Chapter 143
Isabella's questioning, filled with contempt and anger, hit the stifling air of the cramped cell like a loud slap, "Are you treating Vitale like an idiot? He's a mafia boss, not a fool!"
The other people in the room froze for a moment, their eyes instinctively turning to the man in charge, waiting for his reaction.
Isabella's sudden, almost defiant resistance caught them off guard.
Being challenged like this by a hostage tied to a chair, nearly half-naked, made the muscles on the leader's face twitch slightly, almost imperceptibly.
But he didn't lose his temper. Instead, he shrugged, "Angering me won't help, Ms. Lorraine."
"It'll only make things harder for you. Since you don't know, or rather, refuse to show the fear we want, I'm happy to help you with that."
He tilted his head slightly and gave a calm order, "Eva Murphy."
Eva didn't hesitate at all, as if she were just a machine following instructions.
She stepped forward, standing in front of Isabella, looking down at her.
In Eva's deep green eyes, Isabella saw no trace of pity or doubt, only a cold, indifferent void.
The next second, Eva raised her hand.
Two sharp, brutal slaps landed hard on Isabella's cheeks!
The force was so strong that Isabella's head snapped to the side, then bounced back from the momentum.
A burning, intense pain exploded instantly. Her mouth filled with the heavy taste of rust, and her lip seemed to split open, warm liquid trickling down her jawline.
Isabella let out a muffled groan of pain, her vision darkening and her ears buzzing.
Humiliation and agony made her whole body tremble. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she clenched her teeth hard, swallowing the cry of pain.
The leader stepped closer, leaning down slightly to ask, "Now, do you feel scared?"
In response, Isabella jerked her head around and spat fiercely at his face.
The man reacted quickly, dodging most of it, though a few specks of blood landed on his collar.
He looked down at it, and instead of getting angry, he let out a low chuckle. The sound felt eerily creepy in the silent room, "Looks like you still don't know fear."
"Don't hit her face. If it swells, she won't look good on camera."
"Break her right arm instead."
Those casual words made Isabella's blood run cold!
Break her arm?
Eva's expression remained blank as she moved behind Isabella's tied-up chair.
Isabella tried to struggle in panic, but the ropes and her already injured body left her powerless.
She only felt Eva's cold fingers press against the joint of her right shoulder, twisting and pushing with a strange, precise force.
A sickening, bone-dislocating sound echoed!
This time, Isabella couldn't hold back. She let out a piercing, agonized scream!
It wasn't just pain—it was a deep, nerve-shredding torment!
It felt as if her entire right arm had been ripped from her body, leaving only a soul-crushing, unbearable agony that made her wish for death!
Sweat instantly soaked her forehead and clothes. Her face turned pale as paper, her body convulsing uncontrollably from the pain.
Tears poured out like a broken dam, mixing with the blood at her mouth, streaking across her pale face.
This time, the fear was real, impossible to hide.
It wasn't just the physical fear from the pain, but a deep terror of these people's cold, ruthless cruelty, treating human life like dirt!
Isabella thought of Henley, stabbed in the stomach and bleeding out, and of the even worse fate she might face.
No!
She couldn't die here!
If she had to die, it would be in Vitale's arms, not in this filthy, cold place, tortured to death by these lunatics!
The leader closely watched every change in Isabella's expression.
The uncontrollable tears, the face twisted in pain, the fear and despair in her eyes that she couldn't hide.
Finally, he nodded with satisfaction, "Alright, stop," he signaled to Eva.
Eva let go and stepped back.
Isabella gasped for air, like a fish thrown onto land, reduced to nothing but basic instincts.
"Now, let's start filming again," the leader ordered, his tone returning to a business-like calm.
The harsh lights turned on again, and the camera's red light blinked.
Eva stepped forward, roughly wiping the blood from Isabella's mouth with a wet cloth. Then she grabbed some cheap powder and clumsily patted it on Isabella's swollen cheeks and pale lips, trying to cover up the signs of violence.
They couldn't let Vitale see Isabella's obvious injuries on camera. That would only enrage him completely and ruin their plan.
That wasn't the result they wanted.
They needed controlled fear, not uncontrolled chaos.
