Chapter 3
Chapter three
Isabella
I instinctively tug the blanket to my body as a knock sounds on the door. Mornings were usually different in Father’s house. I wonder what this mansion holds for me.
Releasing a shaky breath, I get up from the bed and walk to the door, then gently twist the knob open.
A young maid with short dark hair, pale skin, and bright grey eyes stares back at me.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she greets, head bowed down, and I step aside for her to enter.
Before I can respond, she heads straight to the walk-in closet at the far corner of the room without meeting my gaze.
“Good morning,” I utter, my response almost as quiet as hers, but her focus barely shifts. “What is your name?” Silence meets me as she continues to rifle through the huge wardrobe, her shoulders stiff with …apprehension?
I lean forward to take a better look at what she’s doing and realize she has several bags of clothes with her.
“The master wants you to be well-dressed at all times and said you should only wear these clothes.” Again, her attention seems to be anywhere but on me.
“Don’t I have enough rules to follow?” I grumble under my breath with a frown on my face. The maid quickly adjusts to the side to give me room as I approach the closet.
Silks, chiffon, and unknown materials with designer labels greet my vision. Wow.
Dominic might not be aware of the kind of life I lived back home—that I had to settle for scraps while Elena got the finest things—and I wasn’t about to show him I’m impressed by the little material things.
Although I sense his intention for this benevolent gesture tilts more toward control than impressing me.
Ugh. That asshole and his stupid rules! Or how he talks like he owns the world!
A frown tugs my lips as I remember our conversation yesterday. I felt defeated, as usual. But the surge of pride I felt while I slept last night was second to none. I talked back.
“Is there anything else you would like me to do for you, ma’am?” The maid’s voice jolts me back to the present. I take in her shaky hands as her head remains bowed out of fear.
It reminds me of my life at the mansion. Of the time when silence meant survival. The few times I talked back, Dad would threaten to cut me off, throw me out, or humiliate me, so I had no choice but to bury my defiance and act accordingly.
“Maybe a bath and something to eat?” I say gently. She nods quickly and disappears into the adjoining chamber where the bathroom is.
I walk into the bedroom and plop onto the king sized bed.
But here? There’s no leverage. No family ties for Dominic to dangle over my head. Both father and Dominic are hell. Fuck. Dominic’s hell burns even hotter, but in this fire, I feel like I have the strength to get out.
Maybe because Dominic doesn’t shove worthlessness in my face… yet.
And maybe that’s why I finally talked back.
As I wait for the maid to finish up in the bathroom, another knock sounds on the door. My heart races. At home, knocks usually meant trouble.
I hold the door knob for a beat too long then open it to see a man. Average height, brown curly hair and botched skin.
“Boss said you might need your phone,” he says blankly without meeting my eyes. Are all the staff afraid of eye contact?
“Thank…” my voice trails off as I watch the guard walk away without looking back. I fiddle with my phone in my hands as I shut the door. Dominic had forcefully collected it after our conversation yesterday.
At least I have my phone now, even though I doubt anyone would call me.
The only time my phone rings is when Elena needs something or, on very rare occasions, Melanie.
Now, with Elena God knows where and Melanie no longer having any use for me, my phone will become useless.
But, suddenly, as if I jinxed it, my phone rings.
Dread twists my gut as I glance at the lit screen, and my father’s name comes into view. The nerves in my body still and my vision blurs momentarily.
Why would he be calling me?
The phone continues to buzz in my hand as I watch it—with contempt…fear. Then, when I summon the courage, I pick it.
Cautiously, I place the phone to my ear and hold my breath. There’s slight rustling on his end before he speaks.
“Bella…” his voice is strained…soft. I furrow my brows. Now this is strange. I swallow tightly.
Silence stretches, then he continues, “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”
I don’t either. I’m confused. The only thing I can think of is that he was in a bad accident and hit his head.
“No. It’s uh…there’s a lot to say. Can we talk over coffee?”
It feels as if everything pauses. My stomach twists in knots, confusion.
I don’t want to see his face. Or listen to what he has to say.
“No.”
He sighs. “I knew you’d say this. And I understand. The things I’ve put you through…but all I’m asking for is one chance. Hear me out, and you can decide to shut me out forever after this.”
