Chapter Twenty-Seven
The room was suffocating.
Isla sat in the high-backed chair, her wrists bound tightly in front of her, her pulse steady despite the storm brewing inside her. The old villa her father had brought her to was unfamiliar, yet it reeked of the same power and manipulation she had grown up around. The walls were lined with dark wood panels, the furniture ornate, carefully placed—a home meant to impress, not to comfort.
Her father, Leonardo Marino, stood before her, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit with casual precision. He looked at her the way one might examine a broken chess piece—something that had outlived its usefulness.
"You look tired, my dear," Leonardo mused, his voice smooth, controlled, like a man who had already won. "Perhaps life with DeLuca has taken more from you than you’re willing to admit."
Isla met his gaze, her expression unreadable, even as anger curled in her chest. "Is that why you had me taken? Out of concern for my well-being?"
Leonardo chuckled, the sound devoid of any real amusement. "Concern? No, Isla. I did what was necessary. You were becoming a complication."
She scoffed. "A complication? I am your daughter."
His expression didn’t shift, but there was something colder in his eyes now, something final. "And that was always your greatest flaw. You believed that being my daughter meant you were untouchable. That blood meant something in this world. But you were never meant to last, Isla. You were meant to serve your purpose, then disappear."
A chill slithered down her spine, but she refused to let it show. "Disappear?" Her voice was steady, but the weight of his words pressed against her ribs like a vice. "You mean die."
Leonardo exhaled, as if he were tired of explaining something obvious. "Matteo was supposed to be a tool, Isla. A man I could control, one whose ambition could be shaped to serve me. And for a time, he was. He played the game, followed the rules. But then—" His lips curled into something almost like disgust. "Then he became attached to you. And that, my dear, was a problem."
Isla’s fingers twitched, her pulse hammering in her ears.
"He was never supposed to love you," Leonardo continued, stepping closer, lowering his voice as if imparting a final lesson. "Men like him don’t love. They consume. And once I saw what you had become to him—once I saw that you had become his weakness—I had to destroy him another way. Through you."
The breath stalled in her lungs, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "You wanted him to kill me."
Leonardo’s smirk was slow, cruel. "I gave him every opportunity. And when he didn’t, when he refused to let go, I knew then that he was no longer someone I could control."
Isla’s nails dug into her palms, rage simmering beneath her skin. "You never wanted peace. You never wanted this marriage to work. You just wanted to break him."
Leonardo shrugged. "A man like Matteo is far more dangerous when he thinks he has something to lose. And I made sure you were the thing he could never keep."
Her chest tightened, but she swallowed back the emotion clawing at her throat.
"You underestimated him," she whispered. "Just like you underestimated me."
For the first time, a flicker of something crossed her father’s face—uncertainty.
Good.
Because this time, she wasn’t playing his game.
She was ending it.
Leonardo stepped closer, his fingers trailing along the edge of the chair she was bound to, slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. "You’re my daughter, Isla, but Matteo will never truly love you. Men like him don’t love. They own. He will keep you locked in his world, and you will never be more than a possession."
Isla forced herself to stay still, to let his words slide off her like oil on water. But inside, a slow burn ignited.
"And what do you call this?" she shot back, her voice sharp, unwavering. "You have me tied to a chair, deciding my fate like I’m nothing. That’s not protection. That’s power. And you hate that Matteo took it from you."
For the first time, Leonardo’s carefully constructed mask cracked. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. Frustration? Contempt? Fear?
"Matteo was a weapon I intended to wield," he admitted, his voice low, taut. "I thought I could shape him, control him. But you—you ruined that. You made him dangerous. He doesn’t see clearly anymore. And that makes him a liability."
A cold chill slid down Isla’s spine, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she smiled. Slow. Mocking. "You’re afraid of him."
Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I’m giving you a chance to walk away from this. A clean exit. You vanish, leave this life behind, and you live. You stay, and you will never be free of him."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "You don’t want me to walk away, Father. You want me to run, so you can justify what happens next."
Leonardo exhaled, standing tall again, but something had shifted in his posture—an edge of impatience, a hint of desperation. "I don’t expect you to understand. But I won’t let you destroy everything I’ve built."
Isla clenched her fists, the rope biting into her skin. "And if I don’t agree?"
Leonardo’s expression darkened, his voice dipping into something colder. "Then you will force my hand. And I will do what I should have done from the beginning."
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her chin high. "You’d kill your own daughter?"
His face was unreadable, blank like marble. "I’d make the necessary choice."
Silence stretched between them, thick, suffocating. Isla knew what he was doing—planting doubt, trying to chip away at her before Matteo could come. Because Matteo would come. Of that, she had no doubt.
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "Matteo will find me. And when he does, there won’t be anything left of this place but ash."
Leonardo smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Then let’s see who gets to you first."
He turned, his footsteps slow, controlled, the weight of his decision already settled in his mind. The heavy door groaned shut behind him, the lock sliding into place with a chilling finality.
Isla stared at the door, her breath steady, her mind already working.
She had been a pawn in this war long enough.
It was time to burn the board.
****
For a long moment, Isla sat motionless, absorbing the weight of what had just happened. The throbbing pain in her side was a brutal reminder that she wasn’t at full strength, that every move she made had to be calculated. The cold bite of the rope against her wrists was nothing compared to the icy grip of fear curling in her stomach.
She had always known her father was ruthless, but this—this was something else.
She shifted slightly, testing the tightness of the binds, but the movement sent a sharp lance of pain through her wounded side. She bit back a gasp, forcing herself to breathe through it. The bindings were too tight to slip free of, but not impossible to break. She just needed time—and time was the one thing she didn’t have.
Outside the door, the low murmur of voices filtered in, their tones hushed but firm. Leonardo had stationed guards close, making sure there was no chance of another escape. They had learned from last time.
Her gaze flicked around the dimly lit room, cataloging everything. The ornate desk in the corner—probably locked, but maybe holding something sharp enough to cut through the ropes. The bookshelves lining the walls, filled with heavy volumes that could serve as distractions or weapons. The heavy curtains framing the window, but she knew better than to assume there was an easy way out.
Even if she managed to free herself, she needed a way out that didn’t get her shot again.
Her father had made one thing clear—if she didn’t escape soon, she wouldn’t be leaving this place alive.
A soft creak from outside the door caught her attention. She stilled, straining to listen past the pulse pounding in her ears. Footsteps. Then a hushed voice.
"We need to move her soon."
A second voice responded, lower, rougher. "Not until Leonardo gives the order. We wait."
Isla’s pulse quickened. They weren’t planning to keep her here much longer. If Matteo didn’t find her soon, she’d be gone—moved somewhere even harder to reach. Somewhere Matteo wouldn’t find her in time.
She clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She couldn’t afford to wait. Matteo would come for her. That much she knew. But he couldn’t save her if she wasn’t here.
She twisted her wrists again, ignoring the sting of rope cutting deeper into her skin. The movement jostled her wound, sending a fresh wave of pain tearing through her ribs. Her breathing hitched, sweat dampening her brow. She couldn’t afford to pass out. She couldn’t afford weakness.
One thing was certain.
She had to get out—before her father made her disappear for good.