41. Isabella
Chapter forty-one
Isabella
W hat is he doing? Why is he going on and on like this? Antonio's words are like a jackhammer, shattering the delicate truce I've been trying to maintain.
"Stop," I hiss, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. But it's too late. The fragile peace that seemed to have been forged snaps in two, the pieces scattering like shards of my broken dreams.
The room falls silent, thick with tension. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, waiting, watching. The weight of their gazes is almost suffocating. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a war drum. The taste of fear, metallic and bitter, coats my tongue.
Naomi stands up so quickly her chair kicks back, the screech of wood against the floor making me flinch. "Anyone else tired of this?" she calls out, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I mean, seriously, I came here for dinner and a show, not a telenovela reunion."
Connor leans back, a half-grin playing on his lips as he watches her. "Careful there, mo ghrá. Your American is showing."
Naomi whirls on him, hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Lucky Charms. Would you prefer I throw some 'begorrah' and 'top o' the mornin' in there? Plus you said the same not long ago."
Connor's eyebrows shoot up, a mix of amusement and mock offense on his face. "Now that's just hurtful. And stereotypical. I'll have you know I prefer Frosted Flakes. Grrr... that's the tiger's noise, right?"
I can't help the snort of laughter that escapes me. It's so absurd, this moment of normalcy in the middle of... whatever this is. Naomi catches my eye and winks—like she wanted this moment to be taken down a notch, to stop this from escalating further, to give me some time to ground myself.
She steps towards Antonio—unafraid—even as Connor's grin falters. He whispers something in Irish, too low for me to catch.
Naomi rolls her eyes. "Relax, Connor. I'm not going to deck the Beast. Well, not unless he really deserves it." She pauses, tilting her head as she considers Antonio. "Though I have to say, the whole brooding, muscle-bound antihero look? It's working for you, Antonio. Very Dark Thor meets Mr. Darcy."
I watch as Antonio's face cycles through confusion, annoyance, and finally settles on a reluctant amusement. The tension in the room noticeably eases, like a valve has been released.
Naomi settles next to me, her fingers brushing against my arm in a show of support. The familiar scent of her perfume—vanilla and jasmine—wraps around me like a comforting blanket.
"Now," she says, her voice softer but no less determined. "How about we cut the cryptic crap and get to the point? I think we've all had our fill of secrets and lies to last several lifetimes."
Her words hang in the air, the brief moment of levity fading as quickly as it came. The weight of why we're really here settles back over us, heavy and inescapable.
I take a deep breath, drawing strength from Naomi's presence. The scent of wine and tension fills my nostrils, grounding me in this moment. "Then let's start with the truth," I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "All of it. No more games, no more half-truths I’ve had my share of those and of lies."
Stefanos lets out a hard chuckle, the sound grating against my nerves. "Yes, maybe we should tell Isabella the truth. Tell her that—"
"Stefanos," Alexandros cuts him off, his voice sharp as a whip crack. The younger Greek brother falls silent, but the smirk dancing on his lips sends a chill down my spine.
Antonio steps forward, crossing his arms over his chest. I see him in the phone camera, glowering, tall and ready to be the Beast he is to make sure I'm safe. And that? Despite the anger still settled deep within, it has me take a calmer breath. An annoyed breath. But a calmer one.
"There could be... complications," Alexandros says, sounding like each word is being dragged out of him.
"Complications?" I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "My entire life has been one big complication. Try me."
The room falls silent again, the tension ratcheting up another notch. I can hear the tick of the ornate clock on the mantel, each second stretching into eternity. My mother coughs again, the sound rattling through the speakers, and I feel a pang of worry shoot through me.
But when she speaks, her voice is clearer, stronger than before. "Darling, it's not that simple."
There's something in her tone – a hint of steel beneath the frailty – that makes me pause. I've heard that tone before, years ago, when she was negotiating with my dance instructors or smoothing over one of my father's business "disagreements". Ones I didn’t understand then.
Antonio's hand finds my shoulder, a gesture both possessive and supportive. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my dress, sending a shiver down my spine.
“We need to...”
"Don't," I tell him, turning back and boring my gaze into his dark, thunderous one. "You took away enough of my choices. Don't swoop in right now and go all Antonio on this. I need to know the truth. I'm asking the questions."
Turning back to the room, I straighten my spine, lifting my chin. My nails dig into my palms, the sharp pain keeping me focused. "I'm done with manipulations. If you want my help, if you want my trust, then you need to start talking. Now. All of it."
Alexandros exchanges a loaded glance with Nikos before leaning forward. "Isabella, what do you remember about your treatment? The new procedures they used?" His voice is deep and the way he's watching me? It's filled with something I can't quite name but that has my breath catching. Like he cares?
But his question catches me off guard, memories of sterile hospital rooms and endless needles flashing through my mind. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything," my mother's voice crackles through the speaker, stronger now. "It could change everything."
