32. Antonio
Chapter thirty-two
Antonio
I watch Isabella lean forward, eyes lit with that fragile hope that twists my insides worse than any punch I've taken in the ring. In our world, hope's a fucking liability—something to exploit, to crush, to destroy. And yet, seeing it flicker across her face now, I want to shield it like it's made of glass. Protect it. Keep it burning.
The irony doesn't escape me. I'm the same bastard who tried to snuff out that light with my own hands. Remembering the hurt carving her features, the pain I carved there myself. It makes me want to tear my own skin off, piece by fucking piece.
If these Greeks hurt her, if they feed her lies, if they crush that hope I've spent months trying to break; they'll need another fucking Iliad to chronicle what I'll do to them. I force myself to stay still, twirling my wine glass, letting the liquid burn down my throat. Always fucking pretending.
Alexandros finally starts, his voice carrying like a death sentence. "Your mother, Isabella, had allies in our world. Not that she belonged to us. It's that we belonged to her in a way. One for all. All for one. That's the motto of her family, too."
"Great. You read the three musketeers." My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. "What exactly does that mean? She married her father." My fingers drum against the table, matching the thunder in my chest.
"Tonio," Isabella whispers, her hand brushing mine, touch light as a fucking ghost and gone just as quick. It sparks something I shouldn't want, a warmth in the cold void I've been drowning in. I hate myself for craving more. For not deserving it.
Alexandros continues despite my glare burning holes through him. I don't like how he looks at my wife—like she's prey, something to consume. It's a hunger I know too well, and my blood rushes hot, fingers itching to remodel his face with my fists.
"We kept tabs on her. Made sure she was safe as he climbed through the ranks. His reputation changed. Becoming more violent. More about him than his men." Alexandros pauses, just a heartbeat. "Your mother reached out to us with one single word in Greek. And we knew. We knew he was planning on killing her. He had been... He had been making her life hell in all the ways he could find. She found support in someone. She was having an affair. And he was having suspicions making everything worse."
I try blocking the images flooding my brain, but it's like stopping a tsunami with my bare hands. Isabella's mother, trapped in her own hell, her spirit crushed day by day. Knowing I orchestrated the same for Isabella. It churns my stomach into acid. Then I think of my own mother, of the hell she endured, and it's a fucking inferno inside me. Rage and despair burning through until I can't think past breaking something. Making someone bleed.
Making myself bleed for what I've done.
Naomi lifts her chin, eyes flashing. "My father, right?"
Isabella's face flushes crimson, like she can't process what she's hearing. "Yes. She knew she was in danger. But unlike Agamemnon in the Greek tragedy, she was the one being hunted. We had spies inside the house. And we knew what he was planning. But we had to make sure she didn't. So she didn't change her routine." Alexandros leans forward, voice dropping. "That day she went to see you rehearse, she did get hit by a car. She could have died. We paid off someone long enough to declare her dead. Someone who had an accident not long after. We couldn't have loose ends. And we made sure there was a body in that casket."
As he lays it out—the plan, the fucking corpse in the casket—it's like being dragged into some twisted nightmare. The room suddenly suffocates, air heavy as lead. I tug at my collar, loosening the knot choking me with every word. The untouched food reeks now, making my stomach roll.
And deep down, something roars, raging against the unfairness. Why couldn't my mother have found a way out? Why didn't anyone step up for her?
Why the fuck didn't I?
Isabella's voice, barely above a whisper, drags me back from the edge. "Why not take me with her?"
Alexandros sighs, shoulders sagging like Atlas with the world crushing him. "She wanted to. Oh trust me, she wanted to. But your mom had paralyzing agents in her body when your father came to pay his respects. We couldn't risk her doing anything to jeopardize our plan."
He stops, gaze darting between us like he's trying to read our fucking minds. The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I can hear blood pounding in my ears, the clock ticking like a bomb ready to detonate.
"She heard him laugh," Alexandros continues, voice steady but it feels like he's shouting directly into my skull. "She heard him whisper she deserved to suffer even more. She heard him say he was going to make sure her daughter knew how to behave herself. He planned for you to make him proud."
I can't help glancing at Isabella, watching her shoulders tense, fingers gripping the table edge until knuckles turn bone-white. A muscle ticks in her jaw, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The urge to reach for her, to offer some comfort, nearly overwhelms me, but I force my hands to stay clenched in my lap.
I watch Isabella's face crumple, but she inhales deeply—not ready to break yet.
When she speaks again, there's steel in her voice that makes my spine straighten. "I disappointed him." She lifts her chin, eyes flashing with a pride that knocks the wind from my lungs. Pride mixed with a thousand swirling questions behind her gaze.
Because while her mother might not have had a choice about taking her that day... she didn't come back for her own daughter for years. The realization hits like a sucker punch, white-hot anger boiling up, burning my throat like acid. How could she leave her own flesh and blood to suffer? How could she stay away, knowing the hell Isabella was living? Makes me want to drag her back here, make her face what she's done, force her to feel even a fraction of the pain she caused.
Because the fact remains: She's still not fucking here.
"What about the contract?" I demand, jaw clenched so hard my teeth might shatter. "This precious agreement everyone's fighting over. The one supposedly crafted by Isabella's grandmother. Where does that fit into all this?"
Alexandros shifts, a subtle tell that makes my predatory instincts flare. "The contract was your mother's insurance policy, Isabella. After she... disappeared, she knew your father would try to control your future. So she made arrangements through your grandmother. The contract wasn't just about marriage or alliances—it was about protecting you."
"Protecting me?" Isabella's voice cracks slightly, hope and disbelief battling in those two words.
"Your mother knew the only way to shield you in our world was to create something even your father couldn't break. Something with enough power behind it that he'd have to honor its terms." Alexandros leans forward. "The signatures, the bloodlines involved—it was her way of ensuring you'd eventually have a path out."
Something doesn't add up, and my instincts are screaming. I narrow my eyes, fixing Alexandros with a glare that could melt the stone walls of this fortress, fingers curling into fists under the table. "What are you not saying?" My voice drops, each word dripping venom. The air between us crackles with secrets and lies, and I swear to Lucifer, if he's playing us, I'll tear him apart with my bare fucking hands.