45. Isabella
Chapter forty-five
Isabella
M orning light filters through the windows, but nothing's magically changed overnight. No lightbulb moment, no sudden clarity about where we stand or what to do next. The world's still a mess of complications and half-truths.
But after spending time with Naomi, I feel... not better, exactly, but steadier. Like I've found my center again, the way I used to before a difficult performance.
Naomi's still sprawled across my bed, softly snoring. Me? I'm up with the sun, cradling a mug of coffee that's more comfort than caffeine at this point. Cerberus follows me around.
And together, we wander into the interior garden, the cool morning air prickling my skin. It reminds me of early mornings at the studio, that moment of calm before the day's brutal rehearsals began.
Back then, I'd close my eyes and visualize my performance. See myself executing each move flawlessly, hear the swell of the music, feel the burn in my muscles. And at the end, always at the end, I'd picture the standing ovation, the roar of the crowd.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” I pet the companion by my side, wondering what I should be visualizing now.
Maybe what I'm working towards. The future's a blank stage, and I'm not sure what dance I'm supposed to be performing.
But I'm here. I'm breathing. And sometimes, that's all you can do when everything's turned upside down.
I take another sip of my coffee, savoring the warmth and the quiet of the morning. It's a moment of peace in the chaos of my life, and I'm determined to hold onto it for as long as I can.
Cerberus lets out a soft growl, pulling me from my thoughts. His ears perk up, his body tensing beside me. "What is it, boy? Sensing trouble?"
As if on cue, I hear footsteps approaching. Soft, but deliberate, like someone trying to be noticed. I turn, already knowing who I'll see.
"He's going to leave you, you know."
Paola. Perfect. She's been keeping a low profile lately, but now she's here, walking towards me like she's got all the answers.
"You've been saying that for a while now," I reply, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. It's too early for this game of jealousy and spite.
"If you leave, he'll need someone to take care of Elena. He'll need someone in his bed." Her words are sharp, aimed to hurt. "He's never been one to stay alone for long."
I wait for the jealousy to hit, that familiar twist in my gut. But there's nothing. Just a calm certainty settling over me. Because I know Antonio, perhaps better than I'd like to admit. He won't let anyone near Elena unless they pass his impossibly high standards. And Paola? She's not even in the running.
I look at her, really look at her. What I see is a woman who's been playing by someone else's rules for too long. Someone who gave her heart to a man who couldn't - or wouldn't - love her back.
I know better than thinking in another life we could have been friends, but who knows? In a world where we would both be happy?
"I don't think you really know him," I tell her. My voice isn't cruel, but it's not gentle either. It's the voice of someone who's survived cancer, betrayal, and a mafia auction. Petty games don't even register anymore.
“I know how he likes to take over, to bind your wrists to the bed. To push you against a wall and lift your skirt to bury himself deep inside of you,” Paola says, her words dripping with suggestion. "How he can make you arch your back and beg with just his tongue."
I shake my head, but the images flash through my mind unbidden. The heat of Antonio's mouth, the strength of his hands, the way he can unravel me with a single touch.
She gives me a smile filled with power and passion. “I know how he pounds into you and how his calloused fingers feel when they tighten around your nipple. I know the sounds he makes when he comes, when he lets go, and brings you over the edge.” She keeps stepping forward until Cerberus plants himself in front of me like a furry shield. She inches back, but her words don't stop.
I stay silent. We're not comparing notes here. This isn't some sleepover game of 'I Never'.
"I know he doesn't like to be touched," she murmurs, and that's when our eyes meet.
And there it is. The thing that tells me she doesn't know Antonio at all. Because with me, he craves touch. My touch. He seeks it out like a man starved. I’ve traced his scars with my lips, my fingers... I would trace them with the heart he shattered if I could. Despite the reservations, despite the pain still lingering deep inside of me, I know him.
But I don't say this. I don't tell her about the way he rasps my name out when my hand roam his chest, or how he buries his face in my neck, breathing me in like I'm his air.
I don't owe her any explanations. Instead, I just look at her, really look at her, and I see someone desperate to prove she matters. It's almost sad, in a way.
