Page 85 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Eighty-Four

Isabella

T he first thing I notice is the pillow beneath my cheek. I pry my eyes open, hoping beyond hope my view is different today, that it’s all been a bad dream.

But no.

I’m still in the same ostentatious room with marble floors, soft blush walls, and a chaise in the corner. A gilded mirror presides over an antique writing desk, and there’s a sitting area with settees overlooking the garden.

Sunlight pours through massive windows framed in sheer white curtains, but the locks are sealed tight. I know that because I tested every single one of them.

This place must’ve been modeled on Versailles or somewhere equally grand. Maybe it fits in Paris, but in Chicago, it seems pretentious.

I chuckle darkly. This is the kind of grandeur that screams desperation, marble and mirrors begging the world to believe the owner matters, when beneath it all, he’s small and insecure.

Perhaps he’s compensating?

I first woke up here two days ago, my head pounding, a chemical fog dragging me under like I’d been drunk and drowning at once.

I had no idea where I was, the disorientation crawling cold under my skin. But fear never came. It should have. But instead, there was only one thought.

Luca will come for me.

And it won’t take him five years this time… probably not even a week.

Escorted by a uniformed butler into a vast dining room, I found Carter Hale seated at the head of the table in a chair that looked more like a throne. I recognized him even before he introduced himself from the picture Luca had shown me.

He magnanimously apologized for drugging me, insisting I was a valued guest here at his Chicago estate. I laughed in his face. I couldn’t help it. We both knew I was his prisoner.

My remark that guests don’t get kidnapped and carted across oceans like contraband was ignored.

He just smiled with the kind of practiced charm that might fool women who chase money and status.

I’m not that woman.

After breakfast, which I didn’t touch, he took me on a grand tour of his palace, enlightening me about the origin of every painting, every gaudy decoration, every ‘priceless’ antique. It was like listening to a man recite Wikipedia articles and congratulate himself for memorizing them.

In between explanations, he gloated about how Luca is finished, how it won’t be long before the authorities drag him in. How even if Luca managed to find proof that Delaware wasn’t his doing, he’d never use it, not while I’m tucked away as his ‘guest’.

Hale believes holding me makes him untouchable, and Luca miserable. The latter I believe.

Luca will be so worried. But that will only drive him harder to find me.

Hale showed me the mock-up picture Interpol has circulated worldwide. He smirked as he told me it was what gave us away in Tangier.

“I have eyes everywhere, especially at ports and airports,” he bragged. “One of them spotted Luca at the jetty in Tangier. And because he was accompanied by a woman, you, he stood out.”

So, this is how he found us. If it hadn’t been for that one stroke of bad luck, Hale might be the prisoner right now. And not in a palace of mirrors, but a concrete cell with steel doors, and men who’d make sure he never smiled again.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ornate ceiling. Painted cupids float among clouds, their bows aimed at half-dressed lovers tangled in an embrace.

It’s supposed to be romantic, but all it does is mock me. I reach for the pillow beside me and clutch it to my chest, as if it could make up for the space where Luca should be.

I miss him so much.

We’ve only been apart two days, three if you count his time in that cellar in Tangier, and it already seems unbearable. Maybe because I only just got him back, only just relearned what it was to breathe with his presence beside me again.

Those five years apart dissolved once I got over the initial shock. I was angry with him at first, furious even, but time and distance never stood a chance against what we are. The connection never dulled. It was like slipping back into something that had always been ours.

Luca will find me. He’s fought his way back to me before, and it will be no different this time. He’s coming for me. I can feel it.

I shuffle to the edge of the mattress and swing my legs over. The bed is absurdly large, another example of Hale compensating for something small.

After a quick shower, I pull on one of the dresses from the walk-in closet he stocked for me. Glamorous, expensive, and completely impractical for day-to-day wear.

But I don’t have a choice. It’s either this or nothing at all. Hale seems to take pleasure in dressing me like a doll and pretending I belong in his world. No doubt he’s taking pictures to taunt Luca with .

I wait until the door is unlocked by Gerard, the butler, who always seems to know exactly when I’m ready. No doubt there are cameras in here. Hopefully, Hale has enough decency not to put them in the bathroom or the walk-in closet, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

I follow Gerard into the breakfast room, counting my steps to steady myself. A buffet stretches across a side table, every dish laid out like a hotel spread. Silver covers. Crystal pitchers. Enough food for ten, though it’s only the two of us. Typical Hale.

He greets me with a smile he probably thinks is charming. “Good morning, Isabella.”

Today he’s in a charcoal suit, tailored to perfection. Open collar. Designer watch flashing in the light. His dark hair is slicked back with effortless precision. He looks like he’s posing for a magazine cover or walking into a funding pitch. Ridiculous.

“You’re particularly beautiful today,” he continues when I don’t answer.

I just stare at him, pouring as much disdain into my gaze as I can muster.

His smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, warming like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.

I look away when a server enters, carrying a tray with a tumbler of murky brown liquid. He sets it beside Hale’s plate like it belongs there. My brows draw together.

“Isn’t it a bit early for alcohol?” I ask.

Hale smirks, pleased with himself. “This, Isabella, is the elixir of youth and longevity. Fermented reishi mushroom, ginseng, and deer velvet.”

“Deer velvet as in antlers?” I wrinkle my nose. “And you ferment them?”

“Yes.” His tone takes on the smug cadence of a salesman as he lifts the glass with a flourish, swishing the liquid like fine liquor. “Civilizations have prized this for centuries, but few have access to the authentic blend.”

He takes a deliberate sip, savoring it like expensive cognac .

“Gross,” I mutter under my breath.

His laughter follows me as I turn away to help myself to some food, praying none of it has been laced with deer velvet or whatever other bizarre tonic he’s into. Surely the Michelin-starred chef he bragged about isn’t quite so experimental with breakfast.

I’d actually thought about a hunger strike on my first day here, but what would be the point? I need my strength if I’m going to survive this and find a way to help Luca reach me inside this palatial fortress.

And sadly, I’m not exaggerating when I say fortress. I wish I were, because this place really does seem impenetrable.

Even the air feels wrong here, too clean, too still. Every door shuts with the echo of a vault, every corridor smells faintly of antiques and stale air. A cage wrapped in velvet.

I keep my eyes open, storing away every detail. Cameras in the corners, some obvious, others tucked where you’d only notice if you were looking. Guards posted at the doors, not hovering but close enough that I’d never get far. Even the windows here, framed with heavy silk, are reinforced glass.

I’m no hacker, no strategist, but at least I can count bodies and mark cameras. Every detail I notice, I’ll pass to Luca when he comes or somehow gets in touch with me. And he will.

For the past two days, I’ve kept my conversations with Hale to the bare minimum, letting him fill the silence with his endless boring monologues.

But silence isn’t a weapon against him. He loves hearing himself talk.

It’s time to change tactics.