Chapter 142
The killing intent in the leader's eyes, with no room for compromise, completely shattered the last shred of hope in Isabella's heart.
This group of people didn't care about life or death.
Or rather, they placed their beliefs above life and death, completely different from those mafia thugs.
This fanatical, reckless obsession scared Isabella to her core more than mere violence ever could.
Fear, like icy water, instantly soaked through her limbs, but strangely, it also washed away the last traces of confusion and false hope in her mind, leaving behind a numb kind of clarity.
Isabella knew that any emotional resistance right now would only speed up her destruction. It might even, as they said, become the spark that ignited Vitale's madness and dragged him into a hopeless abyss.
She couldn't die, and she definitely couldn't be the reason Vitale died.
Isabella took a deep breath. The foul, cold air stung her lungs, but it also made her more alert.
She raised her head, meeting the leader's icy gaze. Her voice trembled slightly from nerves, but she tried hard to keep it steady, "I'll cooperate with you and read the script."
"But you can't force me to do things I don't want to do, and you can't actually hurt me."
This was less a negotiation and more a faint plea born out of desperation.
The leader looked at Isabella and slowly shook his head, a smile that was almost pitying yet even more cruel spreading across his face, "Ms. Lorraine, I think you've misunderstood something." His voice was flat and emotionless, "You're a hostage now, our bargaining chip, our tool. Hostages don't have the right to negotiate."
He took a step forward, his shadow looming over Isabella, "Of course, if you really want to negotiate, to fight for some so-called rights..." He deliberately dragged out his words, his eyes scanning over her, "That's possible, but it comes with a small price."
Isabella's heart clenched tightly. "What price?"
The leader didn't answer directly. Instead, he turned his head to the woman leaning against the wall and ordered, "Go strip her clothes off."
"What?" Isabella cried out in shock, her body instantly tensing, her eyes filled with disbelief, fear, and humiliation.
Eva walked over with a blank expression, her movements showing no hesitation.
"What are you doing?" Isabella struggled violently, even though the ropes dug painfully into her skin, "You said you wouldn't hurt me! You can't do this! This is an insult!"
The leader just watched her struggle calmly, like he was observing a trapped animal's final desperate flailing.
He even casually waved his hand, signaling Eva to pause, before speaking to Isabella, "Calm down, Ms. Lorraine. No need to panic."
"We just need to create a visual effect, to make your situation look more real. It'll help Mr. Luca understand better."
He looked at her blue eyes, wide with fear, a cold smirk curling on his lips, "Of course, we won't actually hurt you. We'll just show your underwear. But..."
He paused deliberately, his gaze sharp as a knife, "If you keep panicking, resisting, and refusing to cooperate, I can't guarantee whether it'll be just minor bruises or something worse. Do you understand?"
It was a blatant threat, wrapped in a sugarcoated pretense of reason.
Isabella's heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of her chest. Blood rushed to her head, then quickly drained away, leaving behind a cold numbness and despair.
Looking at this man with an ordinary face but eyes like a bottomless abyss, she realized for the first time how much scarier a hypocritical devil was compared to an outright brute.
She forced herself to stop struggling, though her body still trembled slightly from extreme shame and fear.
She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and when she opened them again, there was only a dead calm in her gaze. "Fine," her voice was dry, almost unrecognizable as her own, "But I get cold easily, as you know."
The leader let out a light chuckle, full of disdain, "I don't care about that, Ms. Lorraine. Of course, we won't let you freeze to death. Once you read the script, we'll naturally put your clothes back on. This is just part of the job."
At that moment, Aldo, who had been leering at Isabella with a sleazy gaze, couldn't help but whistle, "Man, she looks even hotter stripped down. I'm getting all worked up."
"Aldo!" The leader whipped his head around, his eyes instantly turning razor-sharp, his voice filled with undeniable rage, "If you don't want me to lose it right now, shut your filthy mouth immediately! I don't want to have to deal with you myself over this woman before we even see Vitale! Do you get it?"