"Paola," I say, my voice steady, “whatever you think you know about Antonio, about us... it's not the whole picture. And it's not your picture to paint anymore."
Cerberus suddenly perks up, his tail wagging furiously. My body tenses before I even realize why, a primal awareness that sends goosebumps racing across my skin. Great, I'm turning into the human version of a radar for the Beast. What's next, growing fur?
"Just so we're clear," Antonio's voice rumbles from behind me, low and dangerous.
I turn to see him approaching, each step deliberate and powerful. He moves like a predator, all coiled strength and barely restrained fury. The air around us seems to crackle with tension, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
He stops just short of us, his eyes locked on Paola. When he speaks, his words are clipped, each one a thinly veiled threat. "The only reason you're still here, Paola, is because of our past. Because you helped me once."
He pauses, letting the words sink in. I can almost feel the weight of them, heavy and oppressive in the air between us. Paola's face pales, her earlier bravado crumbling under Antonio's intense gaze.
"And," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "because you're easier to keep an eye on inside than outside." His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking visibly. "I no longer trust you. That's the only reason you're still on this compound."
Paola opens her mouth, but Antonio cuts her off with a look that could freeze hell itself. "Now leave," he growls, the command brooking no argument. "I need to talk to my wife.
As she scurries away, tail between her legs (and now I'm thinking in dog metaphors, fantastic), I turn to face Antonio.
For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I know is coming.
"I know you probably have a thousand reasons for me not to go to Greece," I say, my voice quiet but firm.
Antonio's jaw clenches. "I have a million."
I nod, acknowledging the weight of his concerns. "But I need to go. I need to see my mother. I need to know... whatever she's not telling me."
His eyes search mine. I can see the protest forming on his lips, but I press on.
"I know it's dangerous. I know there's more going on than we understand. But this might be my only chance to get answers. To understand where I come from, who I really am."
I watch as he battles with himself, his need to protect me warring with the understanding in his eyes. This is the crossroads, I realize.
Whatever he says next will shape everything that follows.
But Antonio doesn't speak. Not right away. Instead, he takes my now-cold mug of coffee, setting it on the window sill beside us. His hand finds mine, warm and calloused, sending a familiar jolt through me.
"Come sit with me for a moment," he says, his voice low. "Please."
That 'please' catches me off guard. It's not a word the Beast uses often. I nod, my heart doing a grand jeté into my throat.
There's a heaviness to him, a weight in his eyes that speaks of pain and worries I can't quite decipher. It makes me nervous, jittery.
We walk through the outside garden--a tangle compared to the interior one. Cerberus trots along, our faithful furry shadow. We pass wild roses that would make my old ballet master weep with envy, their perfume hanging thick in the air.
And then I see it - a stone bench I've never noticed before, since I couldn’t see it from my jail and I’ve never been to this area of the garden, overlooking the restless ocean below. It's like something out of a tragic romance novel.
"The legend goes that the son of the first owner of the fortress built this bench," Antonio says, his voice rough with something I can't quite place. "He built it waiting for his lover to return. Refused to believe the sea had taken her. Couldn't accept he'd never see her again."
The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I can't help but wonder - is this Antonio's roundabout way of telling me something? With him, I've learned, there's always more beneath the surface.
"Did she...?" I pause, my voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "Come back?"
I stare out at the vast ocean, wondering how far Greece is from here. It seems impossible, unreachable.
A part of me wishes Antonio could come with me, throw caution to the wind like we're in some romantic movie. But that's not who he is. He's a man weighed down by responsibility, by the lives that depend on him.
And Elena. God, Elena.
He'd never leave his little girl behind. And I'd never ask him to.
His fingers trace patterns on my palm, sending little sparks up my arm. I lean against him, breathing in his scent - spice and danger and something uniquely him.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind wonders if this is all just a prelude to him locking me up again. Despite our progress. Despite his promises. It's a reminder that I haven't forgiven him. Not completely. Maybe not ever.
"I don't know," Antonio finally answers, his voice rough like sandpaper. "There are different endings to that story. Some say she came back to haunt him, Drove him insane."
"Why was she at sea?" I ask, curiosity piqued. "What were the other endings?"
