Page 7

CHAPTER 6

ISLA

I realize it now—Vincent Moretti is never going to let me go. I was a fool to think for even a second that there was a chance to appeal to a shred of humanity inside that man. He has none . It was stupid of me to think that I could make a deal with the Devil. Everyone knows that doing that requires losing your soul.

I stand at the window inside the sprawling penthouse living room. I’ve grown sick of being cooped up in my room. This decorated prison keeps me confined, regardless of which room I occupy.

Outside the door, Vincent’s men guard the only exit. They take turns in shifts, and there’s never a gap in which I might escape. Even if there was, the entire building is crawling with Vincent’s men. Sometimes, radio and earpiece chatter filters through the door. It’s raining outside today, which is rare in Vegas. Yet, it matches my mood—sullen, dim, and dripping with a quiet hopelessness. I stand by the window watching the rain, observing the people in the city below, unaware of the woman trapped at the top of the building like a princess in a forbidden tower. Watching the city go by unaffected, my mind drifts to the shift in Vincent’s demeanor as he watched me dance.

It was as if something snapped inside of him. One second, he was appreciating and enjoying my dance. His face held a faint smile, I believe. The next, he looked angry. Perhaps the strangest part of his sudden shift in demeanor was that the anger didn’t seem directed at me, but maybe at himself. I sense Vincent is full of scars, and not just the ones that you can see on the outside. I avoid dwelling on his trauma; it’s too disturbing. Especially since I’m trapped here with no actual idea of what his intentions for me are. I can’t imagine he’s just going to keep me here housed and fed and bored out of my mind for the rest of my life. At some point, he might just decide to have me killed and erase the problem of my witnessing a crime at his hands.

I shudder to think about that. Even more to think about a life trapped here like a caged bird, unable to dance or see the theatre again, or talk to anyone other than my captors. It’s an unbearable thought, one that had me contemplating things I shouldn't.

The sound of the falling rain against the windowpane lulls me into a sort of rhythmic trance as I stare blankly out and mourn the death of my dance career. For a hot minute, things were finally going well for me. Just a few days ago, I was on the cusp of embarking on a dance career I’d spent my whole life dreaming of. Ironically, losing the one thing that pushed me to secure a ballet academy scholarship and escape my difficult group home is what has me contemplating the worst, but I can’t think like that. Survival has always been my first instinct. But what options do I have? Either I take what little control I still have. Or I let Vincent do it and destroy me slowly.

Adrenaline mixed with desperation bubbles up inside of me in a caustic mix of unstable emotion. I won’t let that monster force me to dance again. And I won't stay here anymore. I vowed I would never again let anyone hold me captive—not group homes, not wicked people, not a monstrous mafia boss. If the only way to free myself from this prison is to take my life into my own hands, save myself, then so be it. At least I’ll be free or die trying.

I survey the room, searching for anything I can use as a weapon to break the glass, making them think I jumped while I make a run for it. When the penthouse door opens, I jump a bit in surprise.

“Sorry,” Marco says as he steps inside. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips.

Marco doesn’t seem like a bad guy. In fact, he might be a good man, were it not for his current circumstances. He feels less like my captor and more like a protector, checking on me from time to time to see if I need anything, but not hovering over me or being too pushy. Unexpectedly, he appears to respect me genuinely, which I appreciate. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything, Ms. Hart,” he says, returning my smile.

“ Isla ,” I remind him. “And no, thank you, I’m fine.”

Instead of leaving right away, Marco walks over to stand at the window with me for a moment. His entire presence is quieter than the others I’ve interacted with so far. His muscular build implies that he’s very strong, but the unassuming way that he carries himself makes him feel a lot less threatening.

“I like the rainy days sometimes,” he says as he stands beside me for a moment. “Most don’t like them, but I find the rain relaxing—a reprieve for reflection, you know?”

“I agree,” I nod. “It’s always good to reflect on one’s life from time to time.”

A brief look from Marco reveals his inner turmoil. Maybe he isn’t totally on board with keeping me captive here. However, his opinion is irrelevant. He sighs and then turns to leave.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.”

I thank him and wait for the door to close before resuming my search for something to break the window. It will be loud, and he’ll come running in when he hears it. So, when I do this, there will be no turning back and no time for hesitation.

I give myself a moment to make sure this is what I want to do. Then reach for an abstract marble sculpture sitting atop a nearby table. The sculpture is heavy, and it has a pointed top. It should do nicely to pierce the glass if I throw it at the window with enough force.

The downpour intensifies, pounding the building, overflowing the miniature ledge mimicking a patio. There’s not even enough space to place a foot on or grab, so I need to be fast and careful.

