Chapter 19 Roman
ROMAN
I watch Isabella leave and consider switching my hot chocolate to something more potent.
But something inside me propels me toward the bedroom, not the bar.
Today was a good day. Isabella seems less angry and distant.
But I’m not sure she fully understands our situation and what needs to be done to stay safe.
When I reach the doorway, I pause. Isabella sits at her sewing table, hunched slightly over her work. Her fingers guide the fabric beneath the needle of the machine I had delivered last week.
I lean against the doorframe, watching. There's something captivating about her focus, the way her brow furrows slightly, how she bites her lower lip.
The dress taking shape under her hands is a deep emerald green that will look beautiful on Angelica.
"That's beautiful work," I say quietly.
Isabella startles, her hands freezing mid-stitch. Her eyes meet mine, wary and uncertain.
I enter the bedroom, shutting the door. Moving to the settee at the foot of the bed, I take a seat. Isabella shifts, her eyes tracking me like prey watches a predator. She’s still afraid of me.
"I don't regret scaring you," I say plainly. "Fear has its purpose."
Isabella's lips part, but I raise my hand to stop her.
"You needed to understand what's at stake here. This isn't some game where the worst outcome is hurt feelings." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "People die in our world, Isabella. Not just soldiers like me, but innocents too, like your mother."
The machine sits silent now. I have her attention.
"When you play both sides, when you keep secrets, you endanger everyone. Me. Yourself. Angelica.”
Isabella flinches at the mention of Angelica, and I know she understands.
"Fear keeps us alive in this life. It sharpens our instincts, makes us cautious when we need to be. I needed you afraid enough to see the real danger, not just from me, but from whoever is using you in this game."
Her shoulders remain tense, but something in her expression shifts. Not trust, not yet, but perhaps understanding.
"I won't apologize for making you understand the stakes," I continue. "But I will promise you this. As long as you're honest with me from now on, that fear doesn't need to exist between us."
Isabella's eyes flash with irritation. "I'm not trying to be reckless, Roman. Why can't you understand that? I'm not plotting against you or La Corona or anyone. I just want to know what happened to my mother."
I straighten my back, frustration bubbling up inside me. "And what if that truth leads to your death? To all our deaths? Or maybe it will go nowhere. What then?"
She opens her mouth to respond, but I press on.
"What if all this digging, all this sneaking around with the FBI, all these secrets, what if they only serve to put Angelica in danger? Have you thought about that? My daughter has already lost one mother. I won't let her be harmed because you’ve put your crusade above all else."
Isabella's face pales. "That's not fair."
"Fair?" I bark out a laugh. "Nothing about our world is fair. You know that better than most."
I wait for her to respond, but she doesn’t.
"Your quest for truth can bring people to our doorstep who won't hesitate to use a child as leverage." My voice drops lower. "I've seen it happen, Isabella. I've cleaned up the aftermath."
She remains quiet. I’m not sure if it’s because my words are resonating or she’s simply being obstinate.
"You think the FBI cares about your mother?
They don't." I hold her gaze, needing her to see the harsh reality.
"The FBI has one goal, bringing down La Corona.
Your mother's case is just leverage, Isabella.
A tool they're using to manipulate you. If solving her murder interfered with their larger objective, they'd bury the truth without hesitation. "
Isabella's eyes widen slightly, doubt flickering across her face.
"Think about it. Has Blackwood ever offered you concrete evidence?
Or just enough breadcrumbs to keep you on the hook?
" I let her mull on that for a moment. "When you asked him to extract you from this life, did he jump at the chance to help you?
Or did he push you to stay put, where you're useful to him? "
Realization dawns in her eyes and I press my advantage.
"It's transactional for him. You give him access to La Corona, he dangles the promise of justice for your mother. But the minute you stop being useful…" I snap my fingers. "You become expendable."
Isabella's hands grip the fabric in her lap.
"I'm not saying to trust me blindly," I continue, softening my tone. "But at least understand who's really using you in this equation. Blackwood doesn't see a grieving daughter seeking justice. He sees an asset, a way in. And maybe you don’t want this life, don’t want to live in this world, but right now, it’s the only thing protecting you.”
She shakes her head. “By threatening me?”
