Chapter 21 - Isabella
I sit on the couch, staring at the mess of my apartment, my thoughts tangled and disjointed. Everything feels heavy—like the walls are closing in, pressing down on me with every passing second. I haven’t even unpacked my bag yet. I haven’t even had the time to process everything.
I feel Dominic’s absence, sharp and hollow. He’s gone, and I have no idea what to do with myself. The space around me feels like a tomb, an echo chamber where my thoughts bounce endlessly, reminding me of all the things that have happened, all the things I’m still too afraid to face.
I thought I had a handle on things. I had a plan. But now, it feels like that plan was nothing more than a fragile illusion, shattered by everything that’s unfolded between Dominic and me. The connection that once seemed so certain is now fractured beyond repair, and I'm left here, clinging to nothing but confusion.
My hand clenches around my phone. It’s the only thing I have left—my only tether to the outside world, to someone who might be able to make sense of any of this. I dial Demitri’s number again, my finger trembling slightly as I hit the button. I’ve already tried twice, and my call went straight to voicemail. I don’t know if he’ll answer. But I have no one else to turn to.
I press the phone to my ear and wait. The ringing sound stretches on, each chime cutting through the quiet, reminding me how desperately alone I am in this moment. My breath feels shallow, my chest tightening with each passing second.
Come on, Demitri. Please, answer.
My pulse quickens as I wait, my anxiety building like a pressure cooker about to burst. I just need some kind of reassurance that I’m not lost, that I’m not slipping further into this abyss of uncertainty.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the phone clicks. I suck in a breath, relief flooding my chest.
But then, just as quickly, it all crashes.
The sharp ring of the doorbell slices through me. My heart skips a beat, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s him. It has to be Demitri. He must’ve seen my missed calls. I’ve barely registered the thought when I scramble to my feet, the pulse of my heartbeat thumping in my ears, louder than the silence had been just moments ago.
My legs are shaky beneath me, the strain of the day pressing down on my shoulders. As I move toward the door, my thoughts are a blur, a mess of anticipation and fear. My hand shakes as I reach for the doorknob.
Please, let it be Demitri.
I open the door without hesitation, a sense of relief flooding me, but it’s short-lived.
When I look up, my stomach drops, a sharp pang of dread racing through me. It’s not Demitri standing there. It’s Samuel.
Samuel Delgado.
The sight of him sends a wave of nausea spiraling through me. My breath hitches, and I freeze in place, the door half-open, my body rigid. He’s here. In my apartment. His presence fills the doorway, looming over me like a storm waiting to break. His dark suit is immaculate, his broad shoulders filling the frame like a shadow too large for the space. His eyes—merciless, sharp—lock onto mine with a predatory gleam that makes my stomach twist.
I want to shut the door. I want to lock myself away from him, hide, escape. But his hand is there, faster than I can react, shooting out to stop the door with an almost casual ease.
His smile is slow, smug, like he’s amused by my panic. It’s the same smile that haunts my nightmares, the one that makes me question how deep this man’s cruelty goes.
"Now, now, muneca," he purrs, his voice smooth, condescending. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"
My throat goes dry, and I feel the air in my lungs constrict as I stumble backward, away from him. Every inch of me wants to run, to lock myself in the bathroom or under the bed or anywhere that can offer even a shred of safety. But I can’t. I can’t seem to move. My legs are frozen, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
“What do you want?” My voice trembles as the words escape me, weak and uncertain.
Samuel steps into the apartment, his presence swallowing the air around us. His eyes move over the space, and I feel a sickening sense of violation, as though he’s inspecting my life, taking inventory of everything I’ve tried to hold onto. His gaze lingers too long on the paintings I’ve left behind, on the trinkets and broken mementos of my past. Everything feels too exposed, too vulnerable.
“Not much of a home, is it?” he muses, his voice casual, as though he’s commenting on the weather. “Then again, you were living with Castellano, weren’t you?”
The mention of Dominic’s name sends a bolt of pain through me, sharp and unexpected. It hits me like a punch to the stomach, and I want to collapse. I want to scream, to tell him to leave, to stop using Dominic’s name to manipulate me. But I stay silent, my body rigid. The ache in my chest is unbearable, the confusion, the doubt, swirling in my mind like a storm I can’t escape.
Samuel’s voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts, dripping with mock sympathy as he sighs theatrically. He drops onto the couch, his posture too casual, too comfortable—as though he’s been here a thousand times before.
“Sit,” he commands, a slight edge in his voice. “I’m not going to bite.”
I don’t move. I can’t. Every fiber of my being is telling me to refuse, to stand my ground, to maintain some semblance of control over this situation. But I can’t help the tremble that runs through my hands as I clutch them at my sides. My heart is pounding so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts.
“I’ll stand,” I reply, my voice as steady as I can manage, though the words feel foreign on my tongue.
Samuel’s smirk deepens. It’s almost pitying. “Don’t be rude, carino,” he drawls, a venomous sweetness curling in his words.
I dig my heels into the ground, unwilling to give him any satisfaction. I refuse to back down. Not for him. Not for anyone.
His eyes flick to mine, narrowing, studying me as though he’s deciding what to do next. He sighs, a sound thick with impatience and something darker. “Suit yourself,” he mutters, his tone dripping with disdain.
I stand there, my body tight with tension, a cold sweat beginning to form on my neck. I don’t know what he’s after. I don’t know what he wants from me.
“So, tell me,” Samuel’s voice breaks the silence again, smooth and unsettling, “are you the artist of the painting?”