As I open my mouth to respond, I catch my mother's reflection in the phone screen. Her eyes are sharp, alert, nothing like the frail woman I first saw. And I realize – whatever game is being played here, my mother is holding cards she hasn't revealed yet.
"Why don't you tell me?" I say, my voice steady. "Since it seems you all know more about my medical history than I do."
Because in this world of shadows and deceit, knowledge is power. And I'm done being powerless.
"Your blood could save your mother," Alexandros says, his voice as unyielding as steel.
The words hit me like a missed landing from a grand pas de deux, my body tensing as if bracing for impact, my breath catching in my throat as if I'd been dropped mid-lift into a crater. My vision narrows, the room spinning around me as I struggle to process what I've just heard..
I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips, each pulse a reminder of the blood flowing through my veins. Blood that could apparently save my mother. The mother I thought I'd lost forever.
"The fuck?" Antonio growls beside me, his voice seeming to come from far away. He adds something in rapid-fire Italian, the words blurring together in my stunned state.
Naomi's voice cuts through the fog in my mind, sharp and clear. "The Beast and I are in agreement here: the fuck?"
But I can't look away from the screen, from my mother's face. Her eyes, so like mine, hold a mixture of hope and fear that makes my chest ache. A memory surfaces, vivid and painful: her arguing with my father, his cold voice saying she wasn't preparing me for life.
I thought he meant dancing. The realization of my naivety settles in my stomach like a lead weight.
Now I know he meant this life. This very moment, where the mafia surrounds us like a suffocating blanket. Where blood isn't just DNA, but currency, power, life itself.
My mouth is dry, tongue sticking to the roof as I force out the words: "Why didn't you say it right away?"
"That's your question?" Naomi whispers next me. "If you only get one... maybe you could ask why, how, when? Or better, Are you a mutant? Are we in a remake of X-Men?"
I shake my head. "No. Why didn't you tell me right away I could save you?"
My fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table, the cool surface grounding me. Another bout of coughing wracks my mother's body, the sound raw and grating. Painful and... permanent.
"I need to know," I press on, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "Why keep this from me if I could have helped you all along?"
Stefanos' harsh laughter slices through the tension. His muscular shoulders shake, a tremor that seems to ripple through the room. Is this the best or worst moment of his life? I can't tell, and that uncertainty makes my skin prickle with unease.
"Don't." Alexandros' warning carries the weight of unspoken threats, but Stefanos seems beyond caring. Nikos, usually so amused by these power plays, now wears an expression as hard and cold as marble.
"Why not?" Nikos bites out, each word sharp enough to draw blood. Drawing blood? Ha. At the thought, my lips pull into a small smile that must look... scary. Unhinged, even. Like I'm teetering on the edge of something dangerous and want to leap into it.
Antonio pulls the chair next to me, his hand finding my thigh. The warmth of his palm seeps through the fabric, grounding me. Like he knows exactly what I need, even when I don't. It's infuriating how well he can read me, how easily he can steady me with just a touch.
Stefanos' fingers trace the intricate design on his glass, the movement almost hypnotic. When his gaze finds mine, it's like being pinned by a predator. He ignores everyone else in the room, his focus solely, unnervingly, on me.
"You either play the innocent role very well," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Or like me, your life isn't your own."
A chill spreads through my veins. What does he mean? What does he know?
"Is that riddle time?" Naomi calls out, her attempt at lightness falling flat in the heavy atmosphere.
Connor murmurs, his Irish lilt more pronounced with tension, "You really don't know when to be quiet, love. Do you?"
"And you really don't know when to fight for what matters," Naomi snaps back. "So... match made in mafia heaven?"
Their bickering fades into background noise as I process Stefanos' words. I take a deep breath, centering myself. When I speak, my voice is calm, controlled - a far cry from the scared, naive girl I once was.
"You know, Stefanos, I've been thinking about my life lately. About how much I've changed." I meet his gaze, unflinching. "For years, I wore blinders made of tulle and sweat, believing that if I just danced hard enough, everything would be okay. But life has a way of ripping those illusions away, doesn't it?"
I pause, letting my words sink in. The room is silent now, all eyes on me.
"My mother died - or so I thought. I fell for my stepbrother just as I was starting to see the truth of our world. I watched him get branded by my father, thinking I was responsible for his mother's death. I nearly died myself."
My voice doesn't waver. It's not self-pity I'm after - it's understanding.
"Through it all, I kept dancing. It was my anchor, my escape. Even in the hospital, fighting for my life, part of me was still that girl in pink shoes, believing in happy endings."
I lean forward, my eyes scanning the room. "But I'm not that girl anymore. And right now you guys are doing a show. I’ve told you I wanted the truth. Didn’t I make myself clear?" I lean forward. “Because now I find out my mother is alive... only to hear she's some sort of mastermind and my blood can save her. But tell me, Stefanos since you’re the only one talking, why would you guys do all this for my mom if you didn't get something too?"
