His Greatest Sin

The fever lasted three days.

On the fourth morning, my brother, Luca, came into my room. His expression was grim.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, sitting on the edge of my bed with a file in his hand.

"Better." I struggled to sit up. "You look like you have bad news."

Luca was quiet for a moment. "Dante sent his men to Chicago."

"Chicago?" I frowned. "I thought he went to New York."

"Clara's not in New York. She vanished three years ago, no one knew where." Luca handed me the file. "Until yesterday. A PI found a trail in Chicago."

I opened the file. It was full of grainy photos and reports. The woman in the pictures was skeletal, but I could still see it was Clara.

"What... what happened to her?"

"Married some low-life gangster. He was killed over a gambling debt. She got hunted by loan sharks, ended up working in a strip club, and got hooked on drugs." Luca's voice was low. "Isabella... Dante thinks our family did this."

"What?"

"He thinks you had our people ruin her life out of jealousy."

I looked at Luca in disbelief. "Is he insane? I didn't even know where she was!"

"But the timeline fits," Luca said grimly. "Clara's life went to hell three years ago. Right when you turned eighteen and started taking on some family responsibilities."

A wave of dizziness washed over me, but this time it was from pure rage.

"So he thinks I'm some vindictive monster who would destroy a woman's life out of jealousy?"

Before Luca could answer, the door was thrown open.

Dante stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing. His clothes were rumpled; he clearly hadn't slept.

"Isabella Rossi." His voice was a low growl. "We need to talk."

Luca shot to his feet. "Dante, she's still sick—"

"Get out." Dante didn't even look at my brother. His gaze was locked on me. "Now."

"Luca, it's okay. You can go," I said, my voice steady. "I want to hear what Mr. Moretti has to say."

Luca gave me a worried look but left the room. I knew he was right outside the door.

Dante strode to my bed and pulled a stack of photos from his pocket, throwing them on the covers.

"Look at what you did!"

I picked them up. Each one was a chronicle of Clara's fall from grace: from a pretty girl to a gaunt dancer, to a hollow-eyed addict.

"This is your masterpiece, isn't it, Isabella?" Dante's voice trembled with rage. "You were jealous, so you destroyed her. You used your family's resources to push her into the abyss, step by step!"

I looked at him, a coldness I'd never felt before creeping into my heart.

"You think I did this?"

"Who else could it be?!" he roared. "Clara had everything when she left Verona! Money, an education—she could have had a good life! But someone kept sabotaging her in the shadows—got her kicked out of college, got her fired, set her up with that goddamn low-life husband!"

"So you just decided it was me?" My voice was dangerously quiet. "No investigation, no proof. You just decided?"

"What more proof do I need?!" He lunged forward, bracing his hands on either side of me on the bed. "You've been jealous of her for five years! Jealous of her place in my heart!"

"Yes, I was jealous of her," I said, meeting his eyes without flinching. "I was jealous of the attention you gave her, jealous she could wear your clothes, jealous of the special place she held for you. But Dante, I never, ever wanted to hurt her."

"Liar!" He was completely unhinged. "You vicious bitch! You ruined her life! Clara never hurt anyone, she was kind, innocent—"

"Enough!" I snapped. "Kind? Innocent? The woman who humiliated me in front of the entire city was kind?!"

"She was young! She didn't know what she was doing!"

"She was twenty years old! She knew exactly what she was doing!" I pushed myself up. "And you? You saw her humiliating me, and you did nothing, because in your heart, she was more important!"

"Yes! She was more important!" Dante screamed, his face contorted. "She saved my life! I'd be dead if it wasn't for her! And you—you were just the woman I was supposed to marry for the good of the family!"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"So," my voice started to shake, "you think I would ruin her life out of jealousy? In your eyes, I'm just a vicious, ruthless monster who will stop at nothing to get what she wants?"

"Aren't you?!" Dante had lost all reason. "Every one of you Rossis is cold-blooded. You were raised to be the perfect Mafia princess—elegant on the outside, poison on the inside!"

"Dante Moretti!" I was shaking with fury now. "Get the hell out of my house!"

"I'm not leaving!" He suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Tell me you did it! Admit it!"

"Let go of me!"

"Admit it!" His grip tightened. "You destroyed Clara, didn't you?!"

The rage and humiliation boiled over. "So what if I did?!"

His eyes turned blood-red.

"You evil bitch."

His hand shot from my wrist to my throat, and he squeezed.

"I'll kill you for what you did to her!"

I clawed at his hands, but my body was weak from the fever. My vision started to blur, the air cut off.

Just as I thought I was going to die, the door burst open.

"Let her go!" Luca bellowed.

There was a blur of motion, and Dante was thrown off me. I gasped for air, my hand flying to my bruised neck.

Luca stood over me, murder in his eyes. "Dante Moretti, have you lost your mind?!"

Dante stood there, staring at his own hands as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"I... I didn't mean to..."

"Get out!" Luca roared. "Get out of my house, now!"

Dante looked at me, his eyes a storm of regret, pain, and simmering rage.

"Isabella, this isn't over," he said, his voice a low, demonic curse. "You destroyed her life. I will never forgive you."

He turned to leave, then looked back one last time, his gaze as cold as a winter wind.

"From this moment on, I declare war on the House of Rossi."

He stormed out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

I sat on the bed, my hand still on my aching throat as silent tears streamed down my face.

Not from the pain.

From a completely shattered heart.

Luca sat beside me, gently rubbing my back. "Isabella, it's over."

"Luca," my voice was a hoarse whisper, "I really didn't do it. The thing with Clara."

"I know."

"He doesn't believe me."

"He's blinded by rage right now. When he calms down—"

"No," I shook my head. "He'll never believe me. In his mind, I'll always be the jealous monster who ruined an innocent woman's life."

I looked out the window. The Verona sun was shining, but my world had gone completely dark.

"Maybe it's for the best," I whispered. "At least now, neither of us has to pretend anymore."

Luca looked at me, worried. "Isabella, what are you going to do?"

I didn't answer. I just watched the clouds drift by.

Some things, once broken, can never be fixed.

Like Dante's trust in me.

And my love for him.

From that day on, Dante Moretti and I were enemies.