24. CHAPTER 23—ISABELLA
CHAPTER 23—ISABELLA
T he sun burns over Italian hills, painting the Strada della Morte in shades of gold and shadow. They call it the road of death, and today it's living up to its name - transformed into a racetrack for my father's twisted game. Lavender scents the cooling air, but it can't mask the taste of fear in my throat.
Naomi's hand finds mine, her fingers cold despite the lingering heat. "What if he didn't make it?" she whispers, and my chest tightens like those days in chemo when breathing itself felt like a battle.
My heart performs its own torturous choreography - each beat an arabesque of anxiety, each pause between like those endless moments before stepping onto stage. Only this time, I'm not the one dancing. I'm just watching, waiting, praying I gave Antonio enough warning.
What if it wasn't enough? What if my father planted more traps, more ways to ensure the Beast meets a fiery end? The thought makes my pulse skip-flutter.
I tell myself I only care because he's Naomi's best chance. Because he might be the only one who remembers her as more than a consolation prize. His mother's words echo in my head, clear as the day she spoke them while we watched him training in the courtyard: "You can be ruthless and still have some morals. Don't use people. Not because you're calculating their values to you but because you value them." She'd paused then, something dark flickering in her eyes. "Unless they wronged you."
I know he hates me. And I wronged him.
But Naomi has nothing to do with any of this. And he liked her, truly liked her. His mother trusted Naomi's father, too. I remember Antonio's voice softening when he talked about them. How they'd laugh over shared memories that seemed to give his mother peace.
He even confided in me once that Naomi's father had tried to find another role for his mother. Was she like me - another woman they didn't leave a choice to? My father always claimed Antonio's mother pursued him, that she was going to give him the son he always wanted.
But... where did they meet? How? The questions stick in my throat like pills too big to swallow.
My chest constricts, and I force myself to breathe slowly, like my cardio nurse taught me. I can't think about all that. Not now.
And Naomi's father tried to reason with my father before... My ribs feel like they're collapsing around my lungs. I can't let myself remember that day. Not when everything's so precarious.
But all of that? That has to mean something. It has to be enough to make Antonio help her, even if he wants to destroy me
"How did this happen?" My father's roar makes me jump, my heartbeat doing that dangerous stutter-skip I've come to fear. But his rage tells me everything I need to know - Antonio must be one of the top two. "I don't care. You messed up. You had one role." He pauses, and ice slides down my spine at his next words. "His mechanic? Kill him. Burn him. Put his churned body on the road where his men can find him."
His gaze locks onto mine, and something passes between us. Understanding? Suspicion? I can't read him anymore –and clearly, I never could. I once believed my mother, he and I were a happy family.
Maybe we were. Maybe my mother’s death turned him into a monster.
Or maybe I’m just hoping that’s what happened because then the father I believed loved him is still underneath all of the pain.
What did he expect would happen? And if everyone learns he sabotaged the road... He'll lose everything. Maybe that's what terrifies him most.
He steps forward, fingers gripping my chin with familiar brutality. I force myself to meet his stare, hating how memories of a gentler father still haunt me - the one who held my hand through first positions, who promised ballet would make me strong. His betrayal cuts deeper because of those memories.
"If I find out you had anything to do with this..."
Time to channel every performance I've ever given. "What do you mean?" I keep my voice steady, confused. Innocent. "What are you talking about?"
"If you had anything to do with this, I'm sure Radomir would be happy to take Naomi as a wife. Find another way to ally himself with us."
The threat wraps around my throat like barbed wire. I want to scream at him, tell him I see through his desperate grab for power, his fear of losing control. But Naomi's safety weighs heavier than truth.
I shake my head. "I really don't know what you're talking about."
And part of me wants to scream to the entire group next to us that I can’t dance the way I used to. That things down there have been weirder since chemo. That I won’t be their pretty little thing.
But one look at Naomi terrorized face and I hold my tongue. Because I won’t put her in danger.
I inhale deeply, letting Italy fill my lungs. The breeze carries something both familiar and foreign - salt from the distant sea, wild lavender from the hills, memories I can't quite grasp.
My father's glare pins me in place. "Tonight, you wear what I want you to." His pause carries weight, threat. "You and Naomi will attend the fight."
Of course we are. We're props in his power play, pretty dolls to arrange however he sees fit.
I've seen Antonio fight before, back when everything was simpler. Back when watching him train made my pulse race for different reasons. I know his strength, his determination - the way he moves like violence made beautiful.
Unless my father plays another one of his dark games, Antonio will emerge victorious.
And we will be married.
The distant rumble grows louder, familiar as heartbeat - Antonio's motorcycle cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. It roars up the hill, coming to a sudden stop in front of us. When he takes off his helmet, my heart decides to perform its own dangerous choreography, leaping into my throat without permission.
His dark gaze sweeps the crowd with predator's precision until it finds me, and something warm unfurls in my chest - more confusing than any diagnosis I've ever received.
When he turns to my father, his voice carries steel and promise: "No more games. It ends tonight."
And part of me hopes he means it.