She’d been running too long. From Derek. From the past. From herself. Perhaps it was time to stop and face it.
“I’ll stay,” Isabella said, her voice steadier than ever. “At least until everything is clear.”
Sophia cheered and hugged her tightly. Maggie only nodded, but in the older woman’s eyes, Isabella saw a glimmer of hope she hadn’t seen in many years.
The day of the wine launch event finally arrived. The Castellano estate was transformed into a spectacle of elegance, illuminated by thousands of flickering candles, adorned with white rose arrangements throughout, and accompanied by a live orchestra playing soft classical music in the banquet hall.
From early morning, Isabella had been busy with final inspections, from the placement of tables and chairs to the exact positioning of the rare wine bottles. She wanted to ensure there wasn’t a single mistake, not only for the job but to prove to herself that she could do this.
In the afternoon, as Isabella was reviewing the guest list one last time, Sophia suddenly appeared and pulled her toward a room.
“You can’t wear jeans to tonight’s party,” Sophia said excitedly. “Max has invited you as a guest.”
Isabella froze. “What? I’m only a temporary staff member. I can’t.”
Sophia waved her hand. “He’s decided. And when Maxwell Castellano decides something, no one changes it. Besides, I’ve already prepared a dress for you.”
Before Isabella could object, Sophia pulled a long black dress from the wardrobe. It was simple yet elegant, with a bateau neckline, long sleeves of sheer lace, fitted through the bodice and softly flaring at the hem.
“I bought it for a university gala but never wore it,” Sophia explained. “We’re the same size, so it’ll fit you perfectly.”
Isabella looked at the dress, then at Sophia, emotion tightening her throat. She wasn’t used to being cared for like this—not used to someone being kind without asking for anything in return.
“Thank you, Sophia,” she said softly.
Sophia only smiled and pushed her toward the bathroom. “Go get ready. We only have two hours left.”
Two hours later, Isabella stood before the mirror and barely recognized herself. The black dress fit her perfectly, highlighting her honey-toned skin and soft curves. Sophia had helped her with light makeup: just mascara, a touch of blush, and nude lipstick. Her long black hair was swept up, revealing her slender neck and the pearl earrings Sophia had lent her.
“You look beautiful,” Sophia said with satisfaction. “Max won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
Isabella felt her cheeks warm but said nothing. She only took a deep breath and stepped out.
The main staircase was crowded with guests when Isabella appeared at the top. She looked down at the hall below, where hundreds of elegantly dressed guests were mingling and sipping wine. She recognized some faces from the news—business leaders, politicians, and others she guessed belonged to the underworld.
This is Max’s world, she thought. A glamorous and dangerous realm she’d never belonged to.
As Isabella began descending the stairs, Max looked up at that exact moment. His gray eyes found her in the crowd, and he froze. She saw the wineglass pause in his hand, saw his lips part as if to speak but no words came.
He wore a black three-piece suit with a white shirt and black tie, looking like a king among his court. Yet in that moment, when their eyes met, Isabella didn’t see the cold mafia boss but the man who’d shared wine with her in the cellar and listened to her story without judgment.
Max set the glass down and stepped to the foot of the stairs, offering his hand like a true gentleman. “You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual.
Isabella placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth spread through her skin. “Thank you for inviting me,” she replied, trying to sound calm though her heart was racing.
Max said nothing, only guided her into the center of the hall. All eyes turned toward them, whispers spreading. But Isabella didn’t care. She focused only on the feel of Max’s hand holding hers, as if he were declaring to the world that she belonged with him.
And in the corner of the room, Vanessa Thornton stood in her crimson gown, cold blue eyes watching with burning hatred.
The party unfolded smoothly during the first hours. Guests mingled, laughed, and enjoyed delicate appetizers and the finest wines from the Castellano family’s collection. Isabella stood beside Max most of the time, introduced by him to business partners as a friend of the family.
She noticed many curious, even surprised glances, but no one dared ask directly about her identity. Maxwell Castellano’s influence was too great for anyone to question his choices.
Vanessa was also present, clinging to her father, George Thornton, one of the Castellano family’s long-standing allies. She kept casting hateful looks toward Isabella, but Isabella didn’t let it bother her. She was used to Vanessa’s hostility and had no intention of letting it ruin the night.
Midway through the evening, Max stepped onto the small stage at the front of the hall. The lights dimmed, a spotlight fell on him, and the room grew silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Max began, his voice carrying through the space. “Tonight I’m honored to present to you the new pride of the Castellano family, the Rosso d’Oro wine line, crafted from the finest grapes of our family vineyard in Tuscany. But before we raise a glass to Rosso d’Oro, I’d like to offer you something even more special.”
