Isabella #3
“I know I’ve hurt you…” Elio closes his eyes again, and this time, he does not hide from what he wants.
He nuzzles against my palm with such quiet, devastating surrender that my heart fractures straight down the middle.
“I am sorry, Isabella. For everything. I truly am. You have every reason to hate me.”
For one unbearable second, we are not enemies.
We are not a Russo and a Conti fighting on opposite sides of the table.
We are not the abandoned woman and the man who left.
We are only two people standing in the wreckage of what we might have been if our families had not gotten in the way before we found happiness.
“You don’t have to forgive me.” His eyes open. The eyes still know how to undo me. The grief in them is ugly and human, wretched enough to feel real. “But please… let me help you end this.”
My heart pounds so hard, I feel sick with it.
I want to believe him. That is the worst part. After everything… some ruined little piece of me still wants to let his apology mean something.
I rip my hand away before I can forgive him and take every word of vitriol I’ve hurled his way back. I turn away from him quickly, pressing one hand to my mouth as my fingers tremble against my lips.
I will not cry in front of him. I will not let him see that the apology has touched a raw part inside my chest. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing there is still a part of me stupid enough to ache for him.
I head for the door without another word. My hands are slick with sweat when I reach for the handle. For one horrible second, I fumble with it like a frightened girl instead of the strategist I am trying so desperately to be.
The metal slips beneath my fingers, forcing me to tighten my grip and pull it open.
Cooler air spills in from the hallway.
Davide is already waiting outside. He stands a few feet away with two guards posted behind him, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. He does not ask what happened. He simply waits while I step through and pull the door shut behind me.
The soft click of it closing feels far too final.
I sag back against it, giving myself just this one moment of weakness before I gather myself. I drag in one breath, then another, each one ragged enough to scrape my throat. When I finally speak, my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“I think he’ll be useful.”
Davide’s face does not change, but his expression tightens.
I force myself upright, peeling my body from the door as if I can peel away the moment that just happened too from my soul.
“As long as we keep him isolated, we can use him against his family.”
Davide’s expression grows grim. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
A humorless laugh almost escapes me. As if danger has not already moved into my life, eaten from my table, slept under my roof, and learned my son’s name.
“I know.” I turn to face him fully. “Having the Conti underboss under our roof is the best insurance we have right now. He knows their structure and their weaknesses. He knows how his father and brother think, who they trust, who they own. If we can use this opportunity to our advantage, we can crush the Contis before they make another move against you.”
The strategist within me rises to the surface once more, dragged out of deep water and forced to breathe in fresh oxygen. My heart is still a mess inside my chest and my palm still tingles from the feel of Elio’s face resting in it, but none of that matters now.
“We can use that to our advantage as long as he’s kept secured,” I continue. “No phones. No unsupervised conversations. If he is truly here to help, he will tolerate it. If he isn’t, we find out quickly if this is some kind of distraction and will deal with him accordingly.”
Davide studies me for a long moment, then he nods slowly.
“Understood.” He turns slightly toward one of the guards.
“Elio Conti is to remain under watch twenty-four, seven. No communication devices. No personal effects until cleared. He is not to leave whatever room we assign him without four men present. If he asks for Isabella, the request comes to me first.”
I cut in. “To me.”
Davide looks back at me.
“If he asks for me, I’ll decide whether he gets an answer,” I say.
He nods after another brief moment. “To Isabella first.”
The guard dips his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Search his car again,” Davide adds. “Bring me the ledger. If there is anything else in that vehicle, I want it on my desk.”
After the guards leave, the hallway settles into a quiet so tense, I can hear my own pulse pounding in my ears again.
Davide turns back to me. “You trust the ledger?”
“I trust my father,” I say.
“And Elio?”
My throat tightens at the question.
Do I trust him?
No.
Do I believe he came here with a truth that might help us?
Yes.
Do I believe he wants Alessio stopped?
Perhaps.
Do I believe he is actually remorseful?
I do not have an answer for that. Not even deep inside my own head. Whatever Elio’s true motivations are for doing all of this is anyone’s guess, most of all, mine. Until I can figure out if he’s indeed being as truthful as he says he is, I have to treat him accordingly.
Eventually, I shrug. “I trust that he hates his brother right now. That kind of hatred can be useful.”
“I believe your father would have made the same assessment.”
I blow out a slow breath and start walking past him.
Davide falls into step beside me for a few paces, though he does not crowd me. “Where are you going?”
“To check on Matteo.”
He does not try to stop me.
The hallway stretches ahead, quiet and dimly lit. As I walk back upstairs, my mind is already spinning.
If Elio is telling the truth, then Alessio’s entire legitimacy may be able to be dismantled. If that ledger proves what my father suspected of him, then perhaps the Conti family will crumble, after all. But only time will truly tell.
I just pray I haven’t invited a wolf into the house only to watch it tear us apart from the inside out.