I pause, letting my words sink in. When I continue, my voice is steadier, more assured. "I've learned a lot in this world - our world. I've learned that nothing comes without a price. That every favor, every act of 'honor', has strings attached. So what are yours?"
The room falls silent, the weight of my question hanging in the air. I can feel Antonio's gaze on me, a mix of pride and concern. Naomi's hand finds mine under the table, a silent show of support.
My mother's voice crackles through the speaker, strained but determined. "Isabella, darling-"
"No," I cut her off, my voice soft but firm. "I need to hear this from them first. I need to understand what's really going on here."
I turn back to the Greek brothers, my chin lifted. " What do you really want?"
Stefanos leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine. Each word he speaks lands like a physical blow. “Did you know your mom used Naomi’s father? Theirs wasn’t a love story.” Naomi stiffens next to me, but he continues, staring at my mother. “You knew he was going to get killed... because of you?" He pauses, letting the accusation hang in the air. My lungs constrict, making it hard to breathe. "Oh yes, your mother is sick, Isabella. She could die. And the world would be a fucking better place if we had left her in that mausoleum."
I look at the screen, searching my mother's face for any sign of denial, any hint that this is all some cruel joke. But what I see there - a mixture of defiance and resignation - makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"You said she was responsible for your lover's death," I whisper, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
Stefanos nods, his eyes hard. "Your mother is a fucking grim reaper for all I care. She's made promises she can't keep. She's keeping secrets that could help us eradicate our enemies in Greece. She's—"
"Enough!" My mother's voice, though weak, cuts through Stefanos' tirade. "Everything I've done, every secret I've kept, was to protect Isabella. To keep her safe from this world."
The room falls silent, the tension palpable. I can feel Antonio shift beside me, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
"Protect me?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. "By faking your death? By letting me think I was alone all these years?"
My mother's eyes fill with tears. "I failed you, my love. I thought I could shield you from this life, but I was wrong. And now..." She breaks off, coughing violently.
Alexandros leans forward, his voice low. "Your mother holds information that could destroy empires, Isabella. Information that could reshape the underworld as we know it. If she dies without passing it on..."
"It gets released anyway," my mother finishes, her voice ragged. "To every major player in our world. It's my insurance policy. I know better than to believe in happily-ever-afters."
The realization hits me like a tidal wave. My mother, even on her deathbed, wields a power that makes these hardened men tremble. She's been playing a long game, one I can barely comprehend.
"And my blood?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. "How does that fit into all this?"
"It could save me," she says softly. "Give me time to set things right. To protect you properly this time. The doctors used a new immunotherapy with you and since you and I were already a match, the way your blood now works could save me."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. This woman, who I've mourned for years, who's apparently been pulling strings from the shadows all this time... she's still my mother. The one who used to bandage my scraped knees after dance practice, who sang me to sleep on stormy nights.
"I don't know if I can trust you," I say, opening my eyes to meet her gaze.
My mother's face contorts with pain. "Isabella, my darling," she begins, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know I've hurt you. I know I've made mistakes. When I heard about what your father was planning... I tried to stop it. I leaked information to Antonio's mother, thinking she could help. But it backfired, horribly. I never meant for her to die, for you to suffer like that."
She pauses, taking a shaky breath. "Do you remember the lullaby I used to sing to you? About the little bird learning to fly?"
The memory hits me like a punch to the gut. I nod, not trusting my voice.
"That's what I've been trying to do all these years. To give you wings strong enough to fly away from all of this. I failed, and I'm so sorry for that. But if you help me now, I swear to you, I'll use every bit of information I have, every secret I've kept, to set you free."
Her eyes lock onto mine, intense despite her weakened state. "I have information that could protect Antonio, that could ensure Elena's safety. I know things about your father's plans, about the other families. Information that could change everything."
As she speaks, a realization dawns on me. Saving her might be my only chance to get the full truth, to understand the web I've been caught in all these years. It might be the key to protecting not just myself, but Antonio, Elena, and everyone else I care about.
"If you help me now," my mother continues, "I promise I'll give you everything. All the knowledge, all the power I've accumulated. You'll have what you need to protect yourself and those you love."
Her words hang in the air, heavy with promise and the weight of years lost. I feel torn, caught between the hurt of abandonment and the fierce love I still feel for her. But more than that, I feel the weight of possibility - the chance to finally take control of my own destiny.
I feel Antonio's hand grip my thigh, his fingers digging in almost painfully. "Don't," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes, when they meet mine, are dark with warning. "Isabella, this isn't-"
But I cut him off, placing my hand over his. "I need to do this," I say softly, holding his gaze. For a moment, I see a flicker of something - concern? fear? - in his eyes before The Beast reasserts itself.
He leans back, his jaw clenched and I know this isn’t the end of this discussion. I can feel the tension radiating off him, his disapproval clear in every line of his body. But he doesn't stop me. At least, not now.
I turn back to the screen, to my mother's expectant face. "What do I need to do?" I ask, my voice ringing clear in the tension-filled room.