“A bottle that’s been kept in our family cellar for one hundred years, waiting for a worthy occasion to be opened.” Max gestured, and Tony stepped onto the stage holding an ancient bottle coated in dust inside a glass case.
Murmurs of admiration rippled through the hall. Everyone knew the value of a century-old wine, not only in money but in history. Max carefully opened the bottle and poured a small amount into a crystal glass to examine its color before tasting.
Isabella watched from below as he lifted the glass to the light and gently swirled it. Then, she saw his expression change. Max frowned, brought the glass to his nose, then took a small sip.
His gray eyes darkened. His jaw tightened. Something was wrong.
Isabella felt her heart tighten when Max set the glass down, his face cold as stone. “The wine is spoiled,” he said to Tony in a low voice that Isabella still caught from near the stage.
Max’s jaw tightened, but a flicker of calculated coldness crossed his eyes. He had seen Vanessa on the monitor hours ago, yet he had allowed the sabotage to happen. In reality, the century-old vintage had been moved to his private safe hours ago. The bottle on stage was a decoy.
Max had prepared specifically to lure Vanessa into his trap. He had allowed the sabotage to proceed on a worthless bottle, creating a public stage where he could strip the Thorntons of their mask and prove to the world that Isabella was under his absolute protection.
“Someone sabotaged it.”
Before the situation could worsen, a sharp voice rang out from the crowd. “I know who did it!”
Vanessa stepped forward, her face triumphant. “I saw her,” she said, pointing at Isabella. “The maid’s daughter sneaking into the cellar last night. She did something to the bottle.”
All eyes turned to Isabella. She felt blood rush to her face, her ears ringing with shock and anger. She hadn’t done it. She’d been in the cellar with Max that night, but she hadn’t touched any bottle.
“That’s a lie,” Isabella said, her voice steady though her world was reeling. “I didn’t do it.”
Vanessa smiled coldly. “Oh really? Then can you explain why you were in the cellar at two in the morning?” She turned to the crowd, her voice rising theatrically. “Everyone here knows who she is. The maid’s daughter, whose father stole from the Castellano family and ran away. Perhaps betrayal runs in their blood.”
Isabella felt as if she’d been struck across the face. Vanessa knew about her father. She didn’t know how, but it no longer mattered. The secret was laid bare before hundreds of people, and she couldn’t deny it.
Some guests began whispering, suspicious and contemptuous looks falling on her. She stood alone in a sea of strangers, loneliness and helplessness tightening her throat. She wanted to shout that she was innocent, that Vanessa was lying, but she knew no one would believe someone like her.
Vanessa continued, her voice growing more victorious. “She envies my position, wants to destroy the Castellano family to avenge her father. She should be thrown out immediately, or better yet, punished the way the Castellanos deal with traitors.”
Isabella looked toward Max, still standing on the stage in silence. His face showed no emotion, his gray eyes coolly observing the scene as if analyzing every detail. She didn’t know what he was thinking, didn’t know if he believed Vanessa. She only knew that if he did, her life would end tonight.
And in that moment, Isabella understood she was completely alone. Max’s silence stretched on like a century. Isabella stood there, feeling as if she were drowning in a sea of judging eyes from every corner of the ballroom. She wanted to run, to disappear from this place, but her feet felt nailed to the marble floor.
Vanessa stood a few steps away, a triumphant smile spreading across her crimson lips. Behind her, George Thornton wore a stern expression, clearly supporting his daughter’s accusation. Isabella felt the walls closing in around her, no escape in sight.
Then Max spoke, and the entire room seemed to stop breathing.
“Miss Thornton,” he said, his voice low and even, as if discussing the weather rather than a serious act of sabotage. “You say you saw Miss… Reyes sneaking into the cellar last night?”
Vanessa nodded eagerly, her blue eyes lighting up, convinced Max was on her side. “Yes, I saw her clearly. She went down to the cellar around two in the morning. Who knows what she did to your precious bottles?”
Max nodded slowly, then gestured to Tony. Tony stepped forward, holding a tablet. He handed it to Max, who turned the screen toward the crowd.
“This estate has the most advanced security camera system,” Max said calmly, though something dangerous lay beneath each word. “Every corner of this house is recorded 24 hours a day, including the wine cellar.”
Vanessa’s face began to change. Isabella saw the victorious smile fade, replaced by a flicker of confusion.
“This is the cellar footage from last night,” Max continued and pressed play.
The screen showed black and white images of the cellar. Isabella saw herself descending the stairs, then stopping when she noticed Max seated at the far end. She watched them talk, drink wine, and then leave together. Throughout the footage, she never touched any bottle on the shelves except the one Max had already opened.
