Page 87 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Eighty-Six

Isabella

G erard opens the door to the ‘guest’ bedroom, and I step through. The lock clicks behind me, a sound that lands like a slap. I throw myself onto the bed without grace, burying my face in the covers.

Alone. At least, physically.

I know better than to assume I’m unwatched. Hale’s eyes will be here too, hidden behind a lens so small I’ll never find it.

He’s probably hoping I’ll touch myself so he can show Luca, claim it was he who turned me on, and drive a wedge between us. Sicko.

My shoulders want to shake, and I press my lips together to hold back a scream. I’m rattled, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

I shove myself up and head for the bathroom, praying for a shred of privacy there. Maybe the cameras stop at the threshold. Maybe.

The gaudy dress scratches against my skin, heavy with his taste in excess, and I rip it off and fling it against the tiled wall. It slides down in a heap, like something rotten I never want to touch again.

The shower is still damp from earlier, but I crank the water hot again. Scalding. I step under the spray and sink to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. The rush of water pelts down, masking the tears that break free no matter how hard I fight them.

I’ve been nothing more than a pawn. Again.

First, my father decided my fate, moving me like a piece on his board. At least with him, I always knew where I stood.

He made no secret that he despised having daughters and that he wanted to use us to his best advantage. I never expected love from him, never warmth, only his expectations pressed on me like shackles.

At least with him, I could brace myself against the cold, knowing it would never thaw.

But Sebastian?

It was different with him. He offered warmth, tenderness, affection… all the things I craved after missing Luca for so long.

He made me believe I was wanted.

And I leaned into it, only to find out the fire was false. It burned me worse than the ice ever did.

I thought he was a choice I made for myself, a path to freedom, even if it meant settling for less than the deep, all-consuming love I had with Luca. But that had been a once-in-a-lifetime love.

With Sebastian, I believed he respected me, liked me, and wanted to build a good life together. I built a fragile hope around him, convincing myself life could turn out all right even with Luca gone.

But I was wrong. Yet again, I was nothing more than a piece to be maneuvered, bartered, sold. It was all a lie.

This cuts deeper than my father’s control because, at least with him, I understood the truth. With Sebastian, I believed the illusion… and that makes the betrayal sting worse.

The knowledge claws at my chest until every breath scrapes raw. My last meltdown on Luca’s island floods back, mocking me. The progress I thought I’d made feels like a joke because I’m still questioning what choices in my life have ever truly been mine.

Was every step I’ve taken nudged by someone else’s hand, each decision a manipulation dressed up as freedom?

The notion swallows me whole .

How do I take back my power when I’m not sure I’ve ever had any?

And how do I stop being a pawn when that’s all I’ve ever been? Can I even become a queen, or is that fantasy too far out of reach?

The questions sting worse than the heat of the water, searing through skin and bone until they burn in my chest.

I picture the chessboard in my mind, black and white squares stretching endlessly. Pawns march forward and fall.

But the queen?

She moves anywhere she pleases. She bends the whole game around her.

Could I ever do that? Or am I destined to be tipped over and swept from the board before I’ve even learned how to play?

I press my forehead against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut until spots dance behind my lids.

Pawn, pawn, pawn.

I repeat the word in my mind.

With Luca, it doesn’t fit as easily.

Yes, he has taken choices from me. Like making me his wife without my memory of it, carrying me to his island where escape was cut off by sea and by him, even making love to me that first night when I assumed he was someone else.

But the truth is, I always wanted to be his wife, to live with him, and I sure as hell wanted to make love to him every chance I got.

He never truly took anything from me. In fact, he gave me something no one else ever has.

Devotion. Love. Belonging.

He built a home not as a monument to himself but as a reflection of me.

A house modeled on our secret hideaway, walls lined with our memories instead of marble.

Pictures of us, of places we loved. A pantry stocked with my favorite foods, a closet filled not with gowns to parade in but with clothes I could breathe in.

He even recreated the archer girl, that little statue I adored, because he knew I loved it.

And most of all, he stayed true.

Five long years. Not one other woman. I believe him when he says it.

I feel it in the way he looks at me, as if the whole world narrowed to my face and never widened again.

The weight of his gaze heated my skin as if he had branded me with nothing more than his eyes. Even in silence, his presence wrapped around me like a vow, one I couldn’t escape and didn’t want to.

What kind of man does that?

Only one.

One who is flawed, broken, controlling, maybe even dangerous… but also a man who loves me in a way no one else ever has. A man whose obsession never let him replace me, whose devotion has always been mine alone.

I release a long breath, lungs filling with the certainty that Luca’s love is real.

Is it unconditional? Hell no.

He’d never let me walk away again. But I don’t want to. I want no one else.

He’ll move heaven and earth to get me back. I’ve never been more certain he’ll defeat the Jackal.

Meanwhile, Hale wears his cruelty like a crown, strutting as if he was born to dominate and destroy.

And he insists Luca is no different. That they’re mirror images, both men with blood on their hands, both dangerous, both killers in their own ways.

But Luca is not Hale; never has been.

Hale destroys to feed his hunger. Luca fights to protect what he loves. Hale takes for the sake of power. Luca’s power has always been mine.

I dig out the seeds of doubt Hale tried to bury in me.

I will not let them sprout.

With that vow still burning in my chest, I turn off the shower and towel dry, wrapping myself in a cocoon of soft white terry. Flimsy as it is, the robe is like armor against the chill inside me. Matching slippers whisper across the tiles as I move into the walk-in closet .

Racks of clothes hang in shades meant to please Hale, not me. They look like costumes for someone else’s life. Nothing appeals. I tug the robe tighter and decide I’ll stay in it. I’m not leaving this room today.

What I need isn’t a dress. It’s time.

Time to piece together some kind of plan. To find a way to slip Luca a clue, or to uncover a weakness in this fortress Hale calls home.

Does Luca have any idea I’m in Chicago?

He must. Who else would dare use me as leverage but the Jackal himself?

I step back into the main room, determined to hold on to the fragile calm I managed to piece together.

But the second I cross the threshold, I stop dead.

The television hums softly, blue light flickering across the walls. And Hale sits regally in an armchair like the king he sees himself to be, while I’m nothing more than a subject summoned for his amusement and pleasure.

The sight of him here makes my stomach twist.

His presence stains the air, and I cinch the robe tighter, feeling stripped bare beneath his gaze.

“What are you doing in my room?” I force out.

My throat is raw, but I keep my chin high. I’ve already spent too much of my day with this man. I want nothing more to do with him.

“Your room?” He arches a brow, taunting. “Last I checked, this was my house.”

Pawn, pawn, pawn. The word that caged me.

But now it cracks, splinters, falls away. I will not be moved or sacrificed. I’m no longer a pawn. Queens write the game. And I will learn how.

Because I am Luca’s queen.

“Well, as I’m a distinguished guest,” I lift my fingers to sketch mocking quotation marks in the air, “I’d expect at least the courtesy of a knock. Even an announcement.”

He ignores the barb, his attention sliding deliberately to the robe clinging to my body .

“This is fetching,” he drawls. “I’m happy to see you’re making yourself more at home.”

I yank the lapels of the bathrobe closer, not wanting to give him any ideas. My retort is already on my tongue when a picture on the television screen catches my eye.

A news bulletin. Luca’s face stares out in a mock-up image, glaring at the world. The anchor’s voice cuts sharp and urgent.

The air in my lungs freezes. My pulse stumbles.

Hale isn’t here to spar. He’s here because he wants me to see this.

The dread isn’t a whisper but a slow flood, seeping cold into my bones, testing the delicate confidence I clawed together in the shower.

What has he done now?