10. Isabella
10
ISABELLA
I should be counting my lucky stars for having survived my last encounter with Teo Vitale, not staring out my apartment window, wondering if he could be one of the lurking bodies below.
But I can’t help it. Not when he’s the only thing that has occupied my mind these last forty-eight hours.
I was only supposed to kiss him.
I was only supposed to lure him in long enough to get a knife to his throat.
But when he kissed me.
When he kissed me…
God, it was like nothing else. I’d almost forgotten what it was like. Or at least I managed to convince myself it wasn’t as good as I remembered.
But it was better. So much better.
And I’d let the lust get the better of me.
Because it had been filthy. It had been rough and hard and harder, and he’d met me exactly in the middle, never shying away, only rising to the challenge.
“Do you want me to ruin you?”
Yes, I wanted to scream back.
But there’d be no going back. The realization had hit the second he’d closed his eyes in the mirror. As if by doing so, he’d cut off whatever spell he had put me under.
I had the knife in my hand a second later, knowing I’d never be able to do it unless it was right there and then. I thought that was enough to convince me to run, to leave for good and not look back. It was, it was, it was.
He’d kill me to kill my mother.
I say it in my head like a mantra, as if I haven’t repeated it a thousand times already.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve tasted it now; it’s still the blood of my enemy.
And yet.
And yet and yet and yet.
I couldn’t leave my apartment yesterday. I was too overwhelmed to do anything more than call my brother to let him know that I was all right and to let him know that I had done what we had agreed I would do.
I conveniently left out the part where Teo Vitale fucked me against a bathroom wall.
I groan again as I flop back down on my bed, massaging my temples.
I need to stop thinking about it. I need to stop caring about it. I need to stop looking in the mirror because every time I do, I see the marks he left on my neck and chest, and suddenly, I’m back in that restroom again.
Distraction. That’s what I need. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. It’s still early, but my preferred gym will already be open. Maybe I can work off some of this frustration there.
Quickly changing into my workout clothes, I tie my hair back into a ponytail as I make my way down to the lobby.
As I pass, I shoot the receptionist a wink, but stop short when I see who’s standing before him.
Tall, broad shoulders. Shaggy dark hair tied in a lazy bun. Long, impatient fingers drumming on the countertop.
My mouth goes dry. There’s no fucking way.
Then the man turns, and I get a look at his face, and it’s not him.
I squish down the feeling of disappointment as I carry on, flushing about the fact my feet actually faltered at what I thought was the sight of him.
I need to get myself together. Quickly. I chant my mantra to myself again as I stride out into the city.
It’s been weeks now since I first noticed someone was tailing me. They were subtle and never actually approached me, but there was too much movement in the corner of my eye for it to be anything else.
Hacking into the Guild had only confirmed my suspicions. I would have been more thorough had I not been immediately booted out.
It had driven Leon insane, being forced not to react or give them any reason to pick a fight. Which is why I had suggested a business trip out of town, at least until I could convince Teo to stop.
Only…had I even managed that? He seemed to think my threats were beneath him. That I was bluffing.
Had stabbing him made him change his mind?
Either way, as I weave my way through the city, I feel the hairs stand on the back of my neck. Am I being paranoid, or is there still someone there monitoring my every move?
With a grunt of frustration, I push through the doors to the women's locker room and let them slam behind me, earning me a concerned look from a girl at the sinks. I offer her a sheepish wave in apology.
It’s a fairly exclusive setup, which makes this gym one of my personal favorites. Spanning over four floors, with a pool in the basement, there’s always a trainer around to correct my form or put together a new workout plan.
And on days when I feel too haggard even to face working out, the spa is more than accommodating.
I make my way up to the second floor today though, ready to hop on the treadmill and run until I forget my own damn name.
There’s something about the repetitiveness of shoving one foot in front of the other that is so mindlessly boring that it lulls my brain into a sort of sleep state.
And there’s nothing I want more than to not think for a bit.
Shoving my headphones in, I begin my warm-up walk and stretch out my arms, longing for my brain to just shut the hell up.
You wouldn’t be this stiff if you hadn’t let him bend you over the ? —
“Hey!”
I almost jump out of my skin at the sight of a man leaning against my treadmill, one muscled arm draped lazily over the center console, begging for attention.
“Can I help you?” I say as I remove my headphones, somewhat annoyed by the interruption.
Clearly noting the abrasive tone, he leans away from the console in faux offense. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
His voice is smooth as butter with just the right amount of teasing. I rake my eyes over him unashamedly, as I always do when an attractive man plucks up the courage to approach me.
Except this time, I feel the disappointment setting in way too soon.
