Chapter 140
The man leaned close, his teasing voice creeping into her ear, "Look at this, our precious little bird is awake! This skin, this golden hair... I'm starting to get why Vitale keeps you hidden away like a treasure. But then again, a blonde beauty—who wouldn't like that?"
His fingers even brushed her cheek with a malicious touch.
Isabella felt every hair on her body stand on end, a wave of nausea churning in her stomach.
She jerked her head away, trying to escape that sickening contact.
"Still got some fight in you?" The man seemed irritated by her resistance, muttering a curse under his breath before grabbing the hair at the back of her head and yanking it down hard!
A searing pain tore through her scalp, and Isabella couldn't hold back a cry of agony. Tears welled up again, soaking the blindfold over her eyes.
"Let her go, Aldo Puckett!" A slightly stern male voice cut through, followed by the sharp sound of a slap.
The grip on Isabella's hair loosened, and the man called Aldo let out a muffled grunt, apparently hit.
"Keep those disgusting thoughts out of your head. I don't want to hear them," the man who slapped him said coldly, "This woman cannot be harmed, understand? Not a single hair on her head. We need her, unharmed, to trade for our friend. That's the priority. Got it?"
"Got it, boss," several voices replied unevenly, tinged with reluctance and fear.
"Good." The man referred to as the boss seemed satisfied.
Isabella felt someone approach, lifting her from the cold, rough ground and propping her up to sit against something equally hard.
Then, a blinding light pierced through the blindfold. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the harsh, white glare.
It was a spotlight or a powerful flashlight.
"Ms. Lorraine," the boss's voice came again, deliberately calm but carrying a threat, "listen carefully. As long as you're a good girl and cooperate with us, I promise my men and I won't hurt you. We'll take good care of you."
He paused, his voice lowering with a fake, chilling sincerity, "But if you disobey, try to resist, or pull any tricks, I can't guarantee my men will control themselves."
"They're not as principled as I am. If something happens, even God might forgive me. After all, I'm just a poor guy who can't control the situation, right?"
It was a blatant threat, wrapped in a facade of reasonableness.
Isabella's heart pounded wildly in her chest, fear almost drowning her.
But she knew that any emotional outburst or resistance right now could provoke these desperate men, especially the ones who clearly had bad intentions toward her.
Forcing down the scream and curses in her throat, Isabella stiffly gave a tiny, barely noticeable nod.
The gesture was small, but enough to show compliance.
"Good, obedient girl," the man's voice carried a hint of satisfied approval, as if praising a well-behaved pet, "Now, we've got work to do. Cooperate, and it'll be better for both of us."
With that, Isabella felt someone come closer, fingers touching the knot of the blindfold behind her head.
Her body tensed instinctively, but she forced herself not to flinch.
The blindfold was removed.
The sudden light made Isabella squeeze her eyes shut. It took several seconds before she cautiously, bit by bit, opened them.
The first thing she saw was a glaring portable spotlight aimed directly at her, the light making it hard to see anything beyond it.
Squinting to adjust, she slowly scanned her surroundings.
It was a small, enclosed, almost perfectly square room.
The walls were rough cement, unpainted, showing a dusty gray color with tiny cracks.
There were no windows. The only light came from the spotlight aimed at her and a dim, dusty ceiling lamp in the corner.
The air was stale, filled with the smell of dust, rust, mold, and a nasty mix of sweat and tobacco.
The floor was uneven cement, littered with unidentified debris.
There were four people in the room.
Directly in front of her, sitting on an upside-down wooden crate, was the man who had been speaking. He was a white man, around forty, average build, with a plain, even somewhat harmless-looking face. But his brown eyes held no warmth, only cold calculation and a commanding gaze.
He wore simple work pants and a dark jacket.
To his left, clutching his face and glaring at her with a dark expression, was Aldo—the one who had grabbed her chin and pulled her hair earlier.
He was bulkier than the speaker, his face full of hostility.
To the right stood a silent, unusually tall man—the one who had knocked her out on the speedboat.
His face was blank, like a towering statue, arms crossed, staring blankly ahead as if nothing around him mattered.
But what made Isabella's heart tighten most was the woman leaning against the wall slightly behind the boss.
She looked to be in her early thirties, her dark brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She wore black skinny pants and a leather jacket, her figure lean and agile.
Her face showed no emotion, just a cold, tired indifference, but her deep green eyes, even in the dim light, studied Isabella sharply, like a predator.
Isabella remembered now—when the speedboat docked, this woman had been at the back and flashed her a seemingly friendly but utterly cold smile.
That smile, in the chaos of the moment, had subtly lowered her guard.
A venomous beauty.
That's how Isabella coldly labeled her in her mind.
She also noticed, in a high corner of the room, a small handheld camera mounted, its red recording light on, the lens pointed directly at her without any attempt to hide it.
They weren't even covering their faces, openly showing themselves to her.
Was it because they were confident she couldn't escape and posed no threat?
Or because they never planned to let her leave alive, so their identities didn't matter?
The second possibility made Isabella's blood run cold.
She couldn't die here. No way.
Vitale would lose his mind.
She had to survive. She had to find a way.
Fear still churned in her heart, but a fierce will to live, mixed with anger at her own stupidity and worry for Vitale, forced her to suppress the trembling in her body.
She lifted her head, looking straight at the man called the boss. Though her face was still pale, her voice came out surprisingly steady, almost icy, "What exactly do you want?"