12. Isabella
12
ISABELLA
T he cavalry arrived only seconds after Teo left. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have made it out of the casino.
But as I staggered back into the foyer, head still spinning from his threat—and how close he’d come with that knife—I watched with my own eyes as he leaped into the back of a moving vehicle and sped off into the night.
I felt hollow as he left, something within me protesting his absence with childish recklessness. At the same time, the greater part of me remained absolutely disgusted with myself.
Whatever is happening between Teo Vitale and me feels like an open wound, one that festers more and more after every devastating encounter.
But none of it felt as bad as when my phone started ringing.
“Leon,” I say dully, already bracing myself.
“What the FUCK is going on?”
“We were negotiating.”
It wasn’t a lie, per se. Hadn’t we discussed things over poker?
It had been so very very foolish of me to challenge him at cards. The casino might have been in my family for generations, but the interlude where it been stolen by the Vitale family had somehow slipped my mind.
Of course, he was good at poker. He likely grew up wandering the very floor we had played on.
It was my own foolish arrogance that allowed me to underestimate him. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“I think I’m about done with this negotiating, Issy,” Leon snaps down the line. “It’s clearly not going anywhere, and if that fucker thinks he can get you alone again?—”
“I just need more time,” I argue back. “He’s slipping. I can just feel it.”
Can I? Or can I just remember the way he licked my ear? Crazy for crazy.
“I won’t risk your life like this anymore,” he barks.
I pinch the top of my nose. “That’s not your decision to make.”
“I don’t care what Mamma says, I won’t let you.”
“It’s not her decision!” I shout back. “Leon, we need this to work. We need him to back down.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed. He’s insane.”
“He won’t hurt me,” I reply with a sureness that I don’t entirely know I feel.
Teo Vitale isn’t like any man I’ve ever encountered or tried to control before. He sees through me, straight to who I am and what I’m trying to do. But he lets me do what I want anyway, as long as I let him do the same.
It’s like the most dangerous game of chicken, pushing the other to see how far they’ll go before they put a knife to your throat.
“You have one more week.”
“Leon—”
“After that, I’m pulling you out.”
“You can’t be serious. You need more time to figure out how to take down the Guild.”
I can practically hear Leon tugging at his hair with frustration. “It’s enough. It will have to be.”
“Please, Leon. Don’t do this. As my brother, I understand that this might be?—”
“I am your don first,” he snaps with a cool authority that sends a shiver down my spine. “You might have Mamma’s favor, but I’ m running the family now, do you hear? You do not have the authority to disobey me.”
With a shaking hand, I hang up the phone, unable and unwilling to listen to any more of his bitter words.
It’s always been like this, us both always fighting to be on top. I might have brushed it off as your normal sibling rivalry once, but I know it runs deeper than that.
Leon always knew he would inherit the Prince’s Hand.
Mamma always knew I would control it.
I all but fall into bed when I return home, slipping out of my red dress and showering under the most scalding water I can stand as if somehow I can burn the memory of his lips against my skin away.
But the heat only seems to set my anger alight.
Past the shock of the last twenty-four hours, a growing seed of fury seems to have taken root within me.
I pace my room, remembering every word, every touch in that closet.
I’d hate to ruin those pretty little hands.
Every look, every flirtation at the poker table.
You’re hesitating again.
Each memory is a piece of evidence that I pin to an imaginary corkboard in my mind.
The most damning memory of all sits front and center, glaring at me mockingly.
Teo Vitale pushed a man down the stairs because he had touched me.
I turn it over and over in my mind.
Why?
The answer is obvious. At least, it would be for any other man. He’s possessive, and a jealous rage isn’t exactly something unique to Teo Vitale.
But why go to such lengths for someone you claim you would kill?
Unless…he couldn’t.
Unless he’s entirely bluffing. Unless I am actually completely safe around him.
It would be the most ideal scenario. The best, even. I could break him that way, force him to acknowledge that he wouldn’t be able to do it, and consequently give up on the Prince’s Hand entirely.
Because I’d die before he got the information he sought.
And he can’t kill me.
I worry my lip as I think this through.
It’s more of a working theory than anything concrete. I just need to put it to the test somehow.
I click my tongue as I check my clock. It’s midnight already.
But this is New York City, and the night is oh so very young.
It takes no time at all to change out of my red dress and into something more…well, comfortable isn’t exactly the word I’d use. The Louboutins may feel soft and familiar, but they’re still staggeringly tall, and I have to be careful when walking over things like grates.
After a moment to consider my short black dress, I impulsively put on a weathered denim jacket. It’s far too large and clashes with the rest of my aesthetic, but in the mirror, it looks like it belongs to someone else.
And there’s that very small possibility that it might just make Teo mad.
Satisfied, I call a cab. It takes less than twenty minutes to find myself in a bar in the East Village. It’s packed with people, clearly undeterred by the late hour, with ample space outside for patrons to smoke and look across the East River.
For a moment, I do, too. Brooklyn’s lights sparkle across the bay, as if beckoning me to cross the territory line.
But a chill wind blows by, and I head back inside to fend off the cold.
It’s the perfect deterrent for cold, really. With that many bodies pressed together, the walls are practically sweating along with us. Music blares through the speakers, causing conversations to take place an inch away from people’s ears.
By the time I make it to the bar, I’m already thrumming with energy. If it’s excitement, anticipation, or nervousness, I’m not entirely sure.
Most likely a combination of all three.
“What can I get you?” the barkeep all but shouts when I finally get his attention.
“Martini!” I shout back.
I bob my head to the music as I wait, covertly looking around the room as I do.
He almost got caught today, I have to remind myself. He might not come.
It’s difficult to ignore the brick of disappointment that makes its home in my stomach.
