The Devil's Bargain
Isabella Hart POV
The Romano mansion's library looks like something from a Gothic novel, all dark wood and leather-bound books that probably cost more than most people's cars. I sit across from Vincent in a chair that could double as a throne, acutely aware that this room has probably witnessed more deals with the devil than a crossroads at midnight.
The four brothers arrange themselves around us like a dark council. Marco positions his wheelchair to my right, close enough that I can still feel the phantom warmth where our hands touched. Dante leans against a bookshelf, watching me with those calculating blue eyes. Luca stands by the door—my unofficial bodyguard already, apparently. Nico perches on the arm of a leather sofa, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
I'm no longer the terrified kidnapping victim who woke up in silk pajamas three days ago. Whatever transformation happened when I touched each of these dangerous men, it's made me stronger. More sure of myself.
"Your terms," Vincent says, steepling his fingers like we're discussing a business merger instead of my enslavement.
I straighten my spine and look him directly in the eye. "Daily phone calls with my mother. No forced marriage until I choose—if I choose. Freedom to move around this estate. Honest answers about my father and my abilities." I pause, letting each demand sink in. "And a guarantee of my mother's treatment regardless of what I decide about your sons."
Vincent's eyebrows rise slightly. "Quite the list of demands for someone in your position."
"My position is that I'm the only person who can give Marco back his legs and heal your wounded soldiers. That makes me valuable, not powerless."
Marco's sharp intake of breath tells me I've hit the mark. Dante's smile widens like he's watching a particularly interesting chess match. Luca nods approvingly from his position by the door.
"Brilliant," Nico mutters under his breath. "She's actually negotiating with the old man."
Vincent considers this for a long moment, and I can practically see him weighing costs and benefits. "Very well. I agree to most of your terms, with modifications. You'll have supervised phone calls with your mother. Marriage will be your choice, but you will choose eventually—the Romano bloodline must continue. You may move freely within the estate grounds, but you cannot leave without an escort." He leans forward slightly. "And you'll undergo training in family business practices."
"What kind of training?"
"How to treat gunshot wounds without reporting them. How to detect lies through physiological changes. How to help interrogation subjects recover quickly so they can be questioned again." Vincent's voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing the weather. "Your abilities extend beyond simple healing, Isabella. We'll explore their full potential."
The thought of healing people so they can be tortured again makes my stomach turn, but I keep my expression neutral. "And my mother's treatment?"
"Begins tomorrow, regardless of your future decisions. Consider it a sign of good faith."
Each brother steps forward then, and I realize they've planned this.
"I'll teach you strategy," Marco says quietly. "How to navigate family politics, how to think ten moves ahead. Knowledge is power, Isabella, and you'll need both to survive in this world."
Dante pushes off from the bookshelf. "I'll help you understand people's motivations, recognize manipulation attempts. Consider it insurance against anyone who might try to use psychological warfare against you."
"I'll keep you safe," Luca says simply. "No one will hurt you while you're under my protection. Not rivals, not family members, not anyone."
Nico grins at me. "And I'll show you Chicago, the real Chicago, not the sanitized version you've been living in. Racing circuits, underground clubs, places where you can feel alive instead of just existing."
Their offers feel like lifelines, but I know they're also chains. Each brother binding me to this family in different ways.
"There's one more thing," Vincent says, and something in his tone makes everyone tense. "I have a test of your resolve, Isabella. To ensure you understand what serving this family truly means."
The library doors open, and two men carry in someone on a stretcher. The smell hits me first—blood, infection, the sweet rot of tissue dying from the inside out. The man on the stretcher is barely conscious, his breathing shallow and rapid.
"One of our soldiers," Vincent explains casually. "He was captured by the Torrino family three days ago. They returned him this morning as a message—barely alive, infected wounds, internal bleeding. Traditional medical care won't save him."
I approach the stretcher, my nursing instincts overriding everything else. The man is maybe thirty, with kind eyes that track my movement despite his obvious agony. Multiple knife wounds, signs of systematic torture, and something that looks like deliberate infection of the cuts.
"They wanted him to die slowly," I whisper, horrified.
"Indeed. So you have a choice, Isabella. Let him die and maintain your moral purity, or save him knowing he'll return to a life of violence and crime."