His mop of sandy brown hair is too heavily styled. His muscles are too perfectly honed by repetition at the gym instead of manual labor. Even his dark eyes feel more like murky water than the endless night sky.
I freeze.
Stop it, Isabella.
“Um…no, it’s fine.” I find myself fumbling for flirtatious things to say. All Iwant is for him to leave me alone.
“I just wanted to say, if you’re looking to work on your glutes, you might want to try an incline first,” he smirks, eyes drifting down my body to the relevant muscle. “Although I don’t think you need it.”
I feel my jaw twitch. “I’m sorry, do you work here?”
He shrugs. “Just a good samaritan, really. Can’t help myself when there’s a gorgeous woman in need of my assistance.”
I glance around the room, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable that there aren’t that many people around.
“I don’t need your help,” I reply cooly and go to put my headphones back on.
Only he doesn’t like that.
His arm snaps out of nowhere, grabbing my wrist to stop me.
“Let. Me. Go,” I seethe.
“Come on, I was just being nice!”
I can’t stand it, the way his eyes roam over me like I’m some kind of prize he has a hideous claim over. The only small satisfaction is seeing him linger on the mark on my neck.
Someone has claimed me already.
Ignoring my traitorous brain, I take action instead, twisting suddenly out of his grip to knock him off balance, before grabbing his hair to quickly slam his head onto the console.
“What the fuck—” he gasps as he reels back in shock.
I hum a little patronizingly, really. “Seems all those muscles are just for show.”
Without letting him reply, I storm away, resigning myself to swimming lengths in the pool instead.
Though not as taxing as running, the water does its job, washing away my sinful thoughts as I allow the steady movements of my strokes to occupy my mind entirely.
By the time I get out and take a moment in the steam room, I’m almost entirely convinced that I will be absolutely fine.
That is until I leave.
And find an ambulance waiting outside.
It shouldn’t hold my attention. It’s New York, for God’s sake. I must have seen a fire truck or a cop car or an ambulance every hour on the hour since the moment I was born.
But I suppose it’s not really the ambulance that grabs my attention. It’s the man being wheeled into the back of it. A mess of sandy hair poking out of the giant, white neck brace.
For a moment, I stupidly wonder if maybe I accidentally hit him too hard.
But then the girl from reception is at my side, arms wrapped around her torso, looking nervously at the scene.
I swallow a little nervously before asking. “What happened?”
She seems a little startled at the question, as if she hadn’t quite realized I was standing there. “Oh. Um. Well, I’m not sure if I should say,” her voice quivers slightly.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“He just…landed right in front of me.”
My brow furrows. “Landed?”
Her wide eyes dart to my face. I don’t think she’s going to continue, but evidently, she seems to find something in my expression that makes her trust me.
“He…fell. From the fourth floor, they said. From the state of him…he must have tripped or…or…” she swallows thickly, clearly holding back tears.
But my mind has immediately launched itself elsewhere.
To the CCTV footage of the Prince’s Hand. When Teo had catapulted that guard from the banister.
It couldn’t be…
And yet, I find myself drifting back into the gym, looking up the staircase that spans four separate floors,wondering why I feel so disappointed that there’s no one looking back down at me.
Feeling almost as shaken as the poor receptionist outside, I take off home at a jog. Instantly, all the work I put into dispelling any thought of Teo Vitale has evaporated.
And still, that prickly feeling of being watched persists. I run faster, push myself harder until I’m absolutely exhausted by the time I return to my apartment.
After a very long, very cold shower, dangling on the edge of being absolutely petrified and insanely anticipatory, I decide that the safest place I can be is at the casino.
It takes no time at all for my car to arrive and even less time for me to walk up to the steps of the Harlem property. Crowds of regulars and tourists alike have already gathered in the foyer as I push through the huge front doors.
I earn a few turned heads as I walk by, courtesy no doubt, of the floor-length red gown I decided to wear.
It’s an old trick, one that my mother taught me at an eyebrow-raising age. But there is little else these old-money misogynists love more than a woman in red. And if I’m going to hide out here, I may as well make the family some money.
As I take my seat at the highly visible and insanely priced poker table up on the elevated stage, I make bets with myself about how many men will join me. Sure enough, across the floor, they start to pull away from their games and their wives to come over.
Simon appears a moment later, brandishing a glass of champagne. “It’s a good turnout tonight.”
I hum in response, taking a small sip.
He smirks when he turns to look at the small crowd I’ve drawn to the table. “Go easy on them.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I quip back.
With one lingering smile, the floor manager goes back to his duties, and my gaze slips to the now-occupied chair next to me.
Where I look straight into the midnight eyes of the man who has been haunting me all day.
“A pleasure to see you again, belle.”