“Caffè Milano by 1 p.m. I’ll be waiting…but I won’t blame you if you don’t come.”
I end the call, a range of different emotions coursing through me. But amidst it all, there’s curiosity. And I let it lead me.
In no time, I’m out of the bath. I throw on one of the silk blouses and skirts the maid just unpacked and walk out of the room, making my way down the hall in search of Dominic. Apparently, his permission is needed before I can leave.
The sun burns my back when I step outside to see him in the field. A few men are standing stiffly as if waiting for a command. A short, square faced man is showing him something on a paper. He barely notices my presence until I clear my throat.
“It can wait,” he says without looking at me.
Does he ever take a break from being an asshole?
I ball my hands into fists as I move closer to them, making sure to still keep some distance between us. “We need to talk,” I blurt out, ignoring the surprised looks the men throw me.
He pauses and with a flick of his finger dismisses all the men, including square face. Then he turns fully to me. My breath catches in my throat.
The casual T-shirt he’s wearing sticks to his chest, highlighting his perfect pecs. His short hair is rough and messy, and inked muscles strain beneath his skin as he fists a paper. Gosh, he looks—
Never mind.
“I’m here to seek…permission,” I say, although the words come out a little sarcastically.
He gives me a once-over and rumbles in what I believe is approval of my outfit. I hate that he’s satisfied. But that’s an issue for another day.
“For what?” he deadpans.
“A meeting.”
Silence thins the space between us, and the ever-so-subtle raise of his brow is all I get in response. Then I get nervous. I pray he doesn’t ask. It’d be a shame to explain my family dynamics to a man like him.
“With who?”
Of course. “My father.” I do my best to mask my emotions.
“Where?”
“Caffè Milano.”
He stares at me for a couple more seconds as if reading me. And I think he’ll decline when he dials the telephone and mutters some Italian words into it.
“A driver, along with some guards, will escort you.”
Nodding, I turn on my heels and feel his stare on my back till I get out of sight.
Only when I’m out, do I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. God, his presence is so commanding.
***
I force a smile at the waitress who serves us two cups of coffee.
“Are you settling in well at your new place?” Dad’s voice catches my attention, pulling me back to the present. It is almost impossible not to get lost in thought, not with the sudden change in his behavior.
Yesterday, he slapped me and then hurled me to the ground with disdain all over his face. But today he’s welcoming me with such warmth?
It doesn’t make any sense to me at all.
My tongue feels tied as I look at him, waiting for him to switch back to his old self.
“I am sorry, Isabella.” He sighs deeply, reaching across the table to place his hand on mine. I stiffen. On my way here, I thought of a lot of things to say to him, prepared my mind for a response to his fickleness .
But now…here…it feels like my head is blank. I stare at him, emotions clashing into a tide in my chest.
Sorry? For treating me like I was a mistake he couldn’t correct? Or for forcing me to marry a stranger in Elena’s place?
“I know I’ve done a lot of things, but please, just find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I hold my breath, taking in his broken expression.
Dull brown eyes, tan skin, wrinkled face, and an overgrown mustache stare back at me. Then I realize it. He’s grieving. With his special daughter gone, I’m all he has left to see the alliance through.
Something cool touches my palm, and I lower my gaze to see it. A gift—a shiny, silver bracelet—that he’s curled into my palm.
“You don’t have to forgive me right this moment.” He cups my palm and tears sting my vision. “I know it could take years and, as painful as it is, I’ll live with it. But for what it’s worth, please…as my daughter…accept this gift.”
My daughter. That title isn’t mine. It’s Elena’s.
Even though he hated both of us. Even though he hated that he didn’t have boys to take over his mafia, he still hated her a little less. And I had to red carpet his contempt.
I should hurl insults, throw the stupid piece of jewelry across the room, and make him feel all I felt for years. But tears seem to be the only thing I can let out.
His eyes are glossy with tears, too.
For the first time, I admit to myself the reason I stayed quiet and subservient was because a part of me was desperate for his love and approval.
And as I look at the bracelet in my hand, I admit to myself that maybe a part of me is still looking forward…to his love and approval.