Chapter 133
Victor's gun barrel still held a faint warmth from firing.
"What's going on, Vitale?"
"Which sewer rat crawled out to bite? And made such a big mess of it too."
He kicked at an attacker lying by his feet, joints dislocated and unable to move, "Pretty sloppy work, doesn't look professional, but they've got some guts."
Vitale's gaze was ice-cold as it slowly swept over the terrified faces of the attackers.
His anger hadn't cooled down even though the advance team had the situation under control. Instead, seeing Isabella's pitiful state and Henley's severe injuries only fueled his rage further.
"I'd like to know what's going on too," his voice was low, yet it landed heavily in the silent clinic, "But right now..."
Vitale's eyes moved past the chaos and blood on the floor, locking onto Isabella by the corner cot.
Her fragility, her pale face, the lingering fear in her eyes—they were like tiny needles piercing his furious heart, bringing a different kind of sharp pain.
"I just want to hold my baby," Vitale's voice suddenly dropped, soft and hoarse, "She's been scared."
He no longer looked at Victor or the attackers, as if they had instantly become insignificant background noise.
"Victor," Vitale ordered without turning his head, his tone back to icy cold, "take these people, along with the bar owner, the security, everyone involved, to the castle basement. Keep an eye on them until I get back."
He paused, then added in a flat tone that still made even a hardened man like Victor feel a chill down his spine, "Don't let them die too easily before I personally deal with them and get the answers I want."
Victor watched Vitale's back as he walked toward Isabella.
That tall, straight figure carried an almost uncontrollable, destructive violence. Yet, when facing Isabella, that violence was forcibly turned into a clumsy kind of gentleness.
This extreme contrast made Victor's heart skip a beat.
He hadn't seen Vitale like this in a long time.
The last time he witnessed something similar was probably years ago, when Vitale's family was killed.
Dangerous. Extremely dangerous.
Not just to enemies, but to anything or anyone who dared disturb him while he comforted his partner right now.
Victor wisely kept his mouth shut, signaling his men to quickly and quietly clean up the scene and take the captives away.
Vitale walked over to Isabella.
He slowly crouched down, his movements gentle, as if afraid to startle a frightened butterfly.
He reached out his hands, not hugging her right away, but first lightly and tentatively touching her shoulder.
"Isabella."
Isabella's body jolted, her unfocused gaze struggling to sharpen as it landed on Vitale's face.
When she confirmed it was really Vitale, the last bit of strength she'd been holding onto crumbled completely.
No crying, no words—she just threw herself into his arms like a drowning person clinging to driftwood, using all her strength. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face buried deep in his chest.
Her body was shaking hard, her teeth chattering, unable to say a word.
Vitale's heart clenched painfully, the ache almost suffocating him.
He tightened his arms, pulling Isabella fully into his embrace, warming her, protecting her.
He lowered his head, his chin gently brushing against her messy hair, comforting her.
"I'm here, baby, I'm here."
"I'm sorry, I'm late. I'm sorry you had to see this. I'm sorry."
Vitale's apologies were awkward and repetitive, a stark contrast to his usual decisive and ruthless demeanor outside.
He could feel how cold, how small, how fragile the body in his arms was, as if she might break if he held her too tightly.
And the dark red bloodstains on her clothes and hands—Henley's blood—stung his eyes.
"Tell me, are you hurt? Does it hurt anywhere?" He loosened his hold a little, wanting to check on her.
But Isabella only hugged him tighter, shaking her head forcefully, still unable to speak, her trembling growing even worse.
Vitale stopped asking. He lifted her into his arms and decided to leave.
He didn't glance at anyone else in the clinic, carrying Isabella toward his SUV.
The car drove away from the rundown west side, cutting through the midnight streets of Thalassia, heading to Vitale's private territory.
On the way, Isabella stayed curled up tightly in Vitale's arms, her face buried in his chest, hands clutching his shirt. She didn't look up or speak.
Only the occasional, uncontrollable shivers of her body betrayed the fear that hadn't yet faded.
Vitale held her steady with one arm, the other gently patting her back, his chin resting on her hair. But through the car window, his gaze pierced the fleeting darkness outside, a storm of violence and killing intent raging deep in his eyes.
But when he looked down at the person in his arms, all that rage was forcibly suppressed, leaving only heartache and tenderness.
