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CHAPTER 10

ISLA

T he longer I’m here in this penthouse, the more I notice things I hadn’t before. Whispers behind closed doors are a constant presence, whether I’m in my room listening to visitors or in the penthouse hearing men talking in the hallway. There are always conversations being had in hushed voices. They’re unaware of my expertise in waiting backstage and attentively listening for my cues. That’s a skill that serves me well now as I eavesdrop on discussions that I shouldn’t be privy to.

“Why do you always sound like you’re mistrustful of literally everyone ?” Zara asks from outside my door.

At first, I can’t tell who she’s talking to, but then I hear Alonzo Ferraro answer her. I haven’t seen him since he was at the gala with his daughter, Sera, who looked like she was practically drooling over Vincent.

“Because my loyalty is to the Moretti legacy, and no one else,” he answers, sounding annoyed as if it were a dumb question to ask. “Honestly, it never ceases to amaze me how your younger generations are so quick to throw tradition out the window.”

“What are you even talking about?” Zara shoots back at Vincent’s underboss. “Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“True, but sometimes I think you and Junior and even my daughter, Sera, forget your place in all of this.”

“Oh really? And what exactly is that?” Zara’s voice sounds heated.

“To serve and protect the Moretti family business, not to get soft.”

If I were out in the living room, I imagine that I’d see an angry flush filling Zara’s cheeks right now. Alonzo appears menacing with a forceful presence and lacks a filter, similar to his daughter, who was always at the dance studio. He is also boastful. Marco’s arrival interrupts their minor dispute. I take their silence as my cue to come out of my room. The look on Marco’s face is more stressed than I’ve seen it before.

“We have a problem,” Marco says, glancing first at Zara and then over at me. “Get Isla back in her room and stay there with her until I can get hold of?—”

I believe he was going to say Vincent. However, a stranger enters the penthouse.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Alonzo asks, clearly recognizing the cop, who flashes his badge along with a sinister smile. “Where the hell is Luciano?”

Zara shrinks back a bit, looking like she knows why Luc wasn’t watching the building, but not wanting to say anything about it. Perhaps it has to do with their prior conversation concerning Luc’s excessive interest in a certain heiress. Regardless, there’s a cop in the penthouse now, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

A police officer’s presence suggests escape. However, he doesn’t look like a good cop. I’m not even sure if I want to leave yet. It sounds insane, but I don’t think I want to leave right now. There’s more that I want to figure out about Vincent first, as if being around him has become something that I’ve grown comfortable with.

“Take it easy, Alonzo,” the cop says. “I just came to see it for myself.”

“See what?” Alonzo barks at him.

“ Her .”

The cop walks toward me, introducing himself before he reaches me. “Hello, Ms. Hart. I’m Detective Hale Monroe. How are you?”

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer. How does one, who is a captive of a mafia don, respond to a question like that from a cop?

“You look nervous,” he says when I don’t answer. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable talking with me down at the station?”

“Like hell,” Zara says as she comes to stand beside me. “She isn’t going anywhere with you. You’d better leave, Monroe, before Vincent hears that you’ve snuck your way up into his penthouse. He doesn’t take kindly to bad cops who play both sides, especially not ones who are stupid enough to cross him.”

Zara is feisty, and it seems to back the detective off. Even though his attitude shows no signs of simmering down.

“ Bad cop? Come on, sweetheart. You know that there’s no good or bad, just who wins and who loses.”

Marco reaches to grab his arm and escort him out, but Detective Monroe is already out the door. “What was that all about?” I ask once he’s gone.

“Nothing,” Alonzo snaps at me before following them out the door. “The dirty bastard just wanted to set eyes on you, is all. He’s always looking for an angle to leverage against Vincent. He’ll learn to stop poking his nose into things when someone bites it off.”

That imagery isn’t something that I wanted to picture in my head.

When Marco returns to check on me, he seems annoyed but unworried now that the cop is gone. “You alright?” he asks. His protective affection for me is sweet. I think even Zara finds it endearing.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not like he did anything egregious.”

“But you could have gone with him, Isla,” he says with confusion. “Why didn’t you say anything about being kept prisoner here?”

“I don’t really know,” I shrug. “It just didn’t feel like a good idea to go with that guy.”

“You’re a good judge of character,” Marco says. “Hal isn’t the kind of cop who prioritizes helping people. He’s the kind that seeks to enrich himself and further his own goals. You were right not to go with him, and don’t worry—I’ll keep you safe here.”

“Thank you, Marco,” I smile at him. “You’re one of the good ones.”