Okay, so she has a point. “You’re the daughter of a Don. Of La Corona. Any other woman in this life who did what you did would already be dead. They don’t want to kill you, Isabella. But they’re not going to let you bring them down, either.”
She tilts her head. “Is La Corona behind my mother’s death?”
“No.” I have no doubt. At least not officially. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a connection somehow. The FBI won’t care if you put yourself in danger or if you get killed. As long as they get what they want, they don’t give a shit about you.”
I take a deep breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. I have to remember that Isabella isn’t really a threat but a woman trapped in circumstances beyond her control. "I'm offering you a different path. One where we work together to find the truth about your mother."
Isabella's eyes narrow with suspicion. "How is your help any different? You’ll just make sure to protect La Corona. You don’t care about me either.”
That’s not true, I want to say. Oddly, I care more than I’d expected to.
“I think there’s something more going on here and I want to find out to protect you as well as La Corona.
I also think it’s not unreasonable for you to have answers about your mother.
I want to help you with that, but in a way that doesn’t get us killed. ”
She stares at me dubiously. “Us? You mean me.”
“I mean us. We’re bound together now.” I hold up my left hand, showing her the ring. Granted, the ring isn’t the symbol of everlasting love, but it does bind us together.
She looks down at her ring as if she’s only just realizing it’s there.
"Look, I'm not saying trust me blindly. I'm saying let's do this together. I have resources, contacts in every corner of this city, access to information."
“If that’s true, why haven’t you or La Corona looked into my mother’s murder? Why am I the only one who cares?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I’m offering help now.”
"And if those answers implicate someone in La Corona?" she asks. "Even someone close to you?"
That would be problematic. "Then we deal with it. Work with me, not against me. Let me help you find the truth, whatever it is."
Doubt continues to cloud her features. Fucking hell. What will it take to make her understand?
"I know you may despise me. Hell, you have every right to. This marriage, this life, none of it was your choice. So, how about in exchange for your cooperation, when this is over, when we find who killed your mother and untangle whatever game is being played, I'll help you escape this life?"
Her eyes widen, genuine shock replacing wariness. "You'd do that?"
Perhaps I should have thought this through more, but I nod. "Once we've ensured everyone's safety, I'll find a way for you to leave. Start that design business you dream about. Live on your own terms."
For a moment, her expression is hopeful, but seconds later, it falters. “My father would never allow it. La Corona wouldn’t—”
"Let me worry about La Corona," I interrupt. "There are ways to negotiate these things." But I worry I’m giving her false hope.
Her eyes narrow. "You can't promise that. No one defies La Corona.”
"I can't guarantee anything," I admit, "but I can promise I'll try. I'll find a solution."
"Why would you do this for me?" Suspicion edges her voice.
"Because you deserve the truth and to follow your dreams."
The silence between us feels different now, less hostile, more contemplative.
"I don't despise you," she finally says. "I just don't know who to trust anymore."
"I'm not asking you to like me, Isabella," I say. "I don't need your affection or your approval. What I need is your trust."
She looks up at me, those dark eyes searching my face. "Trust? In this world? With what's at stake?"
"Especially in this world," I counter. "Especially with what's at stake." I let that hang in the air for a moment. "I know what I'm asking isn't simple. Trust is hard to earn in our world. Even harder to keep."
I think of Marco, my oldest friend, the only man I've trusted completely since I was a boy. Even with him, there are moments of doubt, calculations made in the shadows of my mind.
"But we're walking a dangerous path here, Isabella. Whoever is behind your mother's death, whoever is manipulating you, they're counting on our suspicion. Believe it or not, I’m trying to protect you here. The FBI might tell you they’ll protect you, but they haven’t, have they? Instead of saving you from me, they encouraged you to risk your life to bring us down.”
She looks down. “I wouldn’t have done that.”
I smile. “You’re using them too, but how long would they be okay with your not delivering information before they stopped giving you lip service about your mother?
You’re a daughter of La Corona, which is why you’re with me now and not dead, but there are limits.
I’m begging you, Isabella, don’t push those limits. ”
Isabella leaves her chair and comes to me, lowering to her knees in front of me. The posture isn't submissive, it's desperate.