The night wind was biting, and the sea was pitch black.
Vitale wrapped Isabella tightly in a thick blanket and carried her onto the speedboat.
The engine roared to life, and the boat headed toward the brightly lit building in the distance.
Throughout the ride, Isabella clung to Vitale like a scared little cat, as if he were the only source of warmth and support in this cold, dark world.
She remained silent, and that silence burned Vitale with anxiety more than any cries or complaints ever could.
He desperately wanted to lie down right then, hold her completely in his arms, and let his body heat and heartbeat reassure her that she was safe until she regained that sense of security.
The castle was ablaze with lights, the servants standing at attention.
But Vitale ignored everything, carrying Isabella straight to the master bedroom.
He gently placed her on the huge, soft bed, intending to grab a hot towel to wipe her face or pour a cup of warm water.
However, the moment he turned to leave, a cold little hand tightly gripped the edge of his shirt.
Isabella still didn't speak. She just looked at him with eyes still filled with lingering fear, her fingers clenched so hard her knuckles turned white, as if the moment he left her sight, those horrifying scenes would swallow her up again.
Vitale immediately stopped everything he was doing.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, pulling her, blanket and all, into his arms, and said softly, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm not leaving."
He quickly pressed the internal communicator by the bed and gave a cold order, "Bring hot water, hot towels, and warm milk to the master bedroom door. Leave them there and go. No noise, no coming close. Tell everyone that unless the sky falls tonight, no one is to disturb us for any reason."
The command was short and clear, carrying an unquestionable authority.
However, there's always someone who doesn't get the hint.
Not long after, the heavy door of the master bedroom was symbolically knocked on twice before being pushed open without waiting for a response.
Not many in the entire castle would dare to do that.
Victor leaned against the doorframe, half a bottle of whiskey in hand, a mix of impatience and confusion on his face.
He looked at the two closely embracing on the bed, especially at Vitale's overly cautious demeanor, and couldn't help but roll his eyes dramatically.
"Vitale, you're really spoiling her."
"Listen to me, Vitale. This is classic shock—adrenaline spiking and then crashing hard."
"Give her a shot of sedative, let her sleep for ten hours straight, and I guarantee she'll wake up tomorrow morning like nothing happened, eating and drinking as usual."
Victor took a swig of his whiskey and continued, "Didn't you grit your teeth back at the clinic, saying you'd personally deal with those bastards? I've got everything set up for you. They're all in the basement now."
"And that unlucky bar owner and those useless security guards? I've brought them in too."
"When do we start? I can't wait to see which idiot is behind all this."
Victor finished speaking, waiting for Vitale's response.
In the past, Vitale would have gotten up right away, filled with murderous intent, heading to the basement to extract information in the most efficient way before launching a bloody revenge.
But Vitale just looked at Victor by the door and said coldly, "Victor, if you can't understand plain words, I don't mind using a more direct method to make my point clear."
Victor felt a chill from that gaze, but relying on their blood relation and years of working together, he still puffed out his chest with some defiance, "Vitale! I'm your cousin, for crying out loud! Can you show me a little respect?"
"Who do you think stayed up half the night, went to that damn clinic, and cleaned up your mess because I was worried? Huh?"
His complaints didn't earn him any explanation or softening from Vitale.
Vitale's gaze suddenly sharpened even more.
"Shut! Up!"
That low growl made Isabella visibly flinch in his arms.
Vitale immediately tightened his hold, lowering his head to place a gentle kiss on her hair.
When he looked up again, his eyes on Victor were devoid of any warmth.
"Those people can be dealt with tomorrow. You can all take the night off too."
"Anyway, until they answer every single one of my questions, no one's leaving that basement. You don't need to worry about them growing wings and flying away."
Vitale tilted his head slightly toward the door, "Now, get out. Rest, or go drink somewhere else. Don't stand here being an eyesore."
Victor stood there, stunned, finally understanding completely.
As long as Isabella on that bed hadn't calmed down tonight, hadn't started speaking again, hadn't shown even a hint of a reassured smile, Vitale wouldn't have the mind to do anything else—not even to torture the enemies who nearly hurt her.
He wanted to say something more, but Vitale wasn't giving him the chance.
The moment Victor opened his mouth, Vitale's gun was already drawn.