“But this is the interesting part,” Max said and fast-forwarded. The image shifted to the empty cellar at four in the morning.
Then a figure appeared at the top of the stairs: Vanessa Thornton.
Murmurs erupted across the room. On the screen, Vanessa crept into the cellar, looked around to be sure no one was watching, then approached the rack. She took the bottle, opened it, and poured in a small vial of liquid. Then she sealed it, returned it to its place, and slipped away as quietly as she’d come.
“No!” Vanessa screamed, her face pale as paper. “That’s fake! That video is fake! You edited it to protect that bitch!”
Max set the tablet down and stepped off the stage, each footstep echoing in the deadly silence. He moved through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, guests instinctively stepping aside. He stopped before Vanessa, looking down at her with eyes cold as ice.
“You just slandered an innocent woman before all my guests,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “You destroyed a century-old bottle, a legacy of my family, and you dare invoke my name to beg for mercy?”
Vanessa trembled, her legs giving way. Her father stepped forward, his face also drained of color. “Maxwell,” he said, “be calm, we can discuss this privately. Vanessa is young; she didn’t understand what she was doing.”
Max turned to George Thornton, his gaze unwavering. “Mr. Thornton, I respect our family’s years of cooperation, but I don’t forgive betrayal, no matter who commits it. Take your daughter out of my house now, and we’ll speak later about the consequences.”
Tony and two other men stepped forward, gently but firmly taking Vanessa by the arms. She struggled, screaming curses.
“She’ll pay for this!” Vanessa shrieked, her bloodshot eyes fixed on Isabella. “She’s just a maid’s daughter! She doesn’t deserve to stand beside you!”
Max didn’t bother to look back at Vanessa. Instead, he stepped in front of Isabella, standing like a fortress, shielding her from every gaze. He extended his hand, and Isabella, as if hypnotized, placed hers in his.
Before hundreds of guests, before the most powerful mafia figures in New York, Maxwell Castellano lifted Isabella’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
“Anyone who slanders her slanders me,” he said loudly, his voice echoing through the silent hall. “And everyone here knows the consequences of standing against me.”
Tears rose in Isabella’s eyes, but she held them back. She looked at Max, into gray eyes filled with something she didn’t dare name. She didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know where this decision would lead. She only knew that in this moment, in a world of danger and betrayal, she was no longer alone.
The party ended later than expected, yet no one mentioned the incident with the century-old bottle or Vanessa Thornton’s scandal anymore. The launch of Rosso D’Oro was still a resounding success, contracts were signed, and the Castellano family’s prestige remained rock-solid.
When the final guest departed, Isabella stood alone on the mansion’s rooftop, gazing at the Manhattan skyline glittering with lights. She needed air, needed space to sort through everything that had happened tonight. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she knew who it was without turning.
Max stood beside her, and for a long moment, they silently looked out over the city. The night wind carried the chill of autumn, making Isabella shiver. Without a word, Max removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Isabella wanted to refuse, but the warmth was too comforting, and she accepted.
“I owe you an apology,” Max said suddenly, his voice low and weary. “I should have intervened sooner. I shouldn’t have let Vanessa go that far.”
Isabella turned to him in surprise. She’d expected him to speak about the wine, the business loss, anything except an apology.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “You protected me in front of everyone. I didn’t think you would.”
Max looked at her, his gray eyes deep in the dim light. “You thought I’d let them hurt you?”
Isabella hesitated. “I didn’t know. I’m used to protecting myself. I’m not used to someone standing in front of me like that.”
Max fell silent, then looked back toward the horizon, his jaw tightening as if wrestling himself. “I’m not a good man, Isabella,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve done terrible things. I’ve killed, tortured, destroyed countless lives. These hands…” He raised them before him with disgust. “…have been stained with blood too many times to count. You shouldn’t be near me.”
Isabella studied him, those eyes filled with pain and guilt. She thought of her mother’s twenty years in this family’s shadow, of her father who betrayed and fled, of her own scars inside and out.
“I know who you are,” she said gently. “I know how dangerous your world is. But the question isn’t what you were in the past. The question is who you want to become in the future.”
Max stared at her, startled. “You’re not afraid of me? You’re not repulsed by what I’ve done?”
Isabella stepped closer, close enough to feel his breath on her skin. “I’ve been afraid too much in my life,” she said. “Afraid of my ex-husband. Afraid of the past. Afraid of the future. But when I’m with you…” She searched for the words. “I don’t feel afraid. I feel safe. And that scares me more than anything.”
Max lifted his hand, his fingers brushing her cheek so lightly she barely felt it. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.