IF LOOKS COULD KILL

Third person POV 

Isabella Rossi marked her twenty-eighth birthday with a decision as sharp and unforgiving as a knife.

The air in her private study, usually thick with the scent of expensive leather and aged wine, crackled with tension.

"Aldrin," she said, her voice a low, steady hum that belied the storm raging within, "draft me a divorce agreement. I want to cut all ties with Marco."

Aldrin De Luca, her consigliere, her lawyer and a man who had served the Rossi family with unwavering loyalty for years, regarded her with a steady gaze, his brown eyes flickering over her pale features.

"Isabella," he said, his voice gravelly with concern, "are you sure about this? I will, of course, do as you command. But Marco...Marco Vitale loves you. He won't let you go that easily."

A flicker of doubt, cold and unwelcome, pierced Isabella's resolve.

‘Does he really?’

The question echoed in the confines of her mind.

She didn't know.

Once, when she had been younger and more naive, she had believed that he would learn to love her….  

But she knew better now.

Marco Vitale would never love her the way she craved.

Swallowing her hesitation, she straightened with an elegant shrug.

"I'll find a way to make him agree," she stated, her voice regaining its steely edge.

“He won't be able to refuse." 

She was going to set him free.

***

That evening, Isabella descended the grand staircase of the hotel's ballroom like a queen surveying her domain. 

She wore a gown of crimson silk, the material the color of spilled blood, the bodice instuded with emerald gems, its intricate design clinging to her curves like a second skin. 

She lifted her head high, a smirk finding its place on her ruby coated lips.

One should always look their best on their birthdays.

Her eyes lazily surveyed the crowd of well wishers and sycophants alike, basking in their worshipful gazes before, almost like they were magnetized, they fell on her husband's handsome features.

Marco Vitale was a tall man, his one hundred and ninety centimeters of height ensuring that he towered over the other guests. 

He was sharply dressed in an indigo tuxedo, the dark shade clashing beautifully with hia olive toned skin and his bejeweled emerald eyes.

He was a truly stunning creature, the most stunning really and his good looks hadn't stopped taking away her breath since the first time she saw him.

Currently, said object of her appraisal was drinking a sip of what she knew was mineral water, her husband never really liking to drink too much at parties.

She felt her stupid heart flutter as the light caught his ebony curls, turning it to burnished gold, his green orbs twinkling with delight as he practically charmed the socks of his latest prey.

Suddenly, as if feeling her gaze on him, his eyes snapped to hers, their gazes meeting.

Marco Vitale's gorgeous eyes, usually alight with cunning, darkened with genuine hunger as he caught sight of her.

He bit his lip and immediately flame licked down her spine.

Dismissing his quarry like a child would their toy, he moved through the throng of guests – politicians, businessmen, and the shadowed figures that comprised their world – with a predator's grace, his focus solely on her.

"Isabella," he breathed, his voice a husky whisper that sent a shiver tracing its way down her spine. "You are breathtaking."

He pulled her close, his hand possessively claiming the small of her back, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. 

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent like a man starved.

"You smell divine," he murmured, his hand inching towards the plunging neckline of her gown. "And you're all mine."

"Marco," she started, her voice betraying a tremor she desperately tried to conceal. 

She absolutely hated the way his touch had the power to do this to her. 

To make her weak in the knees and lightheaded simultaneously. 

She tried to create distance, but he held her tighter, his grip bordering on possessive.

Her breath hitched, heart beginning to pound.

Just as she was begining to wonder if she would have to cut the party short and drag them to a less crowded room, the shrill ring of Marco's phone shattered the moment.

With a quiet groan, Marco released her.

“Who is it now?” He grumbled, vein ticking in his forehead as he stepped back from the trembling woman.

Letting out a relieved sigh from the sudden space, Isabella shifted further from him, taking the opportunity to get herself under control before her attention went back to her husband.

