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She looks at me with such hopeful optimism, her eyes wide, her lips hinting at a smile if I just say the right thing. But what is the right thing? It's the truth, isn't it?
Should I dare?
"Stefano?"
"Yes, Isabella. I do care about you."
"Then help me escape, please," she begs, now taking my hands in her own. "Please, Stefano."
I know I want to give this woman the world and if it were within my power, I would have.
"This is out of my hands."
Isabella's voice rises to a scream, the sound echoing off the cold walls of the interrogation room.
"You said I was a guest here, not a prisoner!" She tugs at my shoulders with frustration, her green eyes blazing with fury.
"I know it seems like that. But you heard the Capo. If something happens to you, people lose trust in his protection."
"Is that why I was chained up like an animal?" she demands, her voice breaking slightly. I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her – this strong, beautiful woman who has been forced into a living hell. "Will that make people trust him?"
I don't know what to say to her, and I think the silence tells her all she needs to know. That I too, am on the brink of questioning everything I believed to be true.
Her eyes narrow. "Some protection."
"Isabella, please," I interject, unable to stay silent any longer. "We want to keep you safe. If that means restricting your freedom for a while, then so be it."
My words feel hollow even as I say them, but I know I must support the Capo. It's my duty.
"Stefano," she pleads, desperately. "You know this isn't right. You know I don't deserve to be treated this way."
"Isabella," I say softly, my heart aching for her. "You're right. You don't. But there's nothing more I can do for you."
"Fuck," she says, putting her head in her hands.
When she looks up at me next, she looks defeated, broken. Her eyes threaten to wreak havoc with tears.
"Just take me to my room, please," she says, hoarsely.
Chapter 17
Isabella
Isitontheedge of my bed, staring at the closed door, trapped. The orders echo in my head, forbidding me from leaving, even the bedroom. Until I learn to behave, whatever that means.
My room, a prison cell.
Boredom gnaws at me, yet an overwhelming sense of depression threatens to swallow me whole. I miss my father, Diego, so much. His absence leaves a gaping hole in my heart that nothing can fill.
I want to call Juan, but I don't. Had he truly cared for me, I would not have been in this situation. Until I have the mind-space to make my next move, I share nothing. With no one.
"Miss. Torres?" a guard calls out from behind the door. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, thank you," I reply, forcing a polite smile even though he can't see it. My voice sounds distant, not quite my own. But I put on this facade of compliance, pretending everything is fine when, inside, I'm crumbling into pieces.
God forbid the consequences if I rebel.
The guard leaves, his footsteps receding down the hallway, and I'm left alone once more with my thoughts.
