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Chapter 25
Isabella
I didn’t argue with Marcel one bit when he suggested we get out of New York as soon as possible. He managed to borrow Ion and Mariana’s private jet and fly us down to Bora Bora. When we landed we had a twenty minute boat ride to a private resort on the island. Thankfully we arrived in the evening after the sun had gone down so not many of the other vacationers saw us, or what we looked like. I’m sure when we arrived I looked far worse than I ever expected.
We’ve been here for two and a half weeks now. Every scrape, bruise and swollen muscle have now returned to their normal state. From the outside I look perfectly okay, but internally I’m a jumbled mess. Everything I went through replays in my mind every single night since Marcel saved our lives. I say our because Madigan is thankfully alive and well, resting back in her home with her husband Reggie, and their son, Carson. Her extensive injuries meant she had to get a full hysterectomy and from the updates Marcel has gotten, she’s recovering pretty well. When this is all over I plan on visiting Madigan in Atlanta. Somehow through our experience I think we’re going to be able to bond and become good friends. Besides Aria, I don’t have many friends. So many of the Romanians didn’t think I was good enough for them to spend their time with, but not Aria. Heck, I remember when we were kids. One of the other prominent clan families’ kids picked on me for spending time with her, saying I was a charity case. Aria shot back a remark and made everyone understand I was her friend and I wasn’t someone to be toyed with.
“Are you alright? You’re awfully quiet.” Marcel says from behind me. I’m laying down on the hammock which lays only a few feet above the crystal clear sea water. In all my life I’ve never been to a place like this, where the inside is incorporated with the outside. This hammock is almost an extension of the living area. Last night I made Marcel sleep out here with me, taking in the fresh air and seeing how bright the stars are in this tropical location.
While I definitely didn’t struggle going on vacations as a kid, I didn’t have the best either. My father always worked and when the time had risen Aria would ask her father if I could accompany them. I think I actually saw most of the world alongside the Funar clan.
“I’m fine. I’m only appreciating the beauty, serenity and everything else that comes with this island.”
The hammock dips down behind me and Marcel wraps his arm around my stomach, pressing his lips at the back of my shoulder. “I could spend the rest of my life here with you.”
While it sounds lovely, I have to burst his bubble. Turning over, “No you can’t, Marcel. You’re the head of the Funar clan and have far too much work to do.”
He rolls his eyes, “Leave it to you to burst my bubble and ruin the moment.”
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I’m only saying imagining things like that is silly. We’ll never be able to live your life outside of the Clan. Or, I mean you won’t. I could walk away at any time if I felt the need.”
Marcel narrows his eyes for a split second, looking quite irritated. “I don’t want you to walk away, Isa.”
Now I’m the one who’s narrowing my eyes. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I’ve spent the last few weeks realizing how much I adore you. That silly crush you had as a child isn’t one-sided anymore, babygirl. The truth is, I don’t want you to have the option to go. What I want is for you to be as stuck in the Clans as I am. Preferably, beside me.”
I think I know what Marcel is saying, but man do I wish he was dumbing things down for me right now. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I question, cocking a brow as I sit up in my tiny, rust colored bikini.
“Marry me, Isabella Andreea Zugra.” Marcel reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a rose gold ring with a massive princess cut diamond. On the side of the band there are smaller diamonds which connect all the way to the bottom.
“Are you punking me right now?” I ask, baffled beyond measure. This can’t be real. Hell, I wanted this ever since I was an ugly little duckling.
Marcel’s breath intensifies, “Are you going to answer or sit there and make me feel like I’m onThe Bachelorette?”
“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!” I spit out, wrapping my arms around him. He holds me in his embrace for a few minutes before either of us realize he didn’t put the ring on my finger. Marcel slides it on just as a question spills from my lips. “How do you even know whatThe Bacheloretteis?”
His cheeks flush red, “Sometimes I watch it with Aria when we’re in the same city. It might be my little secret, and you’d better not tell a soul.”
“Cross my heart, hope to die. Your secret is safe with me.” I promise. There isn’t any secret of his I would tell and in knowing this, there’s something I should share with him. “You asked me who the agent was in the Falcone family. Just as your tv show secret, I’m giving you one to keep.”
Marcel nods, eyes focused on me as he awaits the name he’s probably already predicted.
“Lupo Falcone is double crossing his family.” I state.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me that before? It looked like you were protecting all of them.” He says.
I never thought of it like that, but I suppose it did look like I was. “No, I was only protecting Lupo. I will admit I think the rotten apple of the bunch was Franco. I don’t think his sons will follow in his footsteps and that is why I didn’t tell you.”
Marcel backs up a foot or so, cranes his neck to the side and looks at me like I’m insane. “Al Falcone made you drink pig’s blood, Isa. And you’re sitting here telling me you don’t think he fell far from the tree?”
I shake my head, “No, I don’t. Al Falcone didn’tphysicallyharm me. He used a metaphor as a way to drill something in my mind. I was a pig to them, so he made me drink the blood of my kind. What he did was far better than the horrors his father unleashed on me. Think of it this way. Imagine what it would be to grow up with Franco as your father. Think of the lessons he’d teach you, the sick ways he’d make you think of the world. That isn’t any of the sons’ faults. The only person to blame there is Franco and he’s six feet under, if they even bothered to bury him that is.”
A loud knock comes from the front of our bungalow. Marcel starts to get up but I wave him down, “Let me get it while you think about what I’ve said.”
He sits right back down and I stand, walk across the maybe ten feet of porch into the living area and cut left across to the door. Pressing my eye to the small peep hole I see someone I didn’t expect to.
I open the door and walk on the other side, glaring at Z with a death stare. “What the hell are you doing here?”