Muttering curses under his breath, Marco pulled out the device and answered, his expression automatically hardening and his eyes losing their warmth. "Vitale," he snapped. 

However, suddenly he paused, his eyes shuttering strangely, his face softening unconsciously.

"Okay……I'll be right there." He murmured before hanging up.

He turned back to his wife, his gaze unreadable.   

Isabella felt her confusion grow, “Marco? Ia something wrong?" She asked softly.

But the man simply huffed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, a facsimile of a smile playing on his lips. 

It didn't reach his eyes.

"Business calls, amore. Mimi needs something. I'll be back soon. Wait for me in the hall."

He kissed her, a fleeting, unsatisfying pressure against her lips, before disappearing into the throng of guests.

Isabella watched him go, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. 

The darkness that had flickered in his eyes when he answered the call hadn't gone unnoticed, it was quite detectable and he knew it but despite that he had abandoned her alone with the guests. 

Isabella couldn't help but feel bitter as well that even on her birthday, stupid Mimi still held precedence over her. Amelia 'Mimi' Vitale, Marco's precious younger sister and Isabella's greatest hater, was rarely a harbinger of good news.

The young woman had never liked her and took utmost joy in making Isabella miserable since the day the two were to be engaged. It was pretty obvious she hated her with every breath in her lungs. 

With a forced smile, Isabella tried to push the interaction from her mind, moving through the crowded ballroom, exchanging pleasantries and accepting birthday wishes. 

But something in her instincts practically quaked by a growing sense of foreboding. 

An hour passed, then another, and Marco remained absent.

Driven by a need to know, Isabella excused herself and began her search. 

She moved through the opulent corridors of the estate, the silence amplifying the frantic beat of her heart. 

As she rounded a corner, a burst of laughter echoed through the hallway.

Isabella froze. Wasn't that Amelia?

"Jeff, is this stuff really that effective?" The woman's voice came from the barely closed door of the drawing room.

"Trust me," a voice, slick with greed, replied. "After tonight, Isabella Rossi will be ruined."

The blood in Isabella's veins turned to ice. Her hand instinctively went to the Beretta tucked into a holster beneath her gown.

Slowly, deliberately, she edged closer to the door, the sliver of an opening offering a glimpse into the room's interior. 

She could see Marco lounged on a plush velvet couch, a small, innocuous packet glinting between his fingers.

"Damn, Jeff, I didn't know you had those kinds of connections, as long as she takes this tonight, and my brother catches her in bed with another guy tomorrow morning? Boom- divorce guaranteed. And once she’s out, her family's shares will be ours." She said giddily to the greasy looking man or Jeff as he was known, standing beside her.

"If Mama hadn't talked big brother into marrying her because of the company, we wouldn't have to go through any of this in the first place. Now we're even being forced to attend her stupid party." 

The petite brunette scoffed, rolling her pretty amber eyes towards her brother,

 "How dare she, marco?! A Vitalie lowering themselves because of that spoiled princess…”

When Marco remained silent, Amelia turned to her brother fully, frowning. "Hey, why are you so quiet? don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her. Sofia's coming back soon, remember?"

Marco sneered at his little sister, eyes cold as he shot her a glare, " Dont be an idiot Mimi. Isabella is just a pawn. A means to help our family bounce back. Love? That was never part of the plan," Marco drawled, his fingers lingering on the packet. "I'm just thinking of a good excuse to get her to take it," 

His casual tone cut through Isabella like a knife. Just an hour ago, he was holding her, kissing her, whispering sweet, filthy nothings. 

And now… now he was plotting to drug her and push her into someone else’s bed.

At first she laughed lightly, but slowly the smile on her face turned into a frown as reality began to set in. 

She really was alone in this world, no one had her back but herself, and this was the mere proof of it. Her fists clenched so tightly that blood beaded from her palms. 

But the pain in her hands was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

She couldn’t listen anymore. She knew too much.

‘What would she do?’