I can see the same sort of complicated expression on his face that Zara sometimes gets. It must be a difficult position for them both to be in—torn between befriending me and staying loyal to Vincent.

“I’m not so sure about that, Ms. Hart,” he chuckles as he shakes his head. A hint of regret shows in his eyes. “I protect people who don’t always deserve it. But you—you deserve better than this.”

I reach out my hand to his shoulder and give him a gentle smile. “It’s just Isla , remember?”

Marco returns my smile before going back to watch the door.

“Are you leaving now, too?” I ask when I see Zara follow him out.

“Yeah, I need to work on some other business matters.”

It strikes me that I don’t really know what Vincent and his entourage actually do , aside from being part of this city’s powerful, underground mafia syndicate.

“Zara, can I ask you a question before you go? I realize you might not be able to answer me, but what are Vincent’s business dealings?”

“Casinos,” she answers, as a student might dutifully provide the correct answer the teacher instructed them to give. “He owns a whole slew of them, not just the grand one downstairs.”

“Yes, I know that part,” I say with a knowing look. “But what other business does he engage in? I assume it’s something like drug dealing and protection rackets. Isn’t that what the mafia is infamously known for?”

She looks a bit stunned that I’ve said that out loud. But it works to get her to answer me at least a little bit.

“The family businesses are all rooted in a niche market,” she says quietly. “Take the Barones, for example, they’re empire is mostly built on drug and arms trafficking. And the Conti family has a foothold in stolen art and antiquities, along with some channels in the trafficking of rare jewels. It’s common for families in this line of work to have their hands tainted with blood from hits and protection schemes.”

She thinks before continuing. Her voice fills with an audible respect for the man she works for. “You know, Vincent has helped me more than anyone else in my life. The empire that he built, although it might have been built on violence and questionable character, is an admirable accomplishment that has lifted many of us alongside him.”

“I understand,” I say. “I can see the devotion that people around Vincent seem to have for him. But the idea that he’s hurting innocent people?—”

“Vincent hurts people who cross him,” Zara interrupts. “He kills people who betray him or threaten what’s his. But he doesn’t just kill unscrupulously. He could have killed you , and he didn’t.” She smiles as if to drive her point across. “And his casino businesses are used as a cover for illegal gambling operations, loan sharking, and extortion. Vincent might not have much of a moral code left, but he draws the line at engaging in business that would put deadly drugs or guns into the hands of kids.”

Despite Vincent’s questionable activities, Zara’s account suggests a potential for goodness within him. Like he’s more of a broken boy beneath all of his violence instead of merely a monster.

“Thank you for telling me all of that,” I say gratefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies as she feigns ignorance to wipe away the conversation that we just had.

Zara and I exchange a mutual glance before she leaves. I go back to spending the day thinking about what I really want .

I spend half the day training, dancing across the large, wooden penthouse floor and practicing old routines to keep my skills up and my muscle memory limber. Wine in hand, I spend the afternoon contemplating Vincent while gazing upon the cityscape. At night, I want to dream about the last kiss we shared and how Vincent’s touch felt so passionately uncontrolled. Instead of drifting into a dream, I am abruptly awoken by a loud noise. I get out of bed and walk quietly toward the hall. Something outside the penthouse hallway repeatedly causes a loud thud against the exterior wall. Then there’s the sound of gunshots.

When the door flies open, I freeze in fear.

Marco stumbles inside the penthouse, holding his shoulder with one hand to stop the blood that is seeping out. He slams the door shut behind him and I can hear the ongoing noise of fighting in the hall.

“Oh my god, Marco, what is happening? Are you alright?” I run toward him.

He puts up his hand and points toward the opposite hall that leads towards the library inside the penthouse. “Go! There’s a panic room behind the bookshelf. Pull the Shakespearean Anthology out from the shelf, the green binding. Stay inside the panic room and don’t come out, no matter what you hear.”

I reach down to help him and bring him with me, but he shakes his head as he turns toward the door and draws his gun. “Isla, go, now !”

Without any further hesitation, I turn and run down the hall. My fingers fumble over the book’s bindings as I search for the green binding. Upon finding it, I hear the penthouse door crash open once more, signaling the start of a fight. I pull the book, and the wall slides open, revealing a hidden panic room inside. Quickly, I step inside and seal the door behind me.

