Chapter 4

Isabella’s POV

“Ohhhhhh,” I moaned, pressing my face harder on the extremely soft bed I was on. My entire body aches, like I had fallen one too many times, with my head bearing the brunt of the pain.

Where was I?

I sat up in the bed, yawning loudly. The silk sheets caroused my skin as I moved. This isn't the hotel. It smelt too clean and the dreadful bedsheets and curtains were gone.

I looked around me closely. “Where the fuck am I?” I whispered, partly in fear and awe. The room was beautiful. Black curtains hung from the ceiling high windows, blocking the rays of the sun. The pristine white walls matched the tiles, the dark wooden furniture the only life it had. A painting hung over the fireplace.

“This is unreal,” I mumbled, getting out of bed. Even Marcus wasn't rich enough to afford this. I was still wearing my torn gown from yesterday and the headache had increased since I woke up.

I walked to the open door I saw, ending up in the bathroom. It was similar to the room, white and black draperies but it had some plants in it.

I grabbed the edge of the counter, staring into the large mirror. My face was swollen, my eyes blood shot. Dark circles formed underneath them and my lips looked cracked as fuck. I put my hand over my mouth and blew out a puff of air, cringing when the stale smell of alcohol assaulted my noses.

I heard a door open, then footsteps.

I came out slowly from the bathroom. “Hello,” I said to the figure that was standing with his back facing me.

When he turned around, I felt my feet grow cold and butterflies come alive in my tummy.

He was gorgeous.

He was so tall. I kept my distance, wondering if I went closer, I would have to look up at him. Piercing steel grey eyes dug into my skin, running over my body and it felt like he was physically putting his hands on me.

His shoulders were so broad, large like the man, filling his suit. He folded his arms across his chest, causing the suit to look even tighter on his ripped muscles. I looked at his hair, dark like a raven, with a few streaks of silver, complimenting his eyes and showcasing his age. He looked hard, strong and very scary.

He walked towards me, and I had to control my breathing, because he seemed to have snatched up all the air in the room with his presence. 

He stood in front of me and like I thought, I had to lift my neck up, angling it so I could drown into his star-like eyes.

“You're awake.”

Fuck me.

“Yhm, yes,” I said drily. “I am confused, I booked a hotel,” I looked away, intimidated by his gaze.

“You never went home.”

Oh no. Oh no. “Don't tell me we—” I pointed towards but if us, raising my brow up in inquisition.

“I did not touch you,” his full lips moved and I traced the edges with my eyes. “I kept you safe.”

“Thank you,” I said, believing him without any explanation. If this man said he kept me safe, something made me believe he did just that.

“Your welcome,” his voice had a drawl at the end. “You're Russian?”

“How did you know?”

I shrugged. “I can tell.”

He studied my face closely, while I looked away. There was something about him that was so familiar. Where had I seen him before?

“I am Donatello,” he stretched his hands out to me. I took in all the scars and callouses on it, then placed my palm in his hand. “Isabella.”

“I know who you are.”

My eyes snapped to him. “How?”

“You're my nephew's wife.”

Marcus' uncle? “Surely, that's not true,” I chuckled. I was meant to be running far away from him, and somehow, I end up with his uncle the next day.

“Donatello Konstatin,” his gruff reply came. “In the flesh.”

He was right. That is why he was so familiar. “My God, I thought you weren't real.”

He looked surprised by that. “Why would you think that?

“You never came around. Even for our weddings, even during family nights,” I replied. 

“I am a busy man.”

Yes, he was. Marcus had talked with pride about his uncle many times, and now face to face with the man, I could see why exactly he was in awe of him.

“Well, you are safe now,” he broke the silence. “Would you like breakfast?”

“Yeah, but I would like to clean up,” I said, dying to have a bath. “There's bathroom essentials in the cabinets, already stocked for you,” he said.

For me?

I don't read too much into that statement. “Thank you,” I smiled.

“When you are done showering, I would call your husband to come pick you up.”

The smile is wiped away from my face easily.

“No you wouldn't,” I said, my voice hard.

Donatello looked at me. “A lady shouldn't be out so late at night, putting yourself at risk,” he waved his hand around. I catch a glint of silver, rings he had on. “You were in grave danger last night.”

I swallowed my pride. “I am extremely grateful that you rescued me,” I said, looking him in the eye, “I would rather die though, than return to your nephew.”

He stared at me, and the silence stretches again.

“Why?”

“He's a sleazy piece of shit,” I retorted, wrapping my hands around my waist. “Listen, yesterday was a one time thing. I am not usually irresponsible and I went through a lot. You do not have to worry about me, I'll be gone soon.”

“You're family.”

“Was I?” I said. I sighted my purse on the reading table and I walked to it, passing him. The smell of his cologne is so clear, I secretly take a deep breath while I do. 

I pulled out papers from my purse. “This is our divorce papers. Once I sign it, he will ish it too,” I said, raising the paper above my head and turning to him. “We're not family. Not anymore.”

Donatello looked at me, then at the papers. “Has he signed them?”

“He will get them this morning. He wanted to send me his, but I am not falling for his tricks,” I grunted. Anger stems underneath my skin and I try to push it down ,remembering whose presence I was in.

“You know,” I clutched the papers tighter in my hands, “I loved my husband. I loved him so much,” my voice broke. “I would have forgiven him for cheating,” I said, disappointed in the truth. 

“That's not all he did though,” Donatello said softly.

“Yes. He killed my babies. He gave me pills to get rid of the mistakes,” I spat out bitterly.

“It's okay to be angry.”

I raised my eyes to his face. His jaw is hard and his features are so sharp, he almost looked like a painting. A small scar on his eyebrow nicked the image though, somehow, enhancing his perfection.

“I can see you bristling,” he walked towards the door. “It's okay to be angry.”

Tears gathered in my eyes. “Thank you,” I said, because I felt like throwing something. He nodded. 

“I would not call your husband, well, ex husband.”

Just as he was about to leave, I remembered something Marcus had told me.

“Wait.”