Chapter 3

Isabella's POV]

The safe house was a nightmare wrapped in luxury.

Dante parked the SUV inside a private garage hidden beneath what looked like an abandoned warehouse. The drive had taken over an hour, winding through back roads and dark alleys until I'd completely lost track of where we were. Somewhere outside the city. Somewhere no one would find us.

Or so he claimed.

"Out," Dante ordered, killing the engine.

I climbed out on shaky legs, my entire body vibrating with adrenaline and exhaustion. My palms were still scraped raw from the fall in the passage, and my blouse was torn at the shoulder, a casualty of the bullet that had whizzed past my ear.

Dante led me through a series of steel doors, each one requiring a different code or fingerprint scan. The security was insane and yet, it made me feel anything but safe.

We stepped into a living area that looked like it belonged in a five-star penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked nothing but darkness, no neighbors, just black emptiness. Leather sofas. A marble fireplace. A kitchen that cost more than my family's entire house.

"Sit," Dante commanded, pointing to the sofa.

I sat. My legs were grateful. My pride was not.

Dante disappeared into another room, and I heard the click of a lock behind him. For a moment, I was alone in this sterile, expensive cage, staring at my reflection in the dark windows. I looked like a ghost. My hair had come loose from its ponytail, tangled and wild.

The door opened again, and Dante returned with a first aid kit. He didn't ask permission. He didn't offer comfort. He simply knelt in front of me, opened the kit, and took my hands in his.

"Your palms," he said, his voice flat as he inspected the scrapes. "You'll need to clean them."

"I can do it myself," I said, pulling my hands back.

Dante's grip tightened. "I said you'll need to clean them, I didn't ask if you could."

He held my gaze and something in me crumbled. I stopped fighting. I mean, what was the point? He was right. I couldn't do anything myself, not here, not in this world I'd been thrown into.

Dante worked in silence, dabbing antiseptic on my wounds with surprising gentleness. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of handling guns and other weapons I didn't want to think about but his touch was careful. 

"Your brothers," I said quietly. "Are they okay?"

Dante didn't look up. "They'll call when they're clear."

"That doesn't answer my question." I snapped back.

"It's the only answer you're getting." He shut back immediately.

I let out a frustrated breath, but I didn't push. I was too tired, and too broken. My father's face kept flashing in my mind: his lies, his betrayal, the way he'd handed me over like I was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

Dante finished bandaging my palms and sat back on his heels. His cold eyes studied me, searching for something I couldn't identify.

"Your father," he began, "has been working with the Russos for three years. Feeding them information, taking their money. Playing both sides like a coward."

"That's not possible," I said weakly. "He's drunk. He can barely keep track of his own gambling debts."

"Drunks are easy to manipulate," Dante replied. "Your father's been manipulated by everyone—us, the Russos,and his own addiction. But that doesn't excuse what he did."

I swallowed hard. "What exactly did he do?"

Dante rose and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. Whiskey, I guessed. He didn't offer me any and I didn't ask.

"Three years ago, the Russos killed our father," Dante said, his voice cold and controlled. "They ambushed him in a warehouse and shot him four times. Left him to bleed out on the floor while they laughed."

I felt sick. The photograph from the study burned in my memory.

"What does that have to do with my father?" I asked.

Dante turned, glass in hand, his eyes drilling into mine. "Your father provided the Russos with our father's location. He was the one who told them where to find him."

"No," I whispered. "He wouldn't…"

"He did," Dante cut me off. "For fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand dollars to hand over a man who had shown him nothing but mercy. Our father gave your father a loan when no one else would. And your father repaid him with murder."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not in front of this cold, unfeeling monster who clearly despised me for crimes I hadn't committed.

"I didn't know," I said, my voice cracking. "I swear to you, I didn't know."

Dante studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he nodded.

"I know," he said quietly. "That's the only reason you're still alive."

I should have been relieved. Instead, I felt like I'd just been punched in the gut. "You were going to kill me?" I breathed.

Dante set down his glass and walked toward me, his footsteps silent on the marble floor. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath and the expensive cologne on his skin.

"I was going to do whatever was necessary," Dante said. "To protect my family, to avenge my father. If that meant killing you, I would have done it."

His honesty was brutal. And somehow, I respected it more than my father's endless lies.

"But you didn't," I said. "Why?"

Dante's jaw tightened. He looked away, and for the first time, I saw something vulnerable flicker across his face. Something almost human.

"Because you walked into that mansion with no idea what your father had done," he admitted. "Because you signed that contract to save your mother and sister. You didn't run. You didn't beg, you just…accepted."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

Dante took a step back, his cold mask sliding back into place. He was all business again. All steel.

"Tomorrow, you're going to tell me everything you know about your father's operations," he said. "His contacts, his hiding spots, and anything that will help me find him."

"And if I refuse?" I asked.

Dante's eyes narrowed. "You won't."

"You seem very sure of that." I said in return.

"I am." He walked toward the hallway and paused at the entrance. "Because your mother and sister are still alive. And my protection is the only thing standing between them and the Russos."

My blood ran cold. "You wouldn't…"

"I would," Dante said, his voice ice. "And I will. If you cooperate, they live. If you don't…" He shrugged, as if discussing something trivial. "Well. Let's not find out."

He disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone in the cavernous room.

I sat there for a long time, staring at nothing, my bandaged hands trembling in my lap.

My father had sold me twice. To Valentis. To the Russos. He'd gotten his money and walked away without a second thought about what would happen to me.

And now I was trapped in a pawn in a war I didn't understand, surrounded by men who saw me as either a weapon or a liability.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

"Hello, Isabella." A voice called.

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Enzo stood in the doorway, a lazy smile on his face, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"Enzo," I gasped. "How did you…"

"Get here?" He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "I have my ways."

I backed away, my pulse pounding. "Dante said you were handling the attack."

"I was," Enzo said, advancing slowly. "But I finished early, I wanted to see you." His head tilted, his eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve. "You look even more beautiful when you're scared."

I hit the sofa and couldn't go any further. "Stay away from me."

Enzo stopped, but his smile didn't waver. He reached into his jacket and pulled out something small and metallic. A phone.

"I found this," he said, tossing it onto the coffee table. "In your father's safe. Tucked behind the false panel."

I stared at the phone. It was old. Beat-up. But the screen was lit with a single message. The package is ready. Deliver to Russo by Friday.

My blood turned to ice.

"Dante doesn't know I found this," Enzo said softly, moving closer. "But I thought you should see it." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Your father isn't just hiding from us, Isabella. He's hiding something else. Something worth more

than fifty thousand dollars."

I looked at the message, then at Enzo's obsidian eyes.

"Something worth," Enzo breathed, "killing for."