"She was at sea because he drove her there. She was his prisoner. And she escaped in the middle of the night."
The parallel isn't lost on me. I swallow hard, thinking of my own escape attempts, my own captivity.
"Maybe she survived and thrived," I whisper, more to myself than to him. Maybe, like me, she found strength she never knew she had. "Maybe she'd have come back if he had given her a choice." I turn to look at Antonio, really look at him. My husband. The Beast. The man who's both my nightmare and my dream. "We're not some fairytale, Antonio. We're not a local legend to be whispered about."
My hand reaches out, almost of its own accord, to touch his scarred face. The roughness under my fingertips is familiar, a map of pain and survival. "You need to let me make my own choices." I pause, tasting the truth of my next words. "And I'll come back."
"What if you don't?" His voice is low, raw. "What if you can't? What if you choose something else? Someone else?" He takes a deep breath, and I can almost see the weight of his thoughts. "I fucked up, Isabella. In so many ways. I was blind, consumed by a revenge that burned everything else away."
His words hit me and images of the auction, of those months stuck in my jail, of those years longing for him only to be burned by him float back to my mind. "I've had a lot of time to think," I tell him "Sleepless nights wondering about our pasts. What's the one thing that could have changed our present?"
Antonio's laugh is dry, but I hear the pain behind it. It's a sound I know too well, the sound of regret and what-ifs. Even Cerberus picks up on it, lifting his head for a moment before deciding we're not going anywhere and flopping back down.
I watch Antonio, this man who's hurt me, saved me, confused me. And I realize, with a clarity that takes my breath away, that our dance isn't over yet. It's just changing tempo.
As if sensing my realization, Antonio breaks the silence. "And...?" he asks, his voice strained. His eyes search mine, desperate for answers. It's like he thinks I'm holding the key to his redemption in my hands.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. "And I don't know. We can't know. But I wonder if without that thirst for revenge, you wouldn't have disappeared."
Antonio flinches at my words, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His hand tightens on mine, almost painfully. But then he brings my wrist to his lips, kissing it so softly that my heart does a little forgotten pirouette in my chest.
"The Antonio I knew," I continue, my voice wavering slightly, "the one who played the piano for me, who was trying so hard to be liked by my father... he's still there."
His eyes close at my words, pain etched across his features. When he opens them again, there's a vulnerability there that takes my breath away. His lips brush my knuckles, lingering on my wedding ring. The touch sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of all the ways he can unravel me.
"But he's no longer bound to trying so hard he forgets himself," I murmur, barely audible over the crashing waves.
Antonio's breath catches, his body tensing beside me. For a moment, I think he might pull away. Instead, he leans in, resting his forehead against mine. The gesture is so intimate, so raw, that it makes my chest ache.
"But what if I still would burn the world for you?" Antonio whispers, his voice raw. "Scorch everything not to hurt you, but to make sure you're safe? What if I still hate myself for what I've done to you? There aren't enough sorrys, not enough roses, not enough time..."
I've waited so long to hear him say these things, and now that he has, I'm not sure how to react.
I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat. "You need to let me go," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "You need to believe me when I say I'll be back. I'm not the only reason you're who you are."
Antonio leans back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "It's dangerous. Your mother... the Greeks." He pauses, and I can see the internal battle raging behind his eyes. "You're strong. You're you..."
"You didn't break me," I say, surprised by the steel in my own voice. "Not totally. And you tried your hardest. They won't break me either."
"They could make you whole," he says, and the pain in his voice makes my entire body ache. “I know Alexandros is dreaming about it.” His jaw clenches.
"They won't," I insist, grabbing his hand. "Antonio, my Beast, my husband, listen to me again. I'll be back."
He inhales deeply, and I can almost see the gears turning in his mind. "I'm thinking about having Franco go with you. And I need three days. Three days to make sure I have what I need in place. A team in Greece, including a doctor for you. A secure way to communicate."
And just like that, I know. I know with a certainty that he's going to let me go. The realization sends my heart fluttering in my chest, like standing on the edge of a stage, ready to perform the most important dance of my life.
"Okay," I breathe, hardly daring to believe it. "Okay."