Aldo's face turned pale from the sudden outburst of rage. He quickly lowered his head, not daring to make another sound, but the fleeting venom in his eyes didn't escape Isabella's notice.
The other two men in the room—the silent, tall one and the other adjusting the equipment—also kept quiet, speeding up their work. They adjusted the angle of the harsh spotlight and the position of the camera, ensuring that all the light and focus were unsparingly aimed at Isabella, bound to the chair.
They wanted to make sure Vitale, through the screen, could clearly see the state of his beloved Isabella, every tiny expression on her face.
This wasn't just a kidnapping video; it was a carefully orchestrated psychological torture, targeting Vitale's most vulnerable nerves.
The leader didn't turn around. With his back to Isabella, he asked directly, "Is everything ready?"
"Lighting's good."
"Camera's clear, angle's perfect."
"Audio's normal."
His men responded quickly.
Only then did the leader slowly turn around, his gaze falling on Isabella, now exposed in her thin, light-colored underwear.
Her body trembled slightly from the cold and shame, her skin unnaturally pale under the harsh light, her eyes filled with suppressed humiliation and icy resolve.
"So, Ms. Lorraine, are you ready?"
Isabella felt utterly humiliated, as if she'd been stripped bare and thrown into a frozen wasteland for public display.
Every inch of her skin exposed to the cold air and the men's stares burned like fire.
She wanted to scream, to yell, to curse these monsters with every vile word she could think of.
But she couldn't.
The words "I'm not ready" stuck in her throat, tasting of blood, but she forced them back down.
Isabella knew that saying them out loud would bring more than just a scolding.
She bit her lower lip hard until she tasted the metallic tang of blood, then, with all her strength, squeezed out a faint but clear syllable through gritted teeth, "Ready."
"Good." The leader nodded with satisfaction, signaling to the man behind the camera.
The red recording light blinked on again, like a greedy, bloodthirsty eye.
One of the men held up a white plastic board, standing just outside the camera's frame but in a spot where Isabella could clearly see it. The board was covered with lines written in thick black marker.
"Ms. Lorraine, look at the board," the leader's voice sounded like a director instructing an actor, "Repeat every word exactly, with emotion. Remember, your performance determines how you'll be treated next."
Isabella's eyes fell on the cold, printed words.
The core of the script was clear and vicious, begging Vitale to come save her, emphasizing how scared she was, and stressing that they only allowed Vitale to come alone, with no backup.
The script reminded Vitale to bring the attackers he'd previously captured for a fair exchange.
They were using Isabella to force Vitale into a solo meeting while getting back their captured comrades.
It seemed they didn't plan to kill Vitale outright at the exchange site.
The script even subtly hinted that they knew Vitale's combat skills alone could pose a huge threat to them, and they just wanted to complete the swap.
Isabella forced herself to focus and began reciting the lines on the board, word for word, into the camera.
Her voice trembled at first, carrying an unshakable fear and humiliation, but gradually, she steadied her tone, speaking in an almost mechanical, flat way, trying to detach her emotions so her real fear and pleas wouldn't become a weapon to manipulate Vitale.
"Please, Vitale, come save me. I'm so scared on my own. They only allow you to come alone; don't bring anyone else."
"Bring the people you captured before to exchange for me, please..."
The leader suddenly shouted, "Stop!"
Isabella's voice cut off abruptly, and she looked at him in confusion.
The leader frowned, walked over to the camera to check the playback, then returned to Isabella, his face showing clear dissatisfaction, "Ms. Lorraine, your performance is far from good enough."
"There's not a hint of fear in you. Your voice is too flat, and your eyes don't have the helplessness and despair we need."
"With a performance like this, how will Mr. Luca believe you're really in danger? How will he rush over in a panic? You're making things very difficult for us."
His criticism was hypocritical and cruel.
Isabella looked at his fake troubled expression, the anger and humiliation building inside her finally breaking through the calm facade she'd forced herself to maintain.
She tugged at the corner of her mouth, letting out a short, icy scoff, "How exactly should I be scared?"