Chapter 11
Sonia saw Isabella spacing out and assumed her slut of a sister was thinking about that Vitale.
Her fingers gripped the ivory comb so tightly her knuckles turned white, "So!"
Her voice was sharp, like a monster shrieking, "You still had sex with that man, didn't you?"
Isabella adjusted her torn shoulder and said, "It's just mosquito bites."
She didn't want to share how good Vitale was.
Sonia suddenly stood up, her silk robe rustling.
She moved closer to Isabella, digging her nails deep into her shoulder, "Don't lie to me. Look at yourself—you reek of slut."
Isabella pulled away in pain, her voice filled with suppressed anger, "Even if I did sleep with him, what right do you have to question me? Shouldn't you be celebrating? At least my first time won't be wasted on your Colt."
"Celebrating?" Sonia grabbed a perfume bottle from the vanity and smashed it on the floor, glass shards flying everywhere. "You made me a laughingstock the night before my wedding. Everyone's saying my sister Isabella is a slut who sleeps around with men!"
"Laughingstock?" Isabella sneered. "When you rigged that dart game, weren't you afraid of becoming a laughingstock?"
Just then Colt pushed the door open, his suit and tie unable to hide his sleazy manner.
He deliberately moved close to Isabella, his fingers flirtatiously brushing across her back,
"Looks like Vitale didn't satisfy you enough—you can still walk."
Isabella's red lips curved slightly, "Sorry to disappoint you. He's much gentler than some self-proclaimed gentlemen."
She was surprised to discover that after last night, Colt could no longer make her feel afraid.
Colt walked over to Sonia, perfunctorily kissing her cheek while his eyes remained fixed on Isabella, "Honey, does Isabella know what kind of person she's messed with?"
Sonia smiled knowingly, "Isabella, you think you only know his name is Vitale? But do you know he's the mafia godfather of this city? The most dangerous kind."
"You've provoked the last person you should have." Colt added, his tone gleeful.
But Isabella just laughed and shook her head, "No, you simply don't understand him."
Her eyes softened, "The Vitale I know is a man who gets turned on by just my touch but still shows restraint, a man who wears an apron to make me breakfast."
"A man who holds me at dawn to watch the sea. He's a gentleman."
"A gentleman?" Colt mocked. "He's a cold-blooded killer!"
"Cook steak? He's better at chopping people into meat!"
"At least," Isabella calmly straightened her sleeves, "he doesn't drool over someone else's fiancée like you do."
Colt raised his hand to strike but was stopped by Isabella's sharp gaze, "His goodness—it's enough that I know it."
"I even know where his sensitive spots are. We did far more than just sleep last night, understand? Now, remember this—I'm his woman. You'd better stop thinking about me."
Colt's hand froze in mid-air, his face ashen.
That bitch Isabella—her personality had completely changed overnight. She really was a woman pampered by Vitale.
Seeing this, Sonia suddenly moved forward gently and took Isabella's arm,
"Isabella, I'm just worried about you. Did that Vitale make you any promises?"
"No." Isabella said flatly. "I didn't even tell him my real name."
Sonia's lips couldn't help but curl up, though she quickly suppressed it, "That's good, since you're going back to Lumaria next week anyway."
Just then the bridesmaids came giggling into the room. Sonia immediately put on her friendly mask, warmly pulling Isabella in for photos.
But the moment the camera turned away, she whispered in Isabella's ear,
"Remember, sluts never deserve happiness."
Isabella stared at Sonia's fake smile through the mirror, suddenly understanding something.
She replied softly,
"We'll see who doesn't deserve happiness, my dear Sonia."
When it was time for intimate photos of the bride and groom, Colt's arm clamped around Sonia's waist like a vice, deliberately pressing a heavy kiss on her lips.
But his eyes never left Isabella, full of malicious provocation.
Sonia cooperatively let out seductive moans, her fingertips drawing circles on Colt's chest.
"See that, dear Isabella?" Sonia panted between breaths. "This is what a real man is like. Your Vitale... does he treat you this tenderly?"
Images from last night flashed through Isabella's mind.
Vitale's restrained kisses, his trembling hands, and his suppressed breathing in her ear.
A wave of heat rushed between her legs, forcing her to steady herself against the vanity.
"He's much gentler than this." Isabella's voice unconsciously softened. "His kisses are like moonlight on the Lunaire Sea. He doesn't use women as tools to show off."
Colt's expression darkened instantly.
He roughly turned Sonia's face and kissed her hard again, this kiss clearly meant as punishment.
Sonia's lipstick smeared, her carefully styled hair became messy, and she finally couldn't help but let out a pained whimper.
"Enough!" Sonia shoved him away. "You've ruined my makeup!"
But Colt didn't care, still staring at Isabella, "Seems like that mafia boss is your type? But don't forget, he'll eventually get tired of naive little ladies like you."
The photographer reminded them to pose properly for photos.
Colt roughly grabbed Sonia, forcing intimate poses despite her resistant gaze.
But just before the shutter clicked, he suddenly let go and stormed out without looking back.
"Colt!" Sonia shouted in frustration, receiving only retreating footsteps in response.
The dressing room fell into awkward silence.
Isabella gently straightened her rumpled dress and gave the photographer an apologetic smile, "Maybe we could take solo shots first?"
Sonia glared at her, then suddenly sneered, "Happy now? Seducing my groom at my own wedding?"
"Need I remind you?" Isabella looked at her calmly. "You two started the performance in front of me."
While they were arguing, the bridesmaids started chatting.
"Did you guys see last night's news?" A blonde bridesmaid said, holding up her phone. "The Luca family had another shootout. So many people died."
"I heard Vitale's beloved sister died too," another bridesmaid chimed in. "Just yesterday afternoon."
Isabella's heart sank.
She took the phone. The screen showed a local news report.
In a captured photo, Vitale knelt in the ruins, holding a blood-covered girl in his arms.
His expression as he screamed at the sky was so anguished, as if his entire world was collapsing before him.
Isabella's fingers gently traced across Vitale's twisted face on the screen.
Now she finally understood—when he buried his face in her chest and cried last night, what kind of pain was he enduring?