2. Isabella
CHAPTER 2
Isabella
I had fucked up big time. Whatever came next was my own goddamn fault.
Pain radiated between my legs, stretching into my belly, but I forced myself to stand straight and look my father in the face.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, wincing when I tripped over my own words.
My father clicked his tongue against his teeth. The sound sent a wave of revulsion through me. “I’m so…disappointed in you, Isabella,” he said.
A laugh lodged itself in my throat like a blade dug deep into my larynx, and I watched as his eyes narrowed. His mouth dropped into a frown, but with a blink, it was gone again. “You’re disappointed in me,” I said.
My father hummed and leaned back into my couch, and I got a glimpse of a holster threaded through his belt. My chest went tight: he had a gun.
“I always thought of you as a girl who would do anything for her family,” he said. The tone in his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
All of the nihilistic humor that had struck me was gone in an instant, replaced with white-hot rage. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did he seriously think that he could scold me right now?
“You let that fucker Vitali get his hooks into you,” he spat. White spittle coated his chin, and he wiped it away with a vicious gesture. Anger flashed across his face again, more unhinged this time. I felt a tug in my belly, and I sank my teeth into the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. I wasn’t going to get very far if I tried to run, not in this state, and even if he hadn’t pulled it out…I couldn’t forget about the gun.
“What did you expect me to do?” I asked. “What did you think Lorenzo Vitali would do to me?”
He scowled. “He wasn’t supposed to keep you.”
“So, what was meant to happen?” I pressed. “Was Lorenzo supposed to take his pound of flesh and send me back to you?”
My father sneered. “Better that than to end up his whore.”
The look on his face made me laugh, even as I wanted to grab my belly as another tug sent pain radiating through me. “What’s wrong with being a whore?” I asked, panting slightly. “You can spend all of the money that you don’t actually have to buy women, but you have a problem with me doing what I need to do in order to survive? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”
He stared at me, head cocked. “Are you in pain?”
Fuck . “Would you care if I was? You were fine with me losing a kidney before.”
He scoffed. “But you didn’t, did you?”
“Oh, fuck you. You don’t have to pretend that you care about me.”
My father sprang up, and I flinched back, keeping distance between us. My eyes dipped to the holster on his belt again. Did I have any weapons in the apartment? The only thing that came to mind was the knife drawer in the kitchen, and knives weren’t going to do a thing against a gun. “You’re my daughter,” he insisted. “You’re mine to?—”
“To what?” The question came out in a shout.
The anger that drove his sudden movement seemed to evaporate. His face shifted into a facsimile of pity. “It’s my job to protect you, Izzie,” he said. “I’m your father.”
Bile rose in my throat. It happened every time I heard that godforsaken nickname that he only ever used when he wanted something from me. Like he was trying to butter me up. “Don’t call me that. You’ve never been a father to me. You ran up more than a million goddamn dollars in debt and tried to sell me to pay it off.” A humorless laugh bubbled from my throat, but it ended with a gasp as another cramp rolled through me.
I had to get out of here. A list of options ran through my head,
He stared at me for what felt like a long time, and then his mask dropped. Whatever had remained of my father was finally stripped away: his eyes went cold and dead. “I’m tired of this,” he announced.
I scoffed. “I think that’s the first thing we’ve ever agreed on.” He reached for the gun on his hip and pulled it out. He racked a bullet into the chamber, eyes on me the whole while. My heart jumped into my throat, but I kept myself still and stoic, taking a page out of Lorenzo’s playbook. “So, you’ve come here to kill me? You don’t think anyone will hear the gunshot?”
My father, no, Santino, hummed in agreement. “My benefactor heard about you and Lorenzo,” he said. “He wasn’t pleased.” He held the gun up for me to see. “He wants Lorenzo to hurt.”
My eyebrows wrinkled inward. “Why would he care?” It was shocking that Santino had been sent to get rid of me. He wasn’t one to get his hands dirty like this. He liked plausible deniability.
Focus , I told myself. I needed to back up, either to get to the kitchen for a knife, or maybe, I could get to the door. I was a quick runner, and my screams would get the neighbors involved.
I shifted backward slowly one step. Then, two. Then… “Stop moving,” Santino grunted. He wasn’t pointing the gun at me yet, but he still waved it, as if to remind me that he had one. “Artem has a vested interest in Lorenzo.” I had heard that name before; it was the Russian man that Lorenzo had been talking about. The one who had been messing with his businesses. “He wants him miserable and broken.”
“What does that have to do with me?” I asked and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look casual, but another cramp racked me, and I shifted to try and alleviate the pain.
“I told you to stop moving,” Santino snapped.
I clutched at my belly. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me,” I panted. “I need to use the restroom.”
Santino laughed, cruel and sharp. “No.” He pointed the gun now.
My heart hammered in my chest. “Lorenzo doesn’t care about me,” I insisted. At Santino’s unimpressed look, I scoffed. “Just because he’s fucking me doesn’t mean he cares about me. I’m nothing more than a high-priced bedwarmer, thanks to you.”
I winced at how close to home that hit for me. Lorenzo might lock me up for the rest of my pregnancy, if he came after me, but surely, he wouldn’t let me live past that. And if I was having a miscarriage, I was dead either way. So, I might as well go out fighting.
“He came running to your rescue before,” Santino pointed out.
“He won’t.” I took another step back towards the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if Santino believed me or not. He was staring intently at my stomach. I glanced down, and I realized that when I had been trying to find a way to get rid of some of the pain, it had pulled my shirt tight, revealing the soft curve of my baby bump. I yanked the shirt so that it was baggy once more, hiding the bump. I made another small step backward. I was even with the kitchen counter now.
“You let that Italian mutt knock you up?” His tone was angry, but a smile, sharp and cruel, created a jagged line across his face. It was like he had just been given a gift from God. He pocketed the gun.
“You’re letting me go?”
Santino guffawed. It was an ugly sound. “I think you’re going to be far more useful to Artem alive,” he said. His eyes dragged down to the curve of my belly. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could fend off his predatory gaze. “For the time being, anyway.”
Letting him take me away from my apartment wasn’t going to end well for me, and I knew it. Gathering all of my courage to keep my face neutral, I walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
I kept my eyes on him as I grabbed a glass and pulled it down. Stepping over to the sink, I turned it on and filled the glass up. “What does it look like?” I asked him and took a sip of the tepid tap water. I wanted to gag, but I kept drinking until I finished the glass.
Comprehension sparked across Santino’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Isabella,” he said. I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet. If I moved fast enough, I could make it. I would fight my way out of here. “Isabella.” His words were a warning.
I sprang for the drawer.