45. CHAPTER 44—ISABELLA
CHAPTER 44—ISABELLA
" R ead. It. Now." His snarl hits like chemo in my veins. He towers over me, face twisted with the kind of disgust that makes my insides turn to ice. Pain and terror and shame flood my system hotter than any fever - or maybe that's just guilt finally burning through my carefully constructed walls.
I try wiping away tears that won't stop falling, each one feeding the Beast's rage like blood in water. The crater in my chest widens with every breath.
His eyes burn with hatred now, those same eyes that watched me like I was something precious just hours ago. His hands clench into fists - god, those hands that mapped every inch of me with such care, that held me like I wasn't broken. The way he growled my name like salvation, like something he'd been starving for. How he took control but kept me safe, made me believe we could rewrite our story.
That we weren't destined to end in tragedy.
I was such a fool.
These tears won't stop - are they mourning the future I glimpsed last night? Or are they finally falling for that moment in our past when I lost everyone I truly loved? When I helped destroy the only person who saw past my father's perfect princess?
The only person who tried to save us both.
"I... I'm sorry." The words scrape out of my throat, each one a battle against tears. Once upon a time, I was good at this - playing roles, wearing masks, dancing through pain until my pointe shoes filled with blood. But now? In front of the man who made me believe in something more than survival? In front of the Beast who touched me like I was precious before remembering I'm poison? I'm shattering into pieces, that dangerous hope he planted last night turning to daggers in my chest.
Especially if he’s not lying to me now. “So sorry.” I manage to croak out between sobs.
"You're sorry?" His voice stays quiet - and that's worse than any scream.
He fills the room with barely contained violence, terrifying not because of his scars, but because of what they represent. Our shared history written in burned flesh and broken trust. We're two kinds of fire colliding - not healing each other like I foolishly dreamed, but burning everything in our path. Not lovers finding redemption.
Just monsters making each other bleed.
"I don't want your fucking apologies." His fingers find my chin again and my treacherous body lights up at his touch - nerve endings still singing from last night, still stupid with hope. He drags a chair close, close enough I can smell his cologne mixed with sleep and sin. "It's too late for sorry. Read her words. I want to hear them in your voice. Want to watch your face when you say them." His voice drops to granite. "That's not a request. It's an order."
I could ask what he'll do if I refuse. But what's the point of fighting? I want to reach for him, to calm the inferno of revenge consuming him from inside out. Want to gather the ashes of the boy he used to be before they scatter into the roaring Mediterranean.
The sheet falls away and cold air pebbles my skin, but it's his gaze that makes me shiver. He looks at me like he hates himself for wanting me still. Like last night's passion was just strategy, just the Beast playing with his prey. But some foolish part of me - the part still tender from his touch, still aching from how thoroughly he claimed me - refuses to believe it was all lies.
His eyes travel over my body like he owns it. And every stupid inch of me wants to scream that he does. Instead, I swallow hard.
I don't need to read the letter. I know it by heart. I've memorized every scratch, every word, every sentence.
"My dearest Bella,
Your strength shines through every pirouette, every small act of defiance against your father. Even when you try to hide behind music and dance and those stories you whisper to yourself, I see you, mia carida. See that spark of rebellion he hasn't managed to extinguish. That pure heart he'll never destroy, no matter how hard he tries.
But Antonio..."
I pause, throat tight, risking a glance at him. His face might as well be carved from marble - the Beast refusing to show what these words from his mother do to him. How many times has he read them? How many times has he traced her handwriting, searching for answers?
"Continue." The growl carries death in it.
My hands shake, but I force my spine straight - one last performance for a ghost who tried to save us both:
"I know you care about my son. You may even love him even though I'm not sure you both know what true love can really mean, how it can hurt, how you'd do everything for the other. I love my son. So much that I married your father, thinking it was going to protect him.
You don't want to read that, but I seduced him when they took everything from me, telling him about my family. I was a prize he won. Because I thought he might be the lesser monster. He's not. And my son, my Antonio is turning into someone I don't recognize. Someone I don't want to recognize.
This is a goodbye letter, mia Bella-Cara."
My voice breaks on her endearment - Bella-Cara. The way she'd say it, soft and knowing, like she saw past every performance I put on. At first, we circled each other warily - the new stepmother, the ballet-obsessed daughter. But she became more than that. So much more. She saw me, really saw me, in ways even Antonio doesn't understand yet.
I don't wait for his command to continue. Can't bear to see his face as I read the rest, as more truths unfold between us like deadly blooms.
"But before we leave, I'd love for you to meet me at the park where you and I skated once, there are some things I want to tell you in person.
I'll be there at 10 a.m.
Come alone.
You'll always have my love.
You'll always have me.
And maybe one day, Antonio and you will find that space again where love and trust can exist.
Dance but never hide who you truly are.
Con Tutto Il mio Amore,
Simona."
Antonio rips the letter from my hands before I finish the last word. His mother's final message - her hope for us, her belief in love. My tears won't stop no matter how hard I blink, each one a confession I can't take back.
He moves closer. Closer. Closer.
Until he breathes my name, and it sounds like both prayer and damnation. Like everything we could have been, everything we destroyed.
"Isabella."
His mouth crashes into mine - all teeth and rage, nothing like last night's tenderness. The taste of espresso and mint floods my senses, and god help me, my body betrays me again. Melts into him like it can't tell the difference between the lover who worshipped me hours ago and this avenging angel. His fingers dig into my shoulders hard enough to bruise, dragging me against him before shoving me back onto sheets that still smell like our passion. Like hope I was stupid enough to believe in.
"And at 10 a.m. in that very spot, my mother disappeared. Three days later. After everything, I found her. Barely alive. She took her last breath with me. Do not tell me I don’t know what happened to her. You happened to her." His voice carries winter's edge. "You want to tell me you had nothing to do with this?"
The truth claws up my throat like bile. I almost reach for him - muscle memory from last night. Because his mother would have wanted me to protect him for as long as I could. Because she knew what knowing would do to him.
I just didn't know it then.
And when I realized... god, when I finally understood... I couldn't bear to believe it myself.
I… couldn’t.
Because even though I didn’t know she was dead. I did think I casted her into the abyss. To a place where fear and love would have dictated her to stay away.
To save him. To save me.
In one way, I am guilty.