Chapter 3

Isabella's POV

Vincent's hand stopped dead in midair.

He was a born actor. The flash of panic in his eyes lasted barely half a second before it was smothered beneath an impeccable mask of tenderness.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

He tossed the box of pistachio rolls into the trash.

"I was up half the night, and my head's a complete mess. I must have mixed up your dietary restrictions. How about I have the kitchen make you some risotto instead?"

Mixed them up.

I stepped back, avoiding the embrace he offered in an attempt to comfort me.

The truth was, he was simply used to catering to Elena's tastes.

Five years ago, when my morning sickness was at its worst, Elena posted a late-night update saying she was craving pastries from an old bakery. That very night, Vincent had claimed he needed to settle a gang dispute and taken his men halfway across Palermo to buy them for her.

I'd once believed that was simply the burden of being a Mafia leader.

Now I understood. Every bit of it had been an act of devotion to another woman.

The prize he'd originally bought for her had become nothing more than a prop in his performance of being my loving husband.

"No need. I have no appetite."

I looked at him.

"Isabella, if you're still upset about last night," he said, deliberately lowering his voice, "I can have the flight tower records pulled up right now. I personally watched Sophia escort her onto the plane."

He reached for his phone.

"Don't bother. I believe you."

What would checking the flight records accomplish?

Perhaps two paid stand-ins had boarded the flight to Siberia in their place.

Or perhaps they'd merely gone through airport security before slipping out through a secondary exit.

Hearing my answer, Vincent visibly relaxed.

He squeezed my hand and turned toward the bar to make coffee, casually reminding me that we were supposed to pick Leo up from the hospital that afternoon.

While his back was turned, I grabbed my trench coat and slipped out through the side door without making a sound.

I didn't go to the family's underground casino, nor did I stay at home.

Half an hour later, my car pulled up outside Rosa Villa, a property perched on the edge of a cliff.

Last year, Vincent had purchased it using the proceeds from the smuggling routes registered under my name. He'd claimed it would serve as a safe house for Russian oligarchs.

Now I knew the guests hidden inside were far more dangerous than any oligarch.

I avoided the guards at the main entrance and took a narrow path around to the back door, staying out of sight.

I'd never been here before, so I had no idea what the passcode was.

Still, I tried Elena's birthday on the keypad.

The door unlocked.

The living room wasn't dusty or neglected like an abandoned property. Instead, everything was immaculate. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the glass wind chimes Elena loved so much.

I stepped quietly across the carpet.

From the kitchen came the sound of simmering soup and fragments of conversation drifting through the steam.

"The heat needs to be turned up a little more. Elena has suffered so much over these past five years, and yesterday's scare at the hospital must have shaken her badly. She needs something nourishing."

Sophia's voice was filled with maternal affection.

Carlo sighed in agreement.

"She's suffered enough. Her own flesh and blood is right beside her, yet she can't even acknowledge him as her son."

"As long as Isabella doesn't get suspicious," Sophia whispered, "we'll be fine. Vincent has already thought everything through. In a few years, he'll find an excuse for Isabella to make Elena Leo's godmother. Then our whole family can finally be together openly."

Standing in the shadows, I listened in silence as the two people who'd sworn to protect me forever discussed how to build their family's future on the blood and suffering they'd inflicted on me.

I lifted my foot and kicked over a vase in the hallway.

Sophia rushed out of the kitchen, a ladle in her hand.

The moment she saw me, she froze as if she'd seen a ghost. The ladle slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor.

"Is... Isabella? What are you doing here?"

Her voice trembled uncontrollably. Her eyes darted around the room, clearly terrified that Elena might be discovered.

I ignored the shards scattered across the floor and walked straight up to her, tilting my head slightly.

"Sophia, weren't you supposed to be taking Elena to the airfield this morning? Why are you still here?"

Carlo hurried out behind her.

"You've got the wrong idea. Her flight was temporarily delayed because of air traffic restrictions. Vincent was worried she'd be miserable waiting at the airport, so he asked us to bring her here to rest first."

"That's right! There were air traffic restrictions!"

Sophia quickly regained her composure, slipping back into that familiar, gentle voice tinged with pity.

"Honestly, Isabella, why are you always so suspicious? You must not have slept well last night. Maybe the trauma from your car accident is acting up again, making you imagine things."

There it was again.

Whenever they let their lies slip, they immediately blamed my mental state. In the gentlest, most concerned voices, they drove their knives straight into my deepest wounds.

"Maybe you're right. I probably am exhausted."

Then I turned and walked away.