37. CHAPTER 36—ISABELLA
CHAPTER 36—ISABELLA
T he day dies in chaos and questions. My wedding dress is stiff with dried blood when Paola walks in.
One of the guards who’s been hovering nearby inhales sharply when he sees her. Vince—I think his name is.
"You're back?" he growls.
Paola stands there with mascara tracking war paint down her cheeks. The sight of her twists something in my gut - this woman who played friend while leading me to Antonio's trap, who touched him like she owned him while making me watch. Who knows exactly how he tastes, how he moves, how his hands feel claiming flesh.
When Vince embraces her, she fractures - body shaking with grief instead of pleasure now. "She lost family today," he tells me, eyes sharp as accusation. "Because blood doesn't matter here. We're all family."
Except I've seen how this family treats each other. Seen it pressed against corridor walls as it lied to me.
And now I'm part of it - whether I want to be or not.
"Lea's gone." Paola's voice breaks like glass.
Vince's curse comes with his fist meeting wall. When he turns to me, his eyes burn with grief turned to rage. "You. This is your fault."
I don't know Lea, don't know any of the names Paola lists like a funeral prayer - "Lea, Giuliana, Nico, Gino and more." People who were breathing this morning, who had dreams and hopes and futures. Gone.
When Paola whispers something in Italian to Vince, her spine straightening like steel, her eyes catch mine. Suddenly I'm back in that corridor, watching her writhe against Antonio, his hands claiming her body while his eyes claimed me through the mirror. His movements weren't just passion - they were performance, every thrust a promise of what awaited me. It feels like years ago instead of days.
Now wedding night looms like a shadow, and I can't stop remembering how he moved with her, how he'll expect the same from me. My doctor's warning echoes: "Treatment-induced menopause may not be permanent in someone your age, but for now..." The words felt clinical then. Now they're terrifying. Does Antonio know what chemo did to me? Did my father tell him his prize comes with conditions?
But maybe that's fitting - a broken bride for the Beast.
Before treatments, it was something I read about, something I wouldn't have to worry about for decades and now? I inhale deeply, remembering how she went on about the help I might need, help I'm not ready to ask Antonio for. The vulnerability of such a request, especially to him, has my chest constricting, peeling another layer of my armor.
Because there’s the little voice in my head that tells me that tonight won’t be like those romance novels I read anyways. Tonight isn’t about me, or him, it’s about sealing a marriage that means nothing.
Tonight or another night. After all, with everything that's happened, maybe he changed his mind. I rub my thumb and index finger together, trying to ground myself.
The sun sets in the distance, casting an orange glow over the ocean and there’s an intense tiredness gripping me, seeping deep into my bones.
“It’s time,” Paola announces, signaling Naomi and me to follow her. As we walk, Paola's uncertain gaze lingers on me, as if she's trying to piece together the puzzle I've become in this grand game. The path she takes us down is even less maintained, the frescoes on the wall are almost gone, the air thick with a sense of abandonment, but its isolation feels like a reprieve.
Before cancer, sex was something from romance novels - all passion and promise. Now it comes with medical warnings and needs I can't imagine voicing to Antonio. The thought of asking him for help, of showing him that kind of vulnerability, strips away whatever armor I have left.
Besides, this won't be like my hidden books where the dark prince's kiss melts ice into desire. Tonight - if it even happens after this bloodbath - isn't about pleasure or connection. It's about ownership. About proving the Beast can claim what he won.
My fingers rub together, seeking anchor in sensation while my mind spins possibilities. The sun bleeds into the Mediterranean like it's trying to wash away today's violence, and exhaustion hits harder than any of Henrik's threats. It settles in my bones like lead, like choices I can't take back.
"Come." Paola's command carries none of the confidence she showed in that corridor with Antonio. Her eyes catch mine like she's trying to read a story she doesn't know the ending to. She leads us down paths nature's reclaiming, past faded frescoes that whisper of forgotten glory. The air hangs heavy with decay and secrets, but this forgotten corner of Antonio's fortress feels almost safe.
Almost like somewhere I could breathe.
If I remember how.
Any moment of quiet feels like mercy now. If I can just keep Naomi close, maybe we can find space to breathe between all these razor-edge moments.
"Get ready," Paola tells me, voice clipped.
"For what?" As if anything today follows normal rules.
"Dinner. He's waiting."
I almost laugh at the absurdity - playing house after warfare.
But then we turn a corner and there he is - all lethal grace even wounded, cutting his conversation with Franco short. The sight of him hits like that first kiss in his room. His dark hair's a mess like he's been running fingers through it, stubble shadowing the unburned side of his jaw in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch. When those midnight eyes find mine, electricity arcs between us sharp as blade edges.
Heat floods my neck, and my lips part without permission. My body remembers his touch like a brand, like every kiss we've shared was just practice for whatever comes next.
Like he's already under my skin, even though he hasn't really touched me yet.
And god help me, I want him to.
Every memory of his touch burns - his breath hot on my neck, stubble grazing skin like the sweetest kind of pain. The hunger in his eyes matches something wild waking up inside me, something treatments couldn't kill. I remember his fingers mapping my body like he was learning territory he planned to conquer, rough and gentle all at once, igniting needs I thought were buried with my old life. His scars stand proud in the fading light - a testament to survival, to what my father's cruelty carved into flesh. But they don't make him less beautiful. They make him real.
