Twenty-Four Hours

ISABELLA

Sleep is an impossible luxury. I sit completely alone in my idling car outside The Inferno for a very long time. The pulsating bass from the exclusive nightclub no longer reaching me.

I am entirely consumed by the heavy sapphire ring box resting on the passenger seat. The velvet material seems to absorb the dim streetlights.

It feels exactly like a ticking bomb waiting to detonate my entire existence.

I finally shift the vehicle into gear. My hands grip the leather steering wheel with bruising force. I drive back toward the coastal estate under the oppressive cover of darkness.

The winding roads are terrifyingly empty and every passing shadow looks like an approaching threat.

I pull into the overgrown circular driveway of my father's manor, staring intently at the heavy oak front doors. The glowing red laser dot from yesterday is completely gone. The porch is bathed in pale moonlight.

However, the terrible sensation of being watched crawls sickeningly under my skin. I feel invisible eyes tracking my every single movement from the dark tree line.

I scramble out of my car and hurry inside the dusty manor. I throw my entire body weight against the door, locking the heavy deadbolts with trembling fingers.

I lean against the solid wood while trying to catch my breath. I pull out my cell phone and dial Viktor's secure line. He answers on the very first ring.

"Luca Moretti proposed marriage," I blurt out, skipping any polite pleasantries entirely.

Silence stretches over the secure phone line. It’s not the shocking silence I desperately expect to hear. It’s a heavy, knowing pause.

"You’re not surprised," I whisper into the receiver, my blood running completely cold.

"The Moretti family approached me several weeks ago," Viktor states calmly. "They wanted a permanent alliance and I told them the only currency you possessed was your bloodline."

"Did you set this entire trap up?" I demand loudly, my voice shaking with a sudden, violent betrayal.

"I positioned you on the board," Viktor replies simply. "You must make the actual moves."

He hangs up the phone before I can scream at him. I stare at the darkened screen of my device. The very first crack of deep doubt splinters my trust in my uncle. He’s manipulating my life just like my husband.

I bury that terrifying realization deep inside my chest. I’ve to suppress my anger because I desperately need Viktor's vast resources to survive this nightmare.

I spend the rest of the agonizing day pacing through my late father's sprawling office. The massive room smells heavily of stale cigar smoke and decaying paper.

Dust motes dances lazily in the weak sunlight filtering through the heavy drapes. I desperately need to feel connected to the man who had built this fortress.

I dig through the massive mahogany desk and I find some faded photographs of hard-looking men I don’t recognize. I discover thick stacks of financial documents written entirely in Russian.

The sharp Cyrillic letters mocks my ignorance. I can’t read a single word of the foreign text. I set the mysterious ledgers aside for later translation.

Then, I find a small silver frame buried in the bottom drawer. It holds a handwritten letter from my mother.

Her elegant cursive details highly mundane things like grocery lists and spring gardening plans. It’s a brutal reminder of the normal, peaceful existence I’d craved so desperately.

I sit heavily on the faded Persian rug, weeping bitterly for the quiet future I’ve lost forever. I also grieve the violent, bloody reality I’m about to re-enter. My tears eventually dry up, leaving behind a hollow, aching void in my chest.

Evening shadows eventually stretches across the wooden floorboards. The manor grows incredibly cold. My phone suddenly begins to vibrate violently against the desk surface.

The bright screen illuminates the dark room. The caller ID shows a blocked number and I answer it with a trembling hand.

"Hello, darling," Marcus murmurs smoothly.

His voice is terrifyingly calm. He sounds deeply amused by the sound of my ragged breathing. The sheer contrast between his polite tone and his monstrous actions makes my stomach violently churn.

"What do you want?" I asked coldly.

"I just wanted to check on my runaway wife," Marcus purred into the phone. "I also wanted to let you know about the official police report I filed this morning."

I gripped the phone tightly. "What police report?"

"The one detailing how you stole three million dollars from my corporate accounts," he explained with a dark chuckle. "I provided the detectives with all the necessary transfer documents.

Your signature is on every single page. I planted those forged papers months ago to prepare for this exact moment."

I couldn’t breathe. The walls of the dark office begin closing in rapidly.

"There is currently a BOLO out on your vehicle," Marcus continues happily. "The local authorities are actively hunting you down. You can’t use your credit cards and you can’t drive your car."

"You’re a psychopath," I whisper in absolute horror.

"If you even think about mentioning those little fertility pills to the police," Marcus warns sharply, "I’ll hand them your psychiatric file. I’ve been doctoring your mental health records for years. I made sure you look completely unstable. They’ll lock you in a padded room before the sun sets."

He pauses to let the absolute horror of my situation sink deep into my bones. He’d planned my destruction with terrifying precision.

"You have nothing," Marcus whispers cruelly. "You have no money. You have no allies. So come home right now and we can talk about this like adults."

I end the call immediately and throw the phone across the room. It shatters against the stone fireplace.

I sit entirely alone in the suffocating darkness. Marcus has built an inescapable trap around my life and my choices are practically nonexistent.

I can rot in a concrete prison cell while my husband smiles mockingly through the visiting glass. The only other alternative is becoming the legal property of a highly dangerous mob boss.

I crawl slowly across the wooden floor and pick up the small velvet box I’d dropped earlier. I open the hinge lid.

The massive sapphire catches the pale moonlight streaming through the tall window. It’s a beautiful, priceless cage.

I despise the idea of being Luca's wife, I refuse to be owned by any man ever again, but my survival demands a terrible sacrifice.

My decision isn’t born from bravery or empowerment. It’s rooted entirely in cold, calculating pragmatism.

I grab my father's old landline phone from the desk and I dial the private number Luca had left with me. The line rings twice.

Then his dark, unhurried voice fills my ear.

"I was beginning to think you’d rather take your chances with the wolves."

"I would rather eat the wolves," I reply coldly. "But you’ll do for now."