window, at the blur of city lights rushing past.

No.

She would not let him get under her skin.

She had spent years building walls, shielding herself from men like him—men who took what they wanted and didn’t ask for permission.

She wouldn’t let Dominic be the one to break them down.

She couldn’t.

---

By the time she reached her apartment, the weight of the night pressed down on her like a second skin. She barely made it through the door before Sofia’s voice cut through the dimly lit living room.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Isla flinched. Shit.

She had forgotten to check-in.

Sofia stood with her arms crossed, her dark eyes scanning Isla from head to toe. She wasn’t just annoyed—she was worried.

“I was out,” Isla muttered, tossing her purse onto the counter.

Sofia narrowed her eyes. “With who?”

Isla hesitated.

Sofia’s gaze sharpened. “Isla.”

She swallowed hard, then forced a casual shrug. “It was just dinner.”

Sofia studied her for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “With who?” she repeated.

Isla’s chest tightened.

She could lie.

She should lie.

But the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“…Dominic Valenti.”

Silence.

The kind that sent ice down Isla’s spine.

Sofia’s expression darkened, her jaw clenching. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Isla shook her head.

“Jesus Christ, Isla.” Sofia ran a hand through her hair, pacing. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

Isla bristled. “I know exactly what I did.”

“No, you don’t.” Sofia turned, her eyes blazing. “That man doesn’t just invite someone like you to dinner for no reason. You’re the daughter of his enemy, Isla. This isn’t some harmless flirtation.”

Isla’s pulse pounded, but she held her ground. “I can handle myself.”

Sofia let out a harsh laugh. “Not against him, you can’t.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer—more desperate—Sofia stepped closer. “Isla… you don’t understand what men like him do to women like us.”

Isla’s chest tightened.

She knew.

She had always known.

But none of it changed the fact that she wasn’t afraid.

Not of Dominic.

Not of the war brewing between their families.

Not of what might happen if she let herself fall.

Because deep down, in the darkest corner of her mind…

She wasn’t sure she wanted to run.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to escape him at all.

---

Elsewhere…

Dominic Valenti sat in the back of his black car, fingers tapping against the rim of his whiskey glass. The city lights blurred past, but his mind was elsewhere.

On her.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips as he reread Isla’s last text message.

She hadn’t responded.

Not yet.

But she would.

She always would.

Because Isla Ricci could lie to herself all she wanted—pretend she wasn’t already caught in his web.

But Dominic had seen the fire in her eyes. The way she had leaned into the danger rather than run from it.

She was different.

She was his.

And soon enough…

She would admit it, too.

Isla didn’t sleep that night.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the glow of her phone casting faint shadows across the walls. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes had burned when he told her she didn’t have a choice.

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep inside, she knew he was right.

With a frustrated sigh, she threw the covers off and padded toward the window. The city stretched out before her, endless lights flickering like stars in a sky she couldn’t touch.

A cage.

That’s what this world felt like sometimes.

She’d spent her whole life trying to outrun the Ricci name, trying to carve out a life that didn’t revolve around blood debts and power plays.

And now, in one night, she’d walked straight into the arms of the one man who could destroy it all.

Her phone vibrated again.

This time, she didn’t hesitate.

Dominic: Still awake, Queen?

She should ignore him.

She should block his number and pretend none of this ever happened.

Instead, she typed out a reply before she could stop herself.

Isla: Go to hell.

A response came almost instantly.

Dominic: I’d rather take you with me.

Her breath caught. Damn him.

She tossed her phone onto the bed and clenched her jaw. She wasn’t playing this game with him.

She wouldn’t let him win.

---

The next morning, Isla walked onto campus with her head held high, determined to pretend last night never happened.

She could handle this.

She could sit in that lecture hall, listen to him talk about crime and justice, and not think about the way his voice had sent chills down her spine last night.

She took her usual seat, ignoring the way her pulse quickened as Dominic entered the room. He looked untouched by the night before, effortlessly commanding attention as he placed a book on his desk.

His gaze flicked to her.

And in that split second, she knew.

He wasn’t going to pretend.

He wasn’t going to let her pretend, either.

His lips curved—a silent challenge.

“Open your books,” Dominic said, his voice smooth as sin. “Today, we’re discussing the art of deception.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Because she had a feeling—

This was personal.

And she was about to learn that Dominic Valenti didn’t just play games.

He always always won them.

The lecture hall fell into silence as students rustled through their books. Isla forced herself to breathe, keeping her expression blank even as Dominic’s gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long.

The art of deception.

Of course, that’s what today’s lesson would be.

Her fingers curled around her pen as she flipped open her book. She wouldn’t let him see that he was getting to her.

Dominic leaned against his desk, his voice smooth and authoritative as he began speaking. “Deception is not simply about lying—it’s about control. Manipulation. The ability to make someone believe what you want them to believe.”

He took a slow step forward. Isla stiffened when he stopped near her row.

His next words were aimed at her.

“Some people are born liars. Others are forced to become them.”

The air in the room seemed to thin. Isla felt the weight of his stare, felt the heat curling at the base of her spine.

This was a warning.

Or a challenge.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with steel in her eyes.

“If you’re good enough,” she said, her voice steady, “they’ll never know they were being deceived at all.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Dominic’s expression. “Exactly.”

He turned away, continuing his lecture, but Isla could still feel the invisible thread between them—tugging, tightening.

He was testing her.

And damn it, she was testing him right back.

---

After class, Isla shoved her notebook into her bag and made her way toward the exit, determined to escape before Dominic could corner her.

But she should have known better.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, a firm hand wrapped around her wrist.

She barely had time to react before Dominic pulled her into an empty corridor, out of sight.

“What the hell—”

“Careful, Queen,” he murmured, voice low and edged with dark amusement. “People might think you’re running from me.”

Isla yanked her arm free. “I don’t run.”

His smirk deepened. “No. You don’t.”

She exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his scent—leather, whiskey, something undeniably him—wrapped around her. “What do you want, Dominic?”

His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them. “I want to know why you’re still pretending you’re not interested.”

Her pulse spiked.

She knew she should laugh, roll her eyes, and walk away.

But instead, she stepped closer, pushing back against the pull he had over her. “You think I’m interested?” she challenged.

Dominic tilted his head, studying her with that dangerous, knowing gaze.

“I know you are.”

A shiver ran through her, but she forced herself to stay composed. “Then you don’t know me at all.”

He chuckled, and the sound sent heat curling through her stomach. “Oh, Isla…” His voice was almost a whisper now, dangerously intimate. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering.

This wasn’t just a game.

This was war.

And she wasn’t sure who would come out alive.