Isabella Rossi never planned to return to New York, but when you're the heir to a mafia empire, plans are just... let's say, polite suggestions.
Within hours of her return, she comes face-to-face with the one man she swore she'd never encounter aga...
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Antonio The end
The penthouse was quiet now, too quiet. The kind of silence that seeps into your bones, crawling under your skin until it's the only thing you can hear. I stood by the window, looking out over the city, my glass of whiskey in hand, the lights stretching endlessly below me.
Normally, this view grounded me. Tonight, it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside.
Elizabeth's terrified eyes refused to leave my mind, her muffled cries trapped in the gag, replaying like a curse. And Isabella—her smirk had been carved into my memory, smug satisfaction radiating from her.
My mind whirred, Elizabeth.
What the hell was she doing here?
For a second, my mind flitted back to all the deals, the connections Elizabeth had helped me forge. She wasn't supposed to be here—definitely not like this and not at that time. I should have apologized, and let her go.
But when I looked at Isabella, saw the satisfied glint in her eyes, something shifted inside me. All the anger faded to nothingness.
Her satisfaction. Her happiness.
I'd do anything for it.
"Do you realize what could've happened? She's not just some random woman, Isabella. She has connections. Powerful ones." I'd asked her right after dealing with Elizabeth.
Isabella's green eyes darkened significantly, a flicker of irritation flashing across her face. She uncrossed her arms, pushing herself off the sofa, taking a step toward me.
"I didn't drag her here," she snapped, her voice sharp now. "She came here, Antonio. She was looking for you. I didn't ask for this."
I clenched my jaw, the frustration building. She had a point, she didn't drag Elizabeth here but she'd made damn sure the situation turned out to her liking.
And Elizabeth also knew better than to get in my space uninvited.
I had ran a hand through my hair, pacing again.
"You don't just tie someone up and leave them in my living room, Isabella!" I'd shot back, my voice rising.
"I did what I did," she said, her tone leveling out again, "I was protecting your interests." She added sarcastically with a shrug of her shoulders.
My interests. The words hung in the air like a taunt, as if she knew exactly what to say to twist the knife. And it pissed me off because, in a way, she did. She got rid of the woman that was being forced on me.
And perhaps I liked the fact that she was annoyed, maybe jealous, even, at the thought of someone else being with me.
