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How could I tell him I love him when he doesn't even know the full extent of who I am and what I'm doing?
How can I betray him like this?
A shrill sound pierces the silence, jolting me awake.
The landline. Who could be calling at this hour?
My hand trembles as I lift the receiver, pressing it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Isabella," a voice on the other end says, urgency lacing every syllable. "I need to speak with you."
"Who is this?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. "And how do you know where to find me?"
"Meet me in the lobby," the voice continues, ignoring my question. "It's me, Rosalie Battaglia. Please, it's important."
"Wait—" I begin, but the line goes dead, leaving me confused and anxious. Shouldn't Rosalie be with her husband and daughter, running for her life until Felix finds the evidence he needs to prove his innocence?
Why is Rosalie Battaglia risking her life to come speak with me, when Don Conti wants the skin off her husband's neck?
And most importantly, I try to rack my mind, how does she know who I am? Stefano never introduced me to Felix or Rosalie.
I glance over at Stefano, to see if his breathing is still steady, and I make up my mind. I'll go to the lobby, find out what she wants, and then return to the safety of our room.
Slipping out of bed, I wrap myself in a robe, taking care not to disturb Stefano. With one last lingering look at him, I step into the dimly lit hallway, my pulse racing with every tentative footstep.
As I move closer to the lobby, my thoughts spiral, fear and uncertainty twisting together like an ever-tightening knot in my chest. What could be so important that Rosalie would risk everything for this clandestine meeting?
Finally, I reach the edge of the lobby, pausing for a moment to steady my nerves. I can see Rosalie waiting for me, her eyes darting around like she expects ghosts to materialize from the dark corners.
"Isabella," she whispers as I approach, her voice barely audible. "Thank you for coming. And thank god you came alone."
"Rosalie, what's going on?" I demand.
"Please, sit down," she says, gesturing to a nearby sofa. "I have something important to tell you."
I take the seat, and grasp my hands in my lap.
"Isabella," Rosalie begins, her voice hushed. "I know this is dangerous, but I couldn't keep this from you any longer."
"Tell me," I whisper, desperate for answers. "Please, tell me everything. Starting with how you know who I am."
Rosalie sighs, and looks me right in the eye. "Why," she mutters. "You're a spitting image of your father, Diego Torres. Anyone who’s met the man would know who you are. What I want to know is what you're doing with Don Conti's men when you should be here in Chicago, with us."
"What?" I sputter, clutching my chest. "You knew my father?"
"Oh sweetheart," says Rosalie, with an affection that draws me in, stops me from overthinking. "Uncle Diego and we were good friends. We were so sorry to hear about his passing. We wanted to come for the funeral, you know, but just then this whole mess with Don Conti started. The wild accusations of us having his ex-underboss killed. We couldn't leave. We had to protect our territory, our people; protect the truth."
"So," I say, still unable to grasp her meaning. "You knew my father."
"He was the most wonderful man. Now, I must know. What are you doing with Conti? I wanted to ask you that, when I saw you tonight, standing next to Stefano Nitti. But I couldn't for I didn't know if I could trust Nitti. Your safety was of my utmost concern."
"We can trust him," I say, instantly. "He's good."
"He's fair," Rosalie corrects me. "But that's all I will say of him. I can't trust Conti or a single man in his organization which begs me to question, can I trust you? Do you work for Conti?"
"No," I gasp. "Never. My father was murdered and I believed I would be in danger if I stayed back in Mexico. The murderers might come back for me. My cousin sent me to America and said we have friends here. Don Conti would protect me. He was close with my father. I've been in his protection ever since."
