21. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Isabella
P ercy hobbles around me in the back room of The Blue Moon.
“What about these?” he asks, a broad smile on his face as he hands me a pair of huge gold earrings.
I laugh, and we share a smile. “I’m not sure these are my style, but thanks.”
A stumped expression travels across his face. “Give me one moment. The Falcon will find everything you need in no time!” Percy disappears into a closet. He moves fast for a guy with a bad leg.
I glance back at the mirror in front of me, and my heart flutters. The person looking back at me is me, not a stranger designed by someone trying to control me.
“Here you go!” Percy jumps from the closet like a panther leaping from the grass, with a big wooden box in his arms. He places it in front of me and opens it to reveal an enormous collection of jewellery.
“Percy! Where did you get all this?”
He stands up straight and scratches his chin. “Well, it’s not mine. I mean, technically. Well, you know…”
“Percy!” Camilla’s barking voice breaks Percy’s trance. “Where are you?” before he can reply, Camilla pops her head through the door with a scowl on her face. The scowl drops as she sees me, though. “Iz! Where have you been?” She runs over and snatches me into a bear hug that almost sends me unconscious. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
“I tried to.” I laugh. “You were so busy I couldn’t get your attention, and then Percy saw me, and now we’re here.”
“She needed new clothes. She left all hers at her dad’s, so I thought she could have some of your old stuff.”
“I wasn’t going to take anything without telling you, Cam.” I interject.
Camilla glares at her husband before softly swatting him on the head. “You should have told me she was here.” Then she looks at me with a smile. “Take anything you want. I know how important it is to have your style reflect who you are on the inside. Without it, sometimes we feel like people we’re not.”
“Exactly.” I whisper, doing my best to hide the feelings under my skin.
Camilla’s eyes soften, and even Percy seems to notice the melancholy.
“Are you okay, Iz? You know you can talk to us.” says Camilla.
“If it’s the new guy, you just send him my way.” Percy puffs out his chest and twirls his walking stick in his hand to grasp it like a sword. “ The Falcon always saves the day.”
Camilla places her hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t a situation for The Pigeon .”
“Falcon.” He exclaims indignantly, crossing his arms.
Camilla looks back at me, offering me space to talk.
“I think I’m just worried. I know I can fly off the handles sometimes, so I find it hard to tell other people’s true intentions or if they’re trying to control me.”
“Let me meet him. You need some objective third-party help.”
“We’ll sort him out.” Percy waves his stick around, which brings a smile to my face.
Calls from the front of the bar pull Camilla away. She and Percy are the only two working tonight, and the bar is getting busy.
“Percy, help me!” She calls over her shoulder as she disappears back to the front.
“Coming!” He yells back. He stays for a moment longer, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Whatever happens, don’t lose yourself. You’re a beautiful girl, and if you were my daughter, and some moron upset you like this, I’d never let him forget it.”
I don’t know why, but those words really hit me in the chest. “Thanks, Percy, but I don’t even think it’s him. I think it’s something a lot deeper.”
He flashes a sad smile. “It usually is. The older you get, the more you realise the same pain has been chasing you with different faces.” He pauses, staring into the distance, losing himself for a moment. He glances back, the smile broadening into a comforting one. “I know singing always helps you. We’re doing an open mic in an hour. You should perform. Might help clear your head.”
I nod and hug Percy. Camilla yells something about The Pigeon and in the blink of an eye, Percy has hopped out to the front of the bar, leaving me alone with the jewellery and my reflection.
Nikolai
“Why are we at this dead end bar?” Asks Boris, as he looks out at The Blue Moon from the car window.
We step out together and look up at the sign hanging over the bar. A fighter jet flies away from a star and into the letters spelling the bar’s name. The neon light flickers on and off, and half of the letters don’t light up at all.
“Because she’s here.” I growl.
“Of all the places in the world, you think Isabella - who was raised by image-obsessed Don Leonardo - would come here? To some gimmicky karaoke bar?”
I glance at Boris, who is progressively getting on my nerves. “Yes.”
I don’t wait to hear any more complaints. By the time the words leaves my lips, I’m already stalking into the bar.
I walk in like a charging army, ready for fucking war. I asked her to do one thing. One fucking thing to keep her safe. Now anxiety is eating away at my stomach like a disease for a woman who’s causing me nothing but trouble. If she ran into the Irish, or even the Italians, and got hurt, that was on me. I dragged her into this; it’s my responsibility to protect her.
My mind likes to create scenarios I never consent to. The thought of one of Callum O’Shea’s men snatching her from the street digs into my imagination. It feels like every moment passing by without her in my sight, that nightmare becomes more likely. If she was with me, if I could touch her, hold her, then I know she’s safe. No one will ever hurt her while we’re together.
So, when she runs off for no fucking reason, it makes me want to torture some poor fucker I could have finished in five minutes. I move through the bar, glaring at every idiot who dares to make eye contact with me. I barge my way to the front and a short old man hobbles over to serve me.
“What can I get you?” He asks in a sing-song voice, his attention away with the fairies.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Oh?” His eyes dart to mine, and his bushy grey eyebrows furrow.
“Isabella. I know she likes it here.”
The old man sniffs, and then his eyes narrow. For a moment, I could have sworn he was sizing me up like he might swing for me with his walking stick, but there’s no way he could be stupid enough to attack someone twice his size and half his age.
Then, the lights lower, and someone taps a mic. I turn to see a blonde woman speak into the mic on stage. “I hope you’re all ready for some music. Tonight we have a very special guest. An amazing singer, a beautiful person, and a personal friend.” She gestures to the side of the stage where Isabella walks up with a smile on her face. “Isabella!”
The crowd cheers, while my temper begs me to sling her over my shoulder and march her back to Sidorov Mansion. I’m too pissed to do anything but glare at her.
She sits at a piano and adjusts the microphone so it’s right for her. The crowd settles down, and the spotlight falls on her cheekbones. She has piercings in her ears again, and is wearing a short red skirt that makes it hard to hold on to my anger. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I hate that every other guy in here is staring at her with the same thoughts running through their minds. I don’t give a fuck about men looking at her, only when they don’t know she’s mine.
Isabella takes a little breath, her eyes nervously darting up to the crowd for one final look before she plays. I watch her, transfixed, like a stone soldier in Medusa’s lair.
Boris finally catches up with me. “She’s there!” he barks in Russian.
“Quiet.” I snap, commanding him like a dog, while never lifting my eyes from her. She catches me with her voice like a bee to sweet honey.
I’ve heard the song before, but I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t need to know the title to feel every moment. The music builds and her voice floats from a tender, searching intimacy to belting like a heartbroken star.
Purple and red light swirls around her as she sings. Her eyes close and her entire body contorts with the pain of the music.
She takes my breath away.