His Bold Seduction (Bloodlines & Betrayal #3)

6. Costantino

My evening feels like a movie, a picturesque scene unfolding in my cozy home.

I stand in the kitchen, expertly assembling dinner—pepper steak stir fry, infused with fragrant spices and vibrant vegetables. I'm barefoot, the cool tiles beneath my feet grounding me in this moment, and I’m dressed in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants that hang comfortably on my hips. On the counter, a rocks glass filled with amber whiskey sits, the ice slowly melting as I’ve been savoring it for the last half hour. Each sip brings a wave of warmth, and I am in heaven, relishing the simple pleasures of life.

In the living room, the atmosphere is filled with the sounds of joy as Isadora is sprawled on the floor, her laughter echoing off the walls as she plays with our dog, Norman. She wears an oversized shirt of mine, the fabric draping loosely around her, barely tickling the curve of her bottom. It's a sight that brings a smile to my face. She takes delicate sips from a glass of wine, which precariously teeters on the edge of the table, mere inches away from being knocked over by Norman's happily wagging tail, a blur of excitement and energy.

The only thing missing is the kids. I can’t help but picture one or two little Sal’s or Izzy’s dashing around the house, their infectious giggles filling the air as they respond to my calls that dinner is nearly ready. The thought of their innocent laughter adds a pang of longing to the otherwise perfect tableau.

The scene is so wholesome, so filled with warmth and domestic bliss, that it nearly breaks my heart. Yet, my phone keeps vibrating insistently with messages and calls from Carlo. I’ve glanced at them a few times, each notification pulling me momentarily from my idyllic bubble. Apparently, Isadora Dutton has run away from home, and Carlo wants me to find her before she gets herself into more trouble. I dismiss his texts with a wave of my hand; I did find her, and she is safe and sound, right here in this moment.

It’s only been two days since everything shifted, but somehow, it feels like things are getting better. I think we’re slowly getting used to each other’s presence, the awkwardness of our new reality gradually fading. The sex helps, too; you can forgive a lot of sins when a disagreement ends with an orgasm, and it seems to bridge the gap between us, igniting a spark that both of us desperately needed.

"You should have led with the fact that you can cook." Isadora gets to her feet, leaving the dog sprawled on his side, his eyes half-lidded as he watches us with a lazy curiosity. "Men who can cook are very sexy. I’d have moved in with you after the night I met you if I had known you could cook.”

"I thought I was sexy already," I reply with a mock frown, crossing my arms in playful defiance. "I guess I could have been wrong, but I seriously doubt it."

Isadora strolls across the living room, her wine glass elegantly cradled in her hand, the deep red liquid swirling with each step. I shouldn’t have given her alcohol since she’s technically underage, but it’s not like she can hurt herself here in the comfort of my home. "You have a lot of admirable qualities, Costantino. Why are you still single?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in genuine curiosity.

The question catches me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. There are probably a dozen reasons why I’m still single, including my notoriously picky nature. "I've enjoyed a lot of women sexually, but it’s hard to find someone I can connect with on a deeper level," I finally admit, feeling a hint of vulnerability seep through my bravado.

She leans her tight little body over the counter, her movement fluid and graceful, and waggles her eyebrows at me suggestively. "Do I fit the criteria?"

I can’t help but chuckle at her boldness. I’ve loved younger women over the years—maybe it’s a male thing, or maybe it’s just because they’re tighter. Perhaps I’m just a dog at heart. But the women I’ve truly connected with have always been closer to my age. The younger ones often seem a bit more air-headed, unsure of where they’re heading in life, while I’ve thought that if I was going to settle down one day, it would be with a woman who was also in her thirties. She would have similar life experiences, and we’d be able to connect on multiple levels because of it.

But meeting Isadora taught me that age really is just a number. With her, I feel alive, as if I could change the world simply by being near her. It may sound a bit crazy to admit that I'm falling for Isadora Dutton, but how could anyone resist? She’s always up for an adventure, her sassiness igniting a spark in me, and she fits perfectly in every way in the bedroom. Isadora is quickly becoming everything to me, filling a space in my heart I didn’t even know was empty. "You are the criteria,” I reassure her, my voice filled with sincerity.

It's a tender moment we share, and it’s a shame it passes as swiftly as it began, leaving only a trace of warmth in its wake.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp knock on the front door, breaking the intimacy of our exchange. Isadora pulls away from the kitchen counter, her wine glass still in hand, and swings around to head towards the door. I think little of it until I hear the glass shatter violently against the ground, the sound slicing through the air like a knife.

I look up from where I’m standing at the stove, my heart sinking as I see Carlo Rosetti framed in the doorway. His expression shifts as he takes in the scene: Isadora, the remnants of broken glass glinting ominously on the floor, and the chaos of boxes strewn about—some half unpacked, others still filled with our hasty efforts to settle in. I can almost see his mind slowly processing what he’s witnessing, while Isadora instinctively backs away, her eyes widening in alarm. She must have stepped on some of the shards, for as she retreats, the entryway tile turns into carpet, and blood begins to smear the tan fabric, a stark contrast to the softness of our surroundings.