Looking at him feels like staring at the sun - dangerous and impossible to resist.
"Her wing for dinner?" Franco's question bounces off stone walls.
"My suite." Antonio's voice carries steel, but his eyes never leave mine. "My wing."
Paola's head tilts like she's solving a puzzle. "He's changing the script," she whispers, before offering him that smile that probably tastes like memories. "Boss." His nod back sets something twisting in my gut - am I really standing here trying to decode whether they're still sharing more than secrets?
As if I have any right to jealousy when he owns every part of me now anyway.
"I could try talking to him," Naomi whispers, and god, her need to protect me still burns bright even here. But we can't risk whatever fragile mercy Antonio's showing her. My future might be written in shadow and steel, but hers doesn't have to be.
I squeeze her shoulder, voice soft as secrets. "Don't." Antonio and Franco disappear around the corner, but their presence lingers like smoke.
Paola guides us deeper into the mansion's darker heart, stopping at a heavy door. "Your room," she tells Naomi with careful indifference, passing her a key that promises freedom with chains attached. "The mansion's yours to explore. But step outside?" Her smile carries warning. "He'll clip those wings fast."
"Where's Isa staying?" Naomi's frown says she reads the shadows in this script.
"Upstairs." Paola's eyes slide over me like she's remembering other nights in other rooms.
I pull Naomi close, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume, of safety. "See you tomorrow." My voice stays steady even while panic claws up my throat. When she hugs back, the emptiness in her eyes makes my chest ache - this girl who used to light up rooms with laughter, now carrying shadows of her own.
"Okay." Her smile wobbles but holds. "Remember who he was. Tonio's still in there somewhere."
But that's the problem, isn't it? The boy who played piano while I danced burned away with half his face.
Now there's only the Beast.
And I belong to him.
Paola leads me up another staircase, key scraping in lock like a warning. The room beyond belongs in some gothic romance - all heavy furniture and darker promises. The bed dominates everything, massive enough to make my pulse skip. Through windows that haven't seen care in years, the view probably stuns - but all I see is neglect. Cobwebs dance in corners like he's making a point: this space, like me, isn't worth maintaining.
"Bathroom's ready. He chose your clothes himself." Paola's words carry weight like chains. Another reminder that choice is a luxury I traded for Naomi's safety.
"How thoughtful. Why doesn't he just dress me himself?" The bite in my voice surprises even me - a last grasp at defiance.
Paola's smile curves like a blade. "You should be so lucky."
"Lucky. Right. Because that's what every girl dreams of - a Beast picking out her wedding night attire." But my attempt at sarcasm falls flat. Because somewhere in this fortress, Antonio's either plotting war or plotting my undoing. The shiver that races down my spine isn't entirely fear.
At least he's not Henrik or Radomir. The Beast might want to break me, but he'll do it with precision. With purpose.
With hands that still remember how to make me dance.
Because the truth is: His gaze still strips me bare, searching for lies I wish I could tell. And tonight... god, tonight looms like thunder. I'm not the same girl who used to dream about first times and forever. My body's a map of survival now, marked by battles he knows nothing about.
The weight of what comes next sits in my chest like stone. It's one thing to face the Beast in daylight, to trade barbs and threats across chapel aisles. But here, in this room that should smell like promises instead of dust? Everything feels sharper, darker, more real.
"He doesn't trust you." Paola's words slice through my spiral. "Trust is everything to him. Always has been." Her voice carries poison wrapped in truth.
And there it is - jealousy burning in her eyes. As if this marriage isn't just another weapon in Antonio's arsenal, as if he wants anything from me but revenge.
"I'm just a toy he'll break and discard." The words taste like truth, but something in Paola's face shifts.
Her hand lingers on the door like she's weighing secrets. Like she knows something about the Beast that I don't.
About what he really wants.
About what he plans to take.
"Fifteen minutes." Something dark threads through Paola's voice, like she knows what kind of performance tonight demands. The key turns in the lock, another reminder that choices aren't mine anymore.
Anxiety hits like stage fright but worse, my pulse already starting its dangerous dance. Water. I need water, need my meds before my heart decides to improvise its own rhythm. My eyes catch on bags sprawled by the bed, and suddenly everything feels urgent.
My hands shake as I dig through them, memories crashing in waves - Antonio's eyes at the altar, roses gone sticky with blood, gunshots replacing wedding bells. Music turned to screams. The past and present tangle until my chest feels too tight, my heart skipping beats like a broken record.
Finally, my fingers close around the bottle. I force myself into position, into the routine that usually brings my body back under control. Breathe deep. Hold. Tighten. Release. Again and again until my pulse remembers its proper steps, until the vice around my chest loosens enough to think.
But even with my heart settling, fear still coils in my stomach. Because whatever dance Antonio has planned for tonight? It's not one I know the steps to. There's no choreography for this, no rehearsal for the moment the Beast claims what's his.
This is just another act in a performance I never chose to star in.
And tonight?
Tonight the curtain rises on my new reality.