His Bold Seduction (Bloodlines & Betrayal #3)
1. Costantino
1
COSTANTINO
I wasn't prepared for Isadora Dutton. Not the way her long, flowing blonde locks cascaded down her shoulders, nor the way her shapely legs seemed to carry her with an effortless grace. It was the way she twirled you around her finger, playing with your emotions like a skilled musician coaxing notes from a fiddle. She came out of nowhere, like a whirlwind, tossing my world upside down and leaving me reeling in her wake.
I feel like Sam Rothstein the first time he lays eyes on Ginger in the movie Casino. She's tossing chips around the bustling casino floor, but all he can focus on is her dazzling smile and the undeniable beauty that radiates from her. The man she's with might think she's a little wild, perhaps even reckless, but Sam is utterly captivated, hopelessly in love.
Just like Sam, I find myself ensnared by the intoxicating chaos that is Isadora. She drives me to the brink of madness and exhilaration all at once. Maybe it’s the atmosphere of celebrating our closest friends tying the knot, but there’s something electric about meeting in a quaint chapel that ignites a spark between us. Laughter fills the air, secrets bubble to the surface, and hopes and dreams are exchanged amid a bubbly champagne bath. It’s one of those fleeting moments you see captured in a film, leaving you instantly envious. Why isn’t that beautiful scene playing out in your own life? Why don’t you get to experience that picturesque moment of falling head over heels in love?
But when morning arrives, the reality sets in—Isadora is gone. She leaves nothing behind except a few stray hairs on the pillow, remnants of the night that felt like a dream. I briefly entertain the thought of calling Enzo, demanding that he persuade Autumn to give me her number, but after one cold shower and a strong cup of black coffee, I manage to reclaim my senses and the remnants of my shattered composure.
From the moment I first laid eyes on Isadora, I knew she was unlike any woman I had ever encountered. She was young, certainly, but her striking eyes were brimming with unspoken stories, each gleam a testament to experiences that I could only imagine, things that lay beyond my comprehension. Despite the weight of her past, she carried herself with an effortless confidence, as if the baggage and trauma that trailed behind her were mere shadows, unable to touch her light.
Isadora is the kind of girl who has the power to change your life in ways you never expected. And as it turns out, I’m not the only one who feels this way; the buzz of her influence ripples through everyone she meets.
"Is this a joke? Is this really her high school yearbook photo?" My fingers twitch nervously on the trigger of my gun, a second nature response to the chaos unfolding around me. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that everyone in this room was playing a cruel prank on me.
Carlo leans forward, squinting at the photo as if the answer might suddenly reveal itself in the grainy image. After a brief moment of contemplation, he shrugs nonchalantly. "Does it matter?” he replies, as if the significance of the moment is lost on him.
My stomach churns, twisting in knots as I grapple with the last few days, trying to piece them together. Nothing about this moment aligns with the chaotic whirlwind that has led me here. I know math has never been my strong suit, but I didn't think I was this hopeless. "Can you please tell me how this all happened?" I press, desperation creeping into my voice.
The look on Carlo’s face tells me that I’m venturing too far into dangerous territory with my questions. He takes a step back, a deliberate move that sends a ripple of tension through the air, and reaches into his pocket. For a fleeting moment, I brace myself, fearing that I might be about to catch a bullet for my curiosity. Instead, he pulls out a cigar and lights it with a flick of his thumb, the faint glow of the flame momentarily illuminating the shadows around us. "Sal, what's the problem?” he asks, his tone casual yet layered with an undercurrent of concern.
The way my heart hammers in my chest can't be healthy, but I don't know how to make it stop. It feels like a relentless drumbeat, echoing in my ears and tightening my throat. "Listen, about the girl?—"
Carlo holds up his hand to cut me off, a swift motion that slices through the tension hanging between us. Frustration flits across his face, a fleeting shadow of anger that only deepens the lines around his mouth. "You've hunted people scarier than her," he gestures toward the photo in my hands with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "She's got a reputation, but I paid good money for her. And now I'm going to pay you good money to track her down."
It doesn't feel right, this transaction of lives and futures. I don't know why arranged marriages never bothered me before, but now they make me feel sick to my stomach. Women bought, bartered, and traded like property—it's a repulsive reality I can't ignore. "But Carlo?—"
He groans, the sound heavy with exasperation, and shakes his head at me as if my concern is a child’s naive whimsy. "Enough, Costantino. You're the best bounty hunter in the family. That girl will be my wife, but she is avoiding me and my men. I've been tolerant for weeks, waiting for her to come to me, but I'm done waiting." Carlo jabs his finger at the photo, his frustration bubbling over into urgency as he says, "You find Isadora Dutton and bring her to me. Vegas is not that big of a city. She's gotta be around here somewhere."
I look back down at the photo of the woman I just spent the most amazing night with, her smile frozen in time. Isadora is engaged. Why didn't I see a ring on her finger? Did I sleep with a friend's fiancé? Why didn't she tell me? The questions spin wildly in my mind, each one more disorienting than the last, unraveling the fantasy I had built around her.
I have a thousand questions, but I guess the first step to getting answers is finding the runaway bride—the woman who has turned my world upside down in a single evening.