"You have my bride?" Carlo steps inside, his voice low and dangerous, crunching the glass beneath his boot as if it’s no more than a mere inconvenience. "Why didn't you call me?”

Isadora looks at me, confusion etched on her face. "What's he talking about?” Her voice trembles slightly, a mixture of fear and bewilderment, and I can feel the tension in the air thickening around us, like a storm ready to break.

This is only going to get worse. I hadn't yet figured out a way to extract myself from the promise I made to Carlo, the one that bound me to hunt down his fiancé and deliver her into his hands. The weight of my obligation pressed down on me like an anchor, and I also hadn’t found the words to tell Isadora that I was hired by her betrothed to track her down. I had been so enamored by the domestic life we had begun to build together that I had managed to forget all about that lingering darkness. "Carlo, we should talk outside,” I decide, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. If we discuss this in front of Isadora, I can only imagine the hell that will rain down on my head, the storm of emotions that could erupt.

He surveys the way Isadora is dressed, her delicate features still alight with confusion, and takes in my disheveled, shirtless appearance. Carlo is quick to connect the dots, and his anger pivots sharply in my direction. "What are you doing with my Isadora?" His tone is a low growl, each word dripping with fury.

But the blonde, fierce and unyielding, refuses to be sidelined. She turns her gaze back to Carlo, shooting him a glare that could slice through steel. "I am not yours. " Her voice rises defiantly, and I can sense the power of her conviction, even in the face of Carlo's wrath.

Before I can move around the counter peninsula to intervene, Carlo reacts with swift brutality. His hand strikes out, backhanding Isadora with a force that reverberates through the room. "I paid good money for you. I'll marry you, whore you out, or kill you if I want. Shut up, bitch.” His words are venomous, and my stomach twists in revulsion.

Anger fills my chest cavity, boiling over in an instant. "Don't put your hands on her." I come around the counter, drawing myself up to my full height, puffing out my chest in an attempt to project strength. "You don't deserve her." The conviction behind my words ignites a fire within me, fueled by the injustice of his actions.

But Carlo, undeterred, withdraws a gun, the metallic glint catching the light. He points it directly at my heart, his expression cold and calculating as he tilts his head slightly, as if sizing me up. "I send you to track down my wife, and this is how you repay me? By fucking her? By moving in with her?” His accusation hangs heavy in the air, a challenge that reverberates through the tension-laden space.

Isadora looks at me with betrayal etched into her features, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her lip is bleeding, a stark contrast against her pale skin, and her cheek already shows the beginnings of a dark bruise, a painful reminder of the violence surrounding us. "You were hunting me?” The crack of sadness in her tone when she realizes that I deceived her is heart-wrenching, each word laced with disbelief and anguish.

"I took the job, but I had no intention of handing you over to him." I plead with Isadora with my eyes, my heart aching for her trust. I need her to believe me, to see that my actions were never meant to inflict this distress on her. I never wanted to hurt her; the thought of causing her pain makes my chest tighten.

Carlo growls in response, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the fragile atmosphere, interrupting our moment. "You took my money, Costantino,” he snarls, his tone dripping with contempt as he talks over the two of us, asserting his dominance.

"And I'll give the money back. I don't want it." Hell, I don't even need it, not if it means losing Isadora, not if it means sacrificing any chance of a future with her.

"I should shoot you." Carlo takes a menacing step toward me, his presence looming as he passes by Isadora, dismissing her pain like it's inconsequential. "For taking my money, for taking my woman, and for lying to me about it."

If I could do it all over again, I would. I would rewrite the entire narrative of this nightmare. "I'll buy out your betrothal." I don’t care how much it costs. Whatever he paid to Isadora's parents, I’ll return to him, no matter the sacrifice.

But Carlo only laughs, a cruel sound that echoes in the tense air. "Double."

I frown, my resolve hardening, but I don’t have to look at Isadora to know that she’s worth it—worth every penny, every risk. "Done."

His gun remains firmly aimed at my chest, a palpable threat that hangs in the air. Carlo's gaze flickers to Isadora, a predatory glint in his eye as he clucks his tongue in mock sympathy. "I've heard stories about this pretty little mouth of yours," he taunts, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. "It's a shame I can't have those lips wrapped around my cock. Unless," he pauses deliberately, shooting me a curious look that feels like a dagger, "you sweeten the deal with a blowjob from the whore? I'll knock $20,000 off what you owe me."

A surge of fury ignites within me, boiling my blood. I will never allow him to defile Isadora; I don’t care which hole he’s contemplating shoving himself into. "No," I snap, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling around us. "I am buying Isadora her freedom. She doesn't belong to me any more than she belonged to you."

Carlo's laughter is cold and mocking. "All you've purchased is my right to marry her. If her parents want to sell her off again, they will." He lowers his gun, the tension in the room shifting as he adopts a more relaxed posture. "But I doubt she'll command a high price. We've all heard the rumors about her. She isn’t worth the $100,000 I paid for her, and she won’t be worth the $200,000 you owe me for her so-called freedom. But enjoy your prize, I guess."

