THE DEVIL'S ANGEL

chapter 10

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### Chapter Ten: A Denial of the Heart

Isabella stood in front of the mirror in her room, her reflection staring back at her, as if challenging her to understand the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the scene with Valeria in Alessandro's study—the way the secretary had thrown herself at him, her blatant desire palpable in every word and movement.

For hours, Isabella had tried to push the memory aside, but it clung to her like a persistent shadow. The feelings that had stirred in her chest as she watched the interaction—those sharp pangs of irritation, of protectiveness—had unsettled her deeply.

But it wasn't jealousy.

It couldn't be.

She clenched her fists, closing her eyes to the intrusive thoughts. No, it wasn't jealousy. It was something else. She couldn't feel jealous over Alessandro, not after everything he had put her through. He was a cruel, controlling man—a ruthless don who showed her no kindness, no affection. A man who had locked her away without food for days simply because she had dared to stand up to him.

Jealousy was something reserved for those who cared, for those who loved. And love had no place in her heart for Alessandro.

Isabella exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside her. She was being foolish to even entertain the thought that she might feel something so irrational. Perhaps it was just anger, frustration at Valeria's boldness, the audacity of the secretary to think she could have him.

That was all it was.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she turned toward the sound. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, revealing one of the estate guards, **Marco**. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, and always had a leer that made Isabella uneasy. She had seen him around the estate, always keeping a little too close to her for comfort.

"Lady Falconi," he greeted her with a crooked smile, stepping inside without invitation. His eyes raked over her in a way that sent a chill down her spine.

"What are you doing here?" Isabella asked, her voice tense as she took a step back.

Marco's smile widened as he closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. "The don sent me to check on you," he lied, his voice low and oily. "Wanted to make sure you were alright."

Isabella's heart began to race, the warning bells ringing loud in her mind. There was something off about the way he was looking at her, the predatory gleam in his eyes unmistakable.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, inching away from him toward the opposite side of the room. "You can leave now."

But Marco didn't leave. Instead, he took a step closer, his grin widening as he advanced on her.

"I've seen the way he treats you," Marco said, his voice dripping with malice. "Locked away like a prisoner in your own home. You deserve better than that."

Isabella's stomach twisted in fear. She tried to keep her voice steady. "Get out, Marco. Now."

But he didn't listen. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist and pulling her roughly toward him. Isabella gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was too strong.

"Don't fight me," he growled, his breath hot against her ear. "No one will come. No one cares about you here."

Panic surged through Isabella's veins as she fought against him, trying to break free. Her mind raced, and she tried to scream, but Marco's hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries.

Terror gripped her as he forced her back against the wall, his hands wandering where they had no right to go. Isabella's eyes filled with tears of desperation, her body trembling with fear. She tried to push him away, but her strength was no match for his.

Just as the darkness of despair began to close in, the door to her room flew open with a deafening crash.

Alessandro stood in the doorway, his face a mask of pure, unbridled rage. His eyes blazed with fury as he took in the scene before him—Marco's hands on Isabella, her tear-streaked face, her desperate struggle to free herself.

"Get your hands off her!" Alessandro's voice was a thunderous roar, shaking the very walls of the room.

Marco froze, his grip on Isabella loosening as he turned to face the don. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he didn't release her immediately, as if he still thought he had some control over the situation.

That was his final mistake.

In an instant, Alessandro crossed the room, grabbing Marco by the collar and yanking him away from Isabella with a violent force. The guard stumbled, his back slamming against the wall with a sickening thud. Alessandro's fist connected with Marco's jaw, the impact sending him reeling. Blood splattered against the wall as Marco crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.

Isabella stood frozen in shock, her body shaking, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

But Alessandro wasn't done.

Rage burned in his eyes, his chest heaving as he loomed over Marco, who was now cowering on the ground, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Alessandro grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the floor with terrifying strength.

"You dare touch my wife?" Alessandro snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you can lay a hand on her and live?"

Marco choked, his eyes wide with terror as he struggled to breathe, clawing at Alessandro's iron grip. But there was no mercy in Alessandro's gaze, no hint of the man who had once hesitated to take a life. In this moment, he was the ruthless don, the man who ruled with an iron fist, and there was no saving Marco from his wrath.

"Please—" Marco gasped, his voice barely audible.

Alessandro's grip tightened, and for a moment, Isabella feared he might kill him right there in the room. But then, with a low growl, Alessandro threw Marco to the ground, his eyes still blazing with fury.

"Get out," Alessandro spat, his voice cold and lethal. "And if I ever see your face again, I'll do worse than kill you."

Marco scrambled to his feet, clutching his throat as he stumbled toward the door. Blood dripped from his face, and he didn't dare look back as he fled the room, disappearing down the hallway.

Isabella stood trembling, her body still reeling from the terror of what had nearly happened. She stared at Alessandro, her heart pounding in her chest. His breathing was ragged, his fists still clenched, the fury that had consumed him slowly ebbing away.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, the weight of the confrontation hanging heavy in the air.

Then, Alessandro turned to her, his gaze softening just slightly as he took in her tear-streaked face, her disheveled appearance.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low, the anger in his eyes replaced by something else—something she hadn't seen in him before.

Isabella swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She wasn't sure how to respond. The terror of the attack still lingered, but so did the shock of Alessandro's reaction—his rage, his protectiveness.

She had never seen him like this before.

"I'm... fine," she whispered, though her voice trembled.

Alessandro's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more. But instead, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his back stiff, his fury still simmering beneath the surface.

As the door closed behind him, Isabella sank to the floor, her body trembling with the aftermath of fear and confusion.

This time, though, there was no denying it—something inside her had shifted.

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This chapter delves into Isabella's intense internal struggle, her denial of jealousy, and the raw terror she experiences when attacked. Alessandro's furious and violent defense of her, though rooted in his possessiveness, shows a side of him Isabella hadn't fully understood until now.