I place my hands on the dying man's chest, and the connection hits me like a freight train. His pain floods through me—physical agony layered with psychological trauma from days of torture. But underneath that, I sense his memories.
This man has killed people. Not in self-defense or heat of passion, but coldly, methodically. I see flashes of his victims—a young woman who witnessed something she shouldn't have, an accountant who tried to skim money, a teenager who got too close to family business.
He's a monster. But he's also someone's son, someone's brother. And right now, he's dying in agony.
"Help me," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
I close my eyes and let the warm energy flow out of me. It's stronger now than it was with Marco, more controlled. I feel his wounds closing, infections retreating, internal bleeding stopping. Within minutes, his breathing stabilizes and his eyes clear.
But as I heal his body, I lean close to his ear and whisper, "I can see what you've done. Every life you've taken, every family you've destroyed. You're alive because I choose mercy, but that mercy comes with a message—the faces of your victims will haunt you now. I've made sure of it."
The man's eyes widen in terror as phantom images of his victims begin flickering behind his eyelids. He'll live, but he'll never have another peaceful moment.
I step back, wiping blood from my hands with a cloth Luca silently offers. The brothers stare at me with varying expressions of awe and unease.
"Fascinating," Marco murmurs. "You weaponized compassion."
"I've never seen anything like that," Dante adds, studying me like I'm a puzzle he needs to solve.
Luca nods approvingly. "You saved him but made sure he'll suffer for his crimes. Justice."
Nico laughs, bright and slightly manic. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You're incredible."
Vincent looks genuinely impressed. "Well done, Isabella. You understand the balance now—mercy with consequences, healing with justice."
"I want to call my mother now," I say firmly.
Vincent nods to one of his guards, who brings me a phone. My hands shake as I dial Mom's number at the hospital.
"Hello?" Her voice is weaker than I remember, but hearing it makes my chest tight with relief and guilt.
"Mom, it's me."
"Isabella! Oh my God, where are you? The police said there was an accident, but you just disappeared from the hospital. I've been so worried—"
"I'm okay, Mom. I'm safe. I'm working on getting money for your treatment."
"Honey, I don't need you to"
"Yes, you do." I close my eyes, hating that I can't tell her the truth. "The experimental therapy, Mom. I found a way to pay for it. You're going to start treatment tomorrow."
Through the phone, I can hear her crying. "How? Isabella, what did you do?"
That's when I sense it, something wrong beyond her cancer. A darkness around her that feels familiar, like the energy I felt from Vincent's men. Someone else has been near her, someone dangerous.
"Mom, has anyone been asking about me? Visitors you didn't recognize?"
Her pause tells me everything. "There was a woman yesterday. She said she was from your school, asking about your childhood, about your father. She seemed very interested in whether you'd ever shown any... unusual abilities."
Ice forms in my veins. "What did she look like?"
"Beautiful, probably your age. Dark hair, very elegant. She had these intense green eyes, and when she shook my hand..." Mom's voice drops to a whisper. "I felt afraid, honey. Really afraid, but I didn't know why."
I look up to find Vincent watching me with sharp attention. The brothers have gone rigid with tension.
"Mom, listen to me carefully. Don't talk to anyone else about me or Dad. If that woman comes back, call hospital security immediately."
After I hang up, Vincent's face has gone cold with fury. "Describe this woman."
"Dark hair, green eyes, elegant. She was asking about my abilities and my father."
"Sophia Torrino," Marco says grimly. "Vincent, if she's making moves on Isabella's mother—"
"Then someone else knows about Isabella and is positioning to take her." Vincent's voice could freeze blood. "It seems your father made enemies beyond our family, my dear. Which means your value just increased exponentially... and your danger along with it."
As if summoned by his words, alarms begin blaring throughout the mansion. Red lights flash in the corridor outside, and I hear the sound of running feet, shouted orders, the metallic click of weapons being readied.
Through the library's tall windows, I see men in black tactical gear scaling the estate walls. They move with military precision, and there are a lot of them.
Luca grabs my arm, his grip firm but careful. "Stay close to me. Someone's come to collect what they think is theirs."
The sound of gunfire erupts from somewhere in the mansion, and I realize my nightmare is just beginning.