I feel the weight of his words like a heavy stone in my gut. I don’t have $200,000, but that’s a concern for another day. I’ll speak to the family, I’ll cut a deal, I’ll do whatever it takes for Isadora, even if it means crawling through hell. "Get out of my house, Carlo," I order, my voice low and steady, laced with a simmering intensity.

He backs away slowly, a lazy, mocking look plastered on his face as if he relishes in this power play. "Your reputation will be ruined when I'm through with you, Costantino Bianchi. No one will ever trust you again," he taunts, his parting words hanging in the air like a dark omen.

Fuck being a bounty hunter. It was never a path I chose; it just fell into my lap like an unwanted burden. Yet, if it means sacrificing this life for Isadora, I will do it without hesitation. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. Goodbye, Rosetti."

As he exits the premises, I feel a weight lift, but it’s quickly replaced by the urgency of the moment. I hastily find a pair of shoes to pull on, their familiar comfort grounding me as I navigate through the chaos. I make my way to the front door, closing it firmly behind me, and lock the deadbolt with a sense of finality, just in case he dares to return. The sound of glass crunching beneath my feet serves as a reminder of the confrontation, but I push it aside; I need to check on Isadora.

When I turn around, my heart sinks at the sight of her perched on the kitchen counter, her gaze fixated on her bloodied feet illuminated by the harsh overhead lights. "Are you okay?" I ask, my voice softening at the sight of her distress.

"You were supposed to hand me over to him? When were you going to tell me?" Isadora’s voice is quiet, laced with hurt, and she doesn’t even look up from her task. Instead, she grabs a dishtowel from the counter, pressing it against the wounds to wipe away the blood, her hands trembling slightly.

"You were engaged to him. Did you really think it was just going to go away?" The words escape me, tinged with frustration. We are both irresponsible in our own ways, but this is different. "You couldn’t assume that just because you walked away from your family and moved in here, all the bad things in the world would magically disappear."

Isadora winces as she pulls a shard of glass from her foot, her expression a mixture of pain and disbelief. "No, but I did have high hopes that the guy I moved in with was a good one." Her tone carries a sting, and I can’t blame her for feeling betrayed.

I want to argue, to defend myself, but the truth is complicated. I am a good guy, or at least I try to be, in this twisted world we inhabit. "Isadora, please don’t push me away. I’m trying my best here. I needed time to figure out what to do with Carlo." My voice breaks slightly, the weight of my intentions hanging in the air between us, a fragile bridge over the chasm of her disappointment.

"I get that," she acknowledges, her voice steady, yet tinged with an underlying hurt. "But what I don't understand is why you didn't tell me from the start. Did you really want to go out on a date with me, or were you just planning to kidnap me and drag me back to Carlo? Do you even care about me at all? Was helping me escape my parents just a means to gain my trust? Why keep all of this a secret?"

Because the truth isn’t always easy. Sometimes, it’s a bitter pill to swallow. "Because I'm an idiot. I should have known you'd be able to handle it. But people do stupid things when they're falling in love with someone," I admit, my voice tinged with regret.

Isadora lets her foot fall, hanging next to its mate as they dangle from the counter, her posture betraying a mix of frustration and uncertainty. The blood at the corner of her mouth drips down her chin, a stark reminder of the chaos surrounding us, and I want so badly to walk over and wipe it away, to take care of her in any way I can. "You're crazy, Costantino," she says, but there’s a hint of doubt lacing her words, as if she’s wrestling with her own feelings.

"Crazy about you, Isadora Dutton," I reply, my heart racing as I step closer, the distance between us charged with unspoken emotions. "And if it costs $200,000 or $2,000,000, I would have freed you from your marriage to Carlo without a second thought. Even if all I get in return is a couple of orgasms and a few dinners. I would do it in a heartbeat." I inch toward her slowly, as if she’s a skittish cat, ready to bolt at any moment. “You’re free, Isadora. Choose me. Choose a life with me.”

"I've never chosen anyone," she admits, her voice laced with uncertainty and vulnerability. "I don't know if I believe in marriage or forever or any of that." Hearing her say those words pierces my heart, a deep ache resonating within me. "But I think I have to give you a chance. Any man who spends that much on a woman, expecting nothing in return, deserves a chance at the very least."

That's all I'm asking for; the precious opportunity to give this extraordinary woman the world she deserves. "I'll make it up to you, Isadora," I promise, my voice steady and sincere.

But she shakes her head, a soft, resolute gesture. "I have something that I never thought would be mine: my freedom. I know it's kind of silly, but I don't need anything else. I just want to be." Her eyes shine with a fierce independence that both captivates and terrifies me.

"Then just be, beautiful. Maybe 'be' with me," I suggest, the words spilling from my lips with hope, longing to intertwine our lives in a way that feels as natural as breathing.