After sucking in a deep breath and realizing that this is it—this is possibly the end of everything that I ever hoped to do with my life, thanks to a single moment in time that I can’t undo—I dig my heels into the floor to steady myself and put all my weight behind throwing the statue at the giant window. My strength surprises me momentarily as the glass shatters and the statue falls. I know Marco heard the crash and that he will fling open the door any second now. One look down, and my stomach instantly feels like lead. The drop is such a big one. There isn’t a chance in hell that I’d survive that. My body would shatter into as many pieces as the glass window just did.

But I’d be free again , I think for a second.

I turn and slip.

When a strong arm grabs me, and a hand digs into the side of my waist to pull me up, I gasp in surprise. I knew Marco would hear the shattering of the window, but I never heard the penthouse door open. Maybe the sound of my heart pounding against the inside of my ears was too loud to hear anything in that moment.

I open my eyes. I am even more shocked when I see who it is that has hold of me.

“ Vincent ?” I call out in surprise.

Where the hell did he even come from, and how on earth did he reach me before I fell?

With a swift, smooth motion, he lifts me up and pulls me back from the broken window. His body is shaking furiously as he wraps one arm around my back and the other beneath my legs, cradling me against his chest so tightly that I can barely breathe. His muscles are tense and bulging, and his breathing is so labored and ragged that I can hear it. As he regains solid footing back inside on the floor of the penthouse, I look up at his face and stare at him in petrified awe.

The rain tousles his dark hair, and droplets of water are sliding down his chiseled cheekbones. Fierce blue eyes look back at me from between the strands of his hair with an intensity that makes my entire body tremble. Vincent’s grasp on me is so tight that I feel like his fingers will mark me with bruises.

“Junior, bring me a robe.” He commands.

Over his shoulder, I see Marco disappear into a bedroom and return in less than two seconds with a white robe folded over his arm.

“Now leave us,” Vincent tells him.

Marco hesitates for a second, and I imagine he’s wondering what Vincent is going to do to me as punishment for the broken window and the botched escape attempt on his watch. After the momentary hesitation, Marco does as he’s told and leaves the room.

Vincent sets me down on both feet and wraps the thick robe around my shoulders. Even though I was barely outside the window for more than a second, the deluge of rainfall soaked through my clothes, which are now pasted onto my body like a second skin. As he ties the robe around me, I stare at him in disbelief and stammer out a question.

“Why didn’t you let me fall?” I ask. “It would have solved your problem. I wouldn’t be able to talk about what I saw if I were dead .”

My last word makes him grimace, which is surprising considering that Vincent Moretti surely has no problem with things like death. Hell, he’s responsible for causing death to others with his own hands.

I can’t read his expression as he pulls me further away from the open window. But I can read his body language, and it’s not at all how I would have expected him to react. Every action he takes, from wrapping the robe around me to tying my wet hair behind my head, exudes a mix of fervent anger and shaking panic. I don’t understand. My death would solve a lot for him. So why is he so upset? Sure, I can see why he’d be angry—especially since he’d have to repair the window and clean up the mess of my body on the street outside his building. But this isn’t just anger on his part, this is something else. The rain has tousled his dark hair, and droplets of water are sliding down his chiseled cheekbones.

“I should’ve let you fall,” he says after a long silence. “But I’m a selfish man.”

He stands there in front of me, close enough that I can feel his labored breath against my face. His black shirt is wet and clinging to the defined muscles of his chest and the one haphazardly pushed up sleeve on the arm that first reached for me reveals more of the ink that covers that part of his body.

“ What ?” I whisper, helplessly trying to mask the stirring of lust that seeps into my voice.

Vincent’s words indicate he wants me alive, that he wants me here with him. But that can’t be possible. I struggle to catch my breath as I stand there, holding his gaze. And I wrestle against the feelings swelling within me. This man is my captor, not my rescuer. He’s a villain, not a hero. So why do I feel a blossoming lust bloom inside my chest as I stand here, getting lost in his eyes?

I open my mouth to speak, unsure of what is going to come out. But before I can utter a single word, he turns on his heels and walks toward the door. Behind me, the gaping hole in the wall is letting rain cascade onto the penthouse floor. The wind howling up here makes me dizzy as the adrenaline fades and a sense of longing takes over. “I want the window repaired now ,” Vincent says as both Marco and another man step inside the penthouse. “This time with reinforced, shatterproof glass. And she is not to leave her room, do you understand me?”

Both men nod as Vincent leaves without saying another word.

“Come on,” Marco says as he leads me toward my bedroom. “I’ll get you a change of clothes and some warm tea. Stay in your room until I have fixed the window. I’ll be standing guard outside your door.”

I nod and glance back at the other man as Marco leads me to my room. I can hear him on the phone, calling someone to seal the window. As soon as I’m inside my room with the door closed, I try to calm myself and think back over the events that just unfolded. The wind’s howling up here, making me dizzy as the adrenaline fades and a sense of longing takes over.