My thoughts scatter, trying to piece together why he’s asking, why he’s here, what the hell he wants.
“I don’t know why you’re ignoring me, muneca,” he continues, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “I thought we could have a conversation, but clearly, you’re too proud for that.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, my throat dry, the words stuck there, too afraid to speak.
Samuel stands and steps forward suddenly, closing the gap between us. My pulse leaps in my chest, and I feel like a deer caught in headlights.
He steps even closer. He leans in, his breath warm against my skin, his words like poison.
“You see, muneca,” he murmurs, his voice low and dark, “I spent millions of dollars on that painting. It was meant to be mine from the start. And when it appeared in that auction—” He pauses, the words laced with menace. “I went blank. I couldn’t think straight. All I could see was that painting. It was like the one my grandfather described to me—a piece of history, a symbol of everything I’ve fought for.”
My heart stutters in my chest, his words sinking in. What does he want from me? Why does he need that painting so badly? And why is he here?
Samuel takes another step closer, his dark eyes never leaving mine. My breath is shallow now, coming in quick bursts, and my hands begin to shake at my sides.
But Samuel doesn’t notice. He’s too absorbed in whatever twisted game he’s playing. His voice drops, becoming more venomous as he continues.
“But now?” His lips curl into a sinister smile, one that sends a slow, creeping chill through my bones. “Now, there’s something else I want.”
I swallow, the taste of bile rising in my throat. My body stiffens, a deep sense of foreboding unfurling in my gut. What could he possibly want from me? The thought alone fills me with terror. My fingers curl into fists, and I instinctively step back, the urge to put distance between us becoming almost unbearable.
Samuel steps forward again, closing the gap between us with slow, deliberate movements. Each step makes the knot in my stomach tighten, makes my heart race faster. My breath comes in shallow, quick gasps, the panic rising in me, clawing at my chest. I try to hold it back, try to steady myself, but every part of me is on high alert.
“You,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, like a blade slicing through the thickening air. He doesn’t just speak the word, he emphasizes it, as if the sound of it is some kind of victory. “You’re what I want, muneca.”
I feel the air leaving my lungs, my heart leaping into my throat. His words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs, stealing every coherent thought from my mind. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My body wants to collapse, to crumple into a heap on the floor, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place, trapped by the weight of his gaze, by the terrifying promise behind his words.
Samuel watches me, his dark eyes gleaming with some kind of twisted pleasure as he takes another step forward.
"Why?" I manage to force out the word, my voice shaking, barely above a whisper. The fear in me is too thick to ignore.
Samuel laughs, a low, dark chuckle that makes my skin crawl. “Oh, muneca, you can’t be that innocent, can you?” His voice is soft, but the mocking tone lingers, curling around me like a tightening noose. “After Dominic robbed me of millions and thinks he can get away with it by using my sentiments—well, I’ll do the same.”
Samuel’s piercing, amused gaze doesn’t leave mine as he steps even closer. It feels like my legs have turned to stone, like there’s nowhere left to run.
He’s right there now—too close. So close that I can feel his heat radiating off of him, the expensive whiskey on his breath heavy in the air. I close my eyes for a brief moment, trying to compose myself, trying to stop the overwhelming sense of dread from drowning me.
But it’s useless.
He continues, his voice dropping, low and mocking. “You’re just another piece in his game. But you’re not his to control anymore.”
My pulse spikes in my throat. The words feel like a slap in the face, cutting through everything I thought I knew about Dominic. My mind is still reeling, still trying to hold onto the belief that he isn’t using me, that I’m more than just a pawn in some twisted game. But Samuel’s words are gnawing at me, like tiny daggers digging into my thoughts.
Samuel’s lips curl into a dark smile, and it feels like the world has shifted on its axis. The room feels smaller, suffocatingly so. His eyes glimmer with a sense of satisfaction, a cruel knowledge that makes my stomach turn.
“You don’t understand, do you?” he sneers, his voice rising, thick with contempt. “You’re the most precious thing Dominic Castellano owns. And I—” He pauses. “I’m going to wreck you.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face, the cold sweat prickling on the back of my neck. I open my mouth, wanting to protest, wanting to defend Dominic, but the words die before they even reach my tongue. My throat is tight, constricted by fear.
Samuel watches me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I want to deny it, to fight it. But there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I am nothing in this moment but prey.
"Stop it," I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips. I don’t know why I say them, but I can’t help it. It’s like I’m pleading with myself more than with him. "He cares about me."
Samuel’s laughter fills the space between us, deep and mocking. “Oh, muneca, you’re so naive.” His voice drips with contempt, and I feel the sting of his words in every inch of my skin.
“Stop it,” I whisper again.
Samuel watches me for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes narrowing as he reads the hesitation in my gaze. His smirk widens, like he’s won. Like the seed of doubt has taken root, and now, it’s growing inside of me, eating away at everything I thought I knew.
Before I can react, I feel a sudden sting at the side of my neck—sharp, quick, like a needle breaking the skin. My head spins, a wave of dizziness sweeping over me, and my knees buckle beneath me.
The world tilts sideways. My vision blurs, and I gasp for air that feels suddenly thick. My body goes numb, heavy and unresponsive. My pulse slows to a crawl, my thoughts becoming fragmented, incoherent. I can’t fight it.
Samuel’s voice drifts toward me, distant and distorted, like I’m underwater.
“Don’t worry, carino,” he murmurs, his tone soft, almost soothing in its cruelty. “When you wake up, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
And then—darkness. Complete, all-consuming darkness.