Divorce is the Goal

Isabella let out a cry when his hand got even tighter, feeling like he wanted to crack her bone.

Volkov's hands tightened into first at his side at the sound, his knuckles going white. 

His expression remained unreadable, but the air crackled with unspoken threats.

"It's a lovers' quarrel, Mr. Volkov," Sofia finally said, her voice regaining it's confidence at the presence of Marco.

The woman stretched out her hands before dismissing him with a wave. “Run along now Sir." 

She opened the door to Volkov's sleek, black car, a silent message conveyed with blatant disrespect. "We appreciate your concern. Please, don't let us keep you."

Dimitri didn't pay her any mind, instead his attention focused completely on Isabella. If words would be replaced by the look in her eyes he would definitely understand her without a hint. 

The woman grimaced at him, her eyes pleading.

'please…. please’

Dimitri dragged his eyes away from her like it physically pained him.

“I will see you later miss Rossi," he murmured before turning to his car and slidding in.

Isabella felt her heart sink.

The car pulled away, and Marco dropped Isabella's hand like it burned but before the woman could make a run for it Sofia cornered her and Amelia (where did she come from?) suddenly appeared on her other side.

 "Oh, come on, Isabella! We were just having a laugh. Let's go back inside." Sofia and Amelia grabbed Isabella's arm, each on one side.

"Let go of me!" Isabella spat, struggling against their grip. "I don't want anything to do with you people!"

"Oh, don't be like that, Principessa," Amelia said with a mocking tone. "You know we care about you."

They dragged Isabella towards the KTV entrance, her heels digging into the pavement. "Marco! How could you do this to me?" Isabella screamed, cursing and struggling. "You'll regret this, all of you!"

Marcos simply watched, his expression unreadable. 

"Take her bag," he commanded, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

Amelia swiftly relieved Isabella of her bag. "Let's see what our birthday girl is hiding," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice as she unzipped the bag. 

Amelia opened the side and seeing papers and Isabella's custom made Beretta.

Amelia whistled, distracted by the gun. "You sure are prepared," she commented, hefting the weapon. "But you won't be needing this where you're going."

 Thankfully, she didn't pay attention to the papers.

Sofia smiled, a cruel glint in her eyes. "That's right. We'll take good care of you, Isabella." With a final shove, she pushed Isabella into a private room close by.

The door slammed shut, the lock clicking ominously from the outside.

“Sofia! Let me out!” Isabella shouted, banging her fists on the door, her voice laced with a desperate urgency. 

But no one answered, the hallway outside remaining silent.

Inside, Isabella whirled around, searching for an escape. 

But there was none. 

She was trapped.

Then, the door creaked open again, but it wasn't Sofia. 

It wasn't anyone she recognized.

Four men swaggered into the room, their eyes glinting with predatory intent.

 They were grimy, leering, unmistakably thuggish.

"Well, well, well," one of them smirked, his gaze raking over Isabella's body. "Look what we have here. A real beauty."

"Hah! Didn't expect to get so lucky tonight. We get paid and we get to have some fun?"

"Next time something like this comes up, don't forget to call me, man…"

Crude laughter filled the room as the four men advanced, closing the distance between them and their terrified prey.

Isabella, heart pounding, reached into the sleeve of her gown, her fingers closing around the handle of a concealed knife.

She’d only arranged to meet Dimitri here so she’d have a way out, a means of escape if things went south. 

But things had clearly spiraled out of control, and her carefully laid plans had crumbled to dust.

Now, her last shred of hope, her only defense against the encroaching darkness, was the small blade in her shaking fingers.

 She retreated, step by agonizing step, her eyes darting around the room, searching for any advantage.

"W-What do you want?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

"Relax, sweetheart. We'll be gentle," the man in front sneered, exchanging a knowing glance with his companions.

 They fanned out, surrounding her, cutting off any avenue of escape.

"No need to be scared, baby," he whispered, his breath hot and fetid on her face. "Let me take you to heaven…"

He lunged.

But before his hands could grasp her, Isabella reacted, her movements fueled by adrenaline and desperation. 

She drew the knife from her sleeve in a swift motion, slashing at the man's arm with a yell.

“Don't touch me!" 

"Damn, this one's got claws!" he growled, but instead of recoiling, his grin widened, a perverse admiration gleaming in his eyes as he stared at the blood welling on his skin.

"Your lucky darling. I like 'em feisty," he chuckled, advancing with a list fileld gaze, even as he began to unbuckle his belt. 

He gestured to the others, a silent command to subdue her.

The other three obeyed, moving with practiced efficiency. 

They wrestled the knife from her grasp, though not without a struggle, leaving her with several bruises and a slightly swollen cheek.

 They pinned her down onto the plush couch. 

No matter how fiercely she struggled, she was no match for their combined strength.

"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice raw with terror. "If my father finds out, he'll make you all pay!"

But her threats were met with mocking laughter.

One of them began to tear at her clothes, the fabric ripping with a sickening sound. "I'm begging you… please… just let me go…"

Her pleas were swallowed by the room, lost in the leering faces and the heavy scent of cheap cologne and sweay.

 Her body convulsed with sobs, her last defenses crumbling, torn away piece by piece.

In the end, she closed her eyes, surrendering to despair.

But just as the final shred of her dignity was about to be ripped away, the door exploded inward with a deafening crash.