5. Isabella
Chapter five
Isabella
I t takes me a full minute to unclench my jaw and feel my heartbeat settle into something resembling normal. I bring my hand to my chest. "It's okay," I whisper to myself and Cerberus nudges against me, rolling onto his back, seeming to sense the shift in the air. "You're a good boy," I murmur, stroking his fur, my thoughts swirling like a whirlwind.
The door's been closed for barely a minute, but my skin still burns where his gaze touched it. Three months of silence—ninety-four days of nothing—and suddenly there he is, standing in my prison like some dark fairy tale come to life, demanding answers about a daughter I didn't even know existed.
God, a daughter. He has a daughter.
That revelation and his words echo in my head, setting off tiny earthquakes: "The French want to see you." Translation: time to parade the prisoner around. Proof of life for whatever precious contract needs me breathing and unbroken. That mysterious agreement my grandmother supposedly created that everyone in this twisted world seems to understand except me. Another thing to dangle just out of reach, like freedom, like answers, like anything resembling truth.
When Antonio stood there, all power and darkness, those stormy eyes fixed on me... I hate how my body remembered him. Hate how his voice—deep and commanding—still finds its way under my skin, leaving me wrestling with emotions I'd sworn I'd buried. Anger, sorrow, and worst of all, that stupid, misplaced longing that has no business surviving after what he did.
But I've listened to enough Taylor Swift break-up anthems to know this is muscle memory. Ashes of a fire that once burned. And nothing more.
"Give me a sec," I say more to myself than Cerberus, heading to the tiny bathroom. I grab a disinfecting wipe and kneel to clean the small crimson mark on the floor. Paint. It's just paint.
The way his eyes widened when he saw it though... for a split second, something that looked almost like fear flashed across his face. As if after ninety-four days of leaving me to rot, he suddenly cared whether I was breathing. Probably just worried his business deals would collapse if I wasn't "alive and well" as required. The contract's puppet master still needs his marionette.
Signora Martha, who's shown me more kindness than anyone in this fortress, brought me paints one afternoon. A small splash of color in my gray existence. I won't let her get in trouble for something she probably hid from him.
Him.
I wonder if his daughter paints.
My mind keeps on circling back to that word. Daughter.
His daughter.
He has a daughter.
My fingertips press harder into the paint stain, scrubbing like it might erase the heaviness in my chest. It's not jealousy. Despite my first thoughts when I found out about his secret family. Let’s face it. I wouldn't wish any connection to Antonio on anyone, especially not a child. But there's something else there, something that feels like mourning. For possibilities cancer might have stolen. For futures that died the moment he locked this door.
I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or simply shrug.
Staying quiet when he revealed that bombshell was hard enough. Not asking questions was worse. Who is her mother? Where is she? How old is Elena? Does she know about the wife her father keeps locked away like a shameful secret?
No. I refuse to let him back into my head. But I can't deny the adrenaline still rushing through my veins, demanding movement, demanding release.
"How about a dance?" I suggest, glancing at Cerberus who wags his tail in approval. The room is cramped, but I shuffle the bed aside, and Cerberus hops onto it, curling into a cozy ball.
Rising onto my toes, I find my rhythm in the silence, guided only by the distant crash of ocean waves against fortress walls. My arms sweep overhead, then lower gracefully. I rise again, sinking into pliés, channeling every flicker of emotion through my movements until my breath grows short and sweat beads along my hairline.
For these stolen moments, I'm not The Beast's imprisoned wife. I'm just me. The girl who once had Juilliard dreams lighting up her future. The girl who believed in music and movement and magic.
Pausing by the window, I gaze out, letting my mind wander to days past, to Naomi... to dreams destroyed.
"Principessa!"
Elena's high-pitched voice snaps me back to reality. How did they lose her again? So quickly?
But this time, she's not alone.
There are other voices.
Signora Martha is with her. Signora Martha and... Antonio.
Twice in one day? How lucky am I?
I dash back to the bed, realizing the mattress has shifted. Great, just what I needed. Will they barge in, or are they planning to slip something under the door? No moment to ponder. I shove the mattress back into its proper place, making sure it hides the sharp shard from a broken plate. That shard has been my little piece of defiance, my secret weapon when the guy who used to bring my food gave me the creeps.
A way to protect myself when no one else would.
Cerberus barks and when the door flings open, I'm not prepared for the giggles that fill the room.
"She was crying. Asking for you," Signora Martha tells me in a warm voice, her eyes glancing to the bed in such a way that I wonder if she knows what I'm hiding there.
"What exactly did you say to her?" Antonio's voice is tight, edged with frustration, but a sharp look from Signora Martha coaxes out a reluctant sigh from him.
"This... for you," Elena beams with red eyes that tighten something deep within my chest. She clutches a crumpled piece of paper and I crouch to her level, giving her my full attention.
"It's beautiful," I tell her and she claps her hands.
"You!" She says in English, and holding the paper in my hands where the little girl drew something resembling a crown, I swear my heart leaps into my throat. Elena is looking at me like I'm just me. Not a chess piece in some grand strategy. Not a soul to be shattered. Not someone to use one way or another.
Just me.
But of course, my balance chooses this moment to fail me—thank you, neuropathy—and I slide onto the floor. Elena rushes to me and her little arms wrap around my neck. She smells like innocence and caramel and she's giggling. A carefree giggle that has me smiling back at her.
Lifting my gaze, I meet Antonio's and my heart stutters. His eyes bore into mine, tangled in a storm of emotions I can't quite decipher. Anger, concern, or perhaps a mix I've yet to understand.
A mix I don't want to understand.
And when he calls her name, Elena holds on to me tighter, like she's afraid to let go, and Cerberus sits by us, like he's guarding us.
And with a gruff voice, Antonio says something in Italian I don't understand.
Signora Martha nods and he strides away without another word, another look, nothing.
His exits definitely are dramatic.
"He said you and Elena can go for a walk if you want."
"A walk?" My eyes widen. I'm afraid to believe the words. Did I hear them right?
Signora Martha gives me another warm smile. "With me, too. But we can go outside before lunch. You can go outside, cara Bella." She pauses and her voice lowers. "But don't forget, eyes are always watching."