Chapter 45 On The Yacht
Isabella’s POV
The car eventually slowed.
I opened my eyes when I felt the vehicle turn and roll over a different surface.
Gravel.
A few seconds later, Alexander parked.
I looked out the window.
A private marina stretched out in front of us, the water glittering under the late afternoon sun.
But what caught my attention wasn’t the water.
It was the yacht.
Huge.
White.
Elegant.
And absurdly luxurious.
It towered over the smaller boats around it like a floating mansion.
I blinked once.
Then twice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Alexander got out of the car and walked around to my side.
He opened the door without saying a word.
I stepped out slowly, staring up at the massive yacht.
“This is where we’re going?” I asked flatly.
“Yes.”
My eyes narrowed slightly.
“Of course it is.”
He ignored the sarcasm and offered his hand to help me up the narrow dock toward the boat.
I hesitated before taking it.
Not because I needed help.
Because I still didn’t trust him.
But the dock rocked slightly under my heels, and after a moment I took his hand anyway.
His grip was careful.
Gentle.
He helped me step onto the yacht.
The moment my feet touched the deck, I realized the inside was even more ridiculous than the outside.
Polished wood floors.
Cream-colored seating.
Glass railings.
Soft lighting already prepared for evening.
A table had been set near the front deck overlooking the ocean.
White tablecloth.
Candles.
Wine glasses.
The whole thing looked like something out of a luxury travel magazine.
I folded my arms.
“So this is the part where you kill me and dump my body in the ocean?”
Alexander blinked.
“What?”
I shrugged casually as I walked farther onto the deck.
“I mean, this is kind of the perfect setup.”
I gestured toward the endless stretch of water surrounding us.
“No witnesses.”
“No cameras.”
“No one around for miles.”
I turned to look at him.
“You’re a mafia boss.”
My voice stayed calm.
“You bring me into the middle of the ocean.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Seems like a pretty good place to get rid of a body.”
His expression darkened immediately.
I continued walking toward the table.
“And honestly,” I added lightly, “I’m the perfect person to kill.”
He frowned.
“What?”
I shrugged again.
“I only have one real friend.”
“Sarah.”
“And my mom.”
“That’s about it.”
I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
“So if I disappear, it’s not like there’s a long list of people searching for me.”
“Just the two of them.”
Alexander didn’t move.
He stood there staring at me.
And for a second I thought he might laugh.
But he didn’t.
The look on his face was anything but amused.
“That’s not true,” he said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“They’re not the only people who care about you.”
I leaned back in the chair slightly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And who exactly are these mystery people?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“I care about you.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
But when I looked at his face—
He wasn’t laughing.
At all.
His expression was completely serious.
Something in my chest shifted uncomfortably.
Before I could respond, a server appeared on the deck carrying a tray.
Perfect timing.
The man began placing dishes on the table.
Beautiful dishes.
Expensive dishes.
Seafood.
Fresh vegetables.
Perfectly plated meals that looked like they belonged in a five-star restaurant.
Alexander pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
The boat slowly began moving away from the dock.
I watched the water instead of him.
When the food was served, I picked up my fork.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
The first bite was incredible.
I didn’t react.
But I kept eating.
Alexander noticed.
“You like it,” he said quietly.
I ignored him.
Another bite.
Then another.
The food really was amazing.
But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that.
He tried again.
“Isabella—”
“Don’t.”
He sighed slightly.
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
“Watch me.”
Silence fell over the table again.
The boat continued gliding smoothly across the water.
The sun slowly began lowering toward the horizon.
Alexander tried speaking again a few minutes later.
“Did you—”
“No.”
“I didn’t even finish the question.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He leaned back in his chair slightly.
“You’re very stubborn.”
“I have good reasons.”
He tried again.
“So your friend Sarah—”
“Stop.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re impossible to talk to.”
“That’s the idea.”
More silence.
The main course disappeared from my plate.
I hated to admit it.
But the meal really was incredible.
The server returned again, this time placing dessert in front of us.
Chocolate.
Fruit.
Something elegant and expensive-looking.
Alexander hadn’t eaten much.
Mostly he had been watching me.
Studying me.
Trying to figure out how to break through the wall I had built around myself.
Now he looked… lost.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Completely lost.