Once I’m safely hidden, I realize that there is no way out of here. With the door closed, there is no handle, no way to open this room from the inside. This room offers safety, yet its darkness feels like a tomb. When I hear screaming, one of which sounds like it comes from the nice maid who sometimes stops by overnight to prepare things for the next day, I cover my mouth with my hand. Whoever is out there is likely getting killed, and I have no idea by whom. I suppose the possibilities are endless, considering that mafia families have many enemies. It could be rival mafia gangs. Or the cops engaged in a sting, or maybe even more men betraying Vincent from the inside, just like the one he claimed betrayed him at the theatre.

For the first time, I feel the very real possibility of my imminent death . I realize, too late, that the thrill and forbidden allure led me into deep trouble. Perhaps I should have gone with that police officer or informed Madame Durant at the gala of my imprisonment and desire to leave. It’s all too late now, though. I’m stuck inside a sealed room waiting to see who will open the door to let me out and hoping that whoever it is won’t kill me on the spot.

I sit in perfect silence, surrounded by the dark stillness, and wait.

Following gunfire, shouting, and fighting, a tense pause precedes, then the panic room door slowly opens. I can feel my heart beating at the base of my throat as I fear what might happen to me next. But then, I see Vincent . His silhouette is unmistakable, though details blur after minutes in dim light. He doesn’t speak; he just stands there in the open doorway, staring at me with visible relief to have found me alive. Instead of his usual full black suit, his jacket is off, and his white button-down shirt is soaked in blood. His shirt is partially untucked, his shirt from his black pants, the top few buttons undone, his sleeves pushed up to reveal arms full of intricate tattoos. Blood splatters Vincent’s face, covers his hands, and darkens his black pants where it has soaked through.

For a second, I wonder if he’s been hurt. Looking over his shoulder, I see bodies scattered around the floor. I understand that the blood on Vincent is from the men he killed to protect me. I reach for him, and he lifts me in his arms and carries me out of the panic room within his steady grasp.

Ignoring the metallic smell of the blood on his clothes, I bury my face against his chest, keeping one eye open to see the carnage all around us as we walk through the rest of the penthouse. All throughout the place, his men are already there, removing bodies and carrying pieces of broken furniture out the door. Marco’s among those hurt, yet most of Vincent’s crew remain alive. From Vincent’s embrace, I watch Alonzo and Luc work, oblivious to my presence.

“Take care of all of this,” Vincent says calmly to Luc, who gives him a silent nod in return.

“Who did this?” I whisper.

The look that Vincent gives me in response is a troubling one, one that implies he doesn’t know.

“I heard a woman scream,” I say, growing suddenly worried when I don’t see the body of the maid anywhere around. “Is Zara?—”

“She’s fine,” he interrupts. “She wasn’t in the building when this happened.”

He doesn’t put me down on my feet. Instead, he carries me down the hall toward the bathroom, where he turns on the shower and sets down a clean towel and robe.

I glance at myself in the mirror and can see the blood smeared across my cheek and arms from having held onto him.

“You should get cleaned up,” he says as he gets ready to leave. “I’ll be right outside this door waiting for you.”

“Wait,” I call out before he leaves. “You’re covered in blood. You should get cleaned up, too.”

I turn and reach for a second towel to set on the counter, and my eyes beckon for him to stay. To my surprise, he does .

Vincent turns back around and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper as I step toward him and unbutton his shirt.

“You should be.”

His warning doesn’t dissuade me from sliding his shirt off over his shoulders and running my fingers along the scars that mar his torso. And it doesn’t discourage me from undoing his pants and letting them drop to the ground. Despite the gasp in my throat upon seeing his impressive endowment, we both need to put our desires on hold after everything we’ve experienced. Vincent steps into the shower, letting the hot water run down his body and wash the crimson stream of blood away. I watched the water run down his body, checking for any signs of injury. And I can’t help but let my gaze on the stiff cock that grows between his legs. I briefly stop before removing the nightgown I wore while peacefully sleeping before chaos ensued. He says nothing, doesn’t remove it from me, instead he just stands there staring at me like a hungry wolf that is denying its primal instincts.

I slide my nightgown off and step under the running water to join him. His crew is outside the bathroom, quickly cleaning up and sweeping away any evidence of the carnage before nosy cops or anyone else can discover what happened. This small space distracts me. I reach for the soap and run the slippery bar over Vincent’s chest, somewhat surprised that he is letting me clean him in the shower with both of our naked bodies together and without trying to take me . Honestly, I’m not sure I’d resist at all if he did.

Neither of us speaks as we stand there locked in an intense gaze with slow hands sliding over the other’s skin. But something’s changed between us now.

“You belong to me now,” Vincent says, eyes hollow as if he’s giving in to a carnal nature that he can no longer resist. And something inside of me feels like I already knew that.