He’s been watching me for weeks now. Someone must have told him I’m here.
A test. It’s just a test. It’s nothing more than a test to prove a theory. And it’s a theory that really doesn’t need to be looked at too closely.
Because if I’m right and he can’t kill me, there has to be a reason.
My internal turmoil is thankfully interrupted by the bartender placing my drink before me.
But before I can even move for my wallet, a crisp twenty-dollar bill is placed in front of me.
“This one’s on me,” the man beside me declares.
I turn to face him with a wry smile, hoping it hides my disappointment.
The man before me has dark hair, eyes, and skin—trademarks of his Hispanic heritage—and a cheeky smile that just knows how good he looks in a leather jacket.
I tip my glass to him before taking a sip. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Not every day a pretty girl like you walks into a place like this.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “People still use that line?”
He shrugs. “All right then, not every day an Italian walks into a place like this.”
His eyes glint with meaning, and I understand immediately. Hell, it was the reason I chose this place, after all.
“It’s not like the cartel to wander so far over the bridge,” I smile back.
He turns to glance out the window at the beckoning Brooklyn lights. “Sometimes it’s nice to get a little perspective. Everything the lights touch, and all.” He turns back to me. “I’m Luis.”
“Isabella,” I offer back.
He smirks. “ Isabella.” His tongue wraps around the wrong vowel in a way that I think most women would find quite tantalizing.
But I know what he’s doing. He's just playing with his food.
And I need him to try and take a bite.
“Luis,” I purr right back. “I’m looking for something a little drunk and dangerous. Do you think you could help me out?”
He chuckles. “In that case, you’re going to need more than a Martini.”
He turns to flag down the bartender, and before I know it, we’re doing shots of tequila and carrying a tray of a dozen more to a table in the corner.
Perched around it are more cartel members. Many are as large and as intimidating as Luis, softened only by the haze of drugs and alcohol that clouds their eyes.
I don’t falter, allowing them to squeeze me in at the table and I clink my shot glass with theirs as we enjoy another round.
I’m not the only woman there, and I even share a grin with a particularly intoxicated girl across from me when we both grimace at the aftertaste of the tequila.
She shouts something at me, something about liking my dress, I think. But I can’t really hear her over the music.
I don’t have a chance to follow up before a leather-clad arm finds itself over my shoulders.
“So, Isabella, what brings you here?” Luis’ lips almost touch my ear he’s so close.
I click my tongue. “I have people I needed to get away from. Just for a little while.”
“And you thought this would be the best place to hide?”
“Something like that. I have a bit of a stalker, actually.” I shoot him a smirk before helping myself to another shot. “Still up for the task?”
He returns the smile dangerously. “I know a few places to hide a body.”
I don’t let the cool trickle of fear that drips down my spine unnerve me. I’ve been around my fair share of criminals, after all. These people are no different.
“Well, aren’t you just my knight in shining armor?”
You’re playing with fire.
“You should know I don’t do anything for free.”
It’s not Luis who places his hand on my thigh. It’s the guy on my other side. Warning bells immediately start to sound off in my mind, but I sit back and pretend it doesn’t bother me.
“Now, now,” I scold the new guy. “There’s plenty of me to go around. At least, there will be when I’m less sober.”
I throw Luis a meaningful glance, and he thankfully seems to be taking the hint. “I’ll be right back,” he says before darting back over to the bar.
The new guy keeps his hand on my thigh, though, now thumbing the bare skin there clumsily.
You need to be more careful…I could have fucked you right there under the table. Teo’s words come back to me along with an involuntary shudder.
I swallow hard before looking up at the new guy. He’s decisively less handsome than Luis, with a scratchy-looking mustache hugging his upper lip.
“You know, it’s polite to ask first,” I begin, intent on charming him off me.
But before he can reply, there’s an almighty crash from the bar.
We all look up in unison and watch as Luis’ head gets smashed into an empty glass before he tumbles unceremoniously to the floor.
The men around me are on their feet in an instant, ready and raring to fight.
But my eyes are on his attacker. His back is turned to me, and he’s clothed head to toe in black. But there’s no mistaking him.
I fucking knew it. He’d come after me.
Now I need to get the hell out of here before I got myself in any more trouble.
I instantly stagger to my feet and push through the crowds in the opposite direction, realizing as my heel slips, that I’m slightly more intoxicated than I had thought.
As soon as I step outside, I beeline to the row of motorcycles parked outside. There’s no time to call a cab. From the sound of it, the fight in the bar only seems to be getting louder.
“Hey!” I call out to a guy wearing a helmet who looks like he’s about to ride off. “You wouldn’t mind giving a girl a ride, would you?”
For a moment, I think he might just ride off. But the almighty crash of smashing glass has us both glancing nervously back at the bar.
He jerks his head, beckoning me over, and I gratefully slide onto the seat behind him.
The engine revs, and I have just enough time to wrap my arms around him before we shoot off into the night.
It’s thrilling to watch the city flash by, and I’m so distracted that I don’t realize we’re heading over the Brooklyn Bridge until we’re halfway across.
“I was heading to Harlem,” I shout, but my voice is clearly lost in the wind because my savior just presses on.
Finally, the roar of the engine slows to a gentle purr, and I glance around to see that we’re pulling up into Bay Ridge.
There are certainly worse places to find yourself in the early hours of the morning, so I don’t complain as I hop off the seat.
“Thanks,” I throw him my best disarming smile. “You really got me out of a tight spot. I’m gonna head to the train, but I’ll see you around.”
What I don’t expect is for his arm to lash out and grab my arm.
“Hey, what are you?—”
But the rest of the sentence burns up in my throat.
With his other hand, he whips off his helmet, and those endless, midnight eyes glare at me angrily.
“You’re going fucking nowhere, belle.”