His shoulders were tense, but his posture had changed somehow. The confidence he usually carried around like armor was gone. He looked like a man who had stepped into a situation he didn’t know how to fix.
And the worst part was—
He looked like he was trying.
Really trying.
I told myself he deserved this.
After what he did to me, he deserved every bit of coldness I was throwing at him.
But still…
Something in my chest twisted when I looked at him.
Because for a moment I remembered something else.
The video.
The one I saw in that locked room.
The voice yelling at him.
Calling him useless.
Weak.
The sound of someone hitting him.
That memory flashed through my mind so suddenly it made my stomach tighten.
And suddenly the man sitting in front of me didn’t just look lost.
He looked like someone who had been lost for a very long time.
My heart felt… guilty.
He hurt you.
I reminded myself of that.
He cut you.
Don’t forget that.
But I found myself watching him.
Really watching him.
He looked uncomfortable.
Restless.
Like he was trying to think of the right thing to say and failing every time.
His fingers tapped once against the table.
Then stopped.
Then started again.
Finally I let out a quiet breath.
“Talk.”
His head lifted immediately.
“What?”
“Talk,” I repeated.
He blinked.
“About what?”
“About you.”
His expression shifted slightly.
“Why?”
“Because sitting here watching you panic is awkward.”
That wasn’t the real reason.
But I wasn’t about to admit the real one.
His brows pulled together slightly.
“I’m not panicking.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re tapping the table like you’re waiting for an execution.”
His fingers immediately stopped moving.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I said finally.
He stared at me like he wasn’t sure he heard me right.
“Something about me?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“You’ve never asked that before.”
“I know.”
“And you want to now?”
“Don’t get excited,” I said quickly.
My voice sharpened again.
“I’m not forgetting what you did.”
The words hung between us.
“I’m not forgiving you either,” I added.
His gaze dropped briefly.
“I know.”
“But sitting here in silence is stupid,” I continued.
“So talk.”
For a second he just stared at me.
Then something unexpected happened.
His expression changed.
Relief.
Actual relief.
Like the fact that I was speaking to him at all was more than he expected.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“Well?”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“You’re not making this easy.”
“Good.”
A small breath of laughter escaped him.
It was short.
But real.
“I like black coffee,” he said after a moment.
I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s your big reveal?”
“You said something about me.”
“I meant something interesting.”
“I’m working up to that.”
“Try harder.”
He glanced down at the table again.
Then back at me.
“I hate loud places,” he said.
That caught my attention slightly.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Too many people. Too much noise.”
His fingers moved once against the table again.
“Hard to focus.”
I studied him carefully.
“You run businesses and mafia operations,” I said slowly.
“And loud places bother you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s… ironic.”
He gave a small half-smile.
“I never said I was normal.”
“No,” I said quietly.
“You definitely didn’t.”
Another small silence passed between us.
Then he looked at me again.
More carefully this time.
“You remembered something from that room,” he said.
My chest tightened slightly.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re looking at me differently.”
I leaned back in my chair again.
Your father did that to you.”
The moment the words left my mouth, something changed in his face.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
More like a door inside him cracked open a little and he hated that I had noticed.
His eyes dropped to the table. His fingers, which had finally gone still, curled slightly against the wood.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
I almost thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then, very quietly, he said, “Yes.”
Just one word.
But it carried weight.
Heavy. Old. Bitter.
I watched him carefully. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was staring somewhere past my shoulder, like the memory was alive in front of him.
“What did he do?” I asked softly.
His jaw tightened.
“A lot.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, and he knew it.
“Was it always like that?” I asked softly.
He inhaled slowly through his nose.
The kind of breath someone takes when they’re preparing themselves to walk into something painful.
“Yes.”
Another short answer.
But this one sounded heavier.
“From when I was a kid,” he continued after a moment. “As long as I can remember.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
He let out a low breath that almost sounded like a laugh, except there was no humor in it.
“Because he believed weakness needed to be beaten out of people.”
His voice had gone flatter now.
Controlled.
Like he was repeating something he had heard too many times.
“He used to say softness makes men useless.”
His eyes flicked up to mine for half a second.
Then back down again.
“He said pain teaches discipline.”
My stomach twisted.
“And if pain didn’t fix it…” he added quietly, “then the person wasn’t worth fixing.”
The words sat between us like something heavy.