Isabella was forced to look at the camera again, staring at the board filled with humiliating lines.
Waves of intense pain shot through her right shoulder, blurring her vision and making cold sweat drip down her face.
But this time, she didn't need to act.
Tears kept streaming from her swollen eyes.
Her voice, hoarse and broken from pain and crying, made every word sound like it was forced out of her throat, filled with real fear and pleading, "Vitale, save me, please... I... I'm in so much pain..."
"I'm so scared. They... they only want you to come alone. Please bring those people to trade for me. I can't take it anymore... Please... come quickly..."
Isabella's cries weren't entirely an act. The agony and fear had shattered her emotions.
Yet, amidst this breakdown, a shred of her rationality still screamed.
She was warning Vitale that this was a trap, while desperately hoping he would somehow swoop in and rescue her from this hell.
This conflicting, raw emotion came through the lens, conveying a heartbreaking fragility and despair.
The leader stood to the side with his arms crossed, watching quietly.
This time, he didn't call for a stop. A satisfied look spread across his face.
Isabella's performance right now perfectly matched what he wanted.
Scared enough, pitiful enough to tug at Vitale's heartstrings, but without obvious injuries that might trigger his destructive rage.
The recording went on for a long time, until Isabella, drained by the extreme pain, lost her voice completely. Her words turned into barely audible croaks, and her eyes started to glaze over. Only then did the leader finally raise a hand to stop, "Cut!" he said, mimicking a director's tone, even starting to clap.
The others in the room, except for the still expressionless Eva, gave a few scattered claps as well, creating a weird atmosphere.
"Well, Isabella," the leader walked over to her, looking down at her battered state with a sickening tone of approval, "you did really great, really."
"I think if Vitale ever gets tired of you and dumps you, you could totally try acting. Your emotions come out so easily."
Isabella had no strength left to respond, staring blankly ahead.
"Process the footage and send it to Vitale right away using the encrypted line we prepared," the leader instructed the man handling the equipment.
"Yes, boss."
After giving the order, the leader turned his attention back to Isabella.
He squatted down to her level, looking straight at her as she slumped in the chair, nearly collapsed. He reached out, grabbing a strand of her sweat-soaked blonde hair without a hint of pity, playing with it between his fingers, "But, Isabella, just a video might not be enough," he said slowly, a cunning glint in his eyes, "Vitale is smart and cautious. He might wonder if the video is fake or if you're being forced to act."
"So, to make him one hundred percent sure that the pitiful woman in the video is really you, we need something more convincing as proof."
Seeing the sudden tension in Isabella's eyes, he smiled slightly, "I'll give you two options: a small piece of your fingernail, or a lock of your hair. Pick one."
Using a part of her body as proof wasn't just evidence—it was a cruel show of power and psychological torment.
Isabella glared at him, her eyes filled with deep hatred and disgust. Through gritted teeth, she hissed in a hoarse voice, "You... you're an animal..."
The smile on the leader's face didn't waver. He just wagged a finger in front of her, "You forgot again. I told you, calling someone an animal isn't just about words. It's about actions. Do I need to show you again? Like with your other arm?"
Isabella's body shuddered violently, the searing pain in her right shoulder reminding her how real his threat was.
She closed her eyes, despair washing over her like a tidal wave.
A few seconds later, she opened them again, her gaze now hollow with resignation, "No need," her voice was barely a whisper, "You can take a lock of my hair. I'm scared of pain, so please be gentle."
Her final plea was faint and pitiful.
The leader nodded, "Alright, as you wish."
Then, he suddenly reached out, grabbing a handful of her blonde hair from the back of her head and yanking her head back roughly.
Isabella let out a stifled whimper of pain as her head tilted back.
A sharp cutting sound followed.
A large chunk of her shiny blonde hair fell into the leader's hand.
The spot where it was cut stung sharply, but compared to the pain in her shoulder, it was nothing.
Seeing her uneven, chopped hair in the mirror shattered the last of Isabella's defenses, "No!" she let out a broken scream, her voice hoarse and piercing, filled with despair and madness.
The leader winced at the sudden shrill cry, covering his ears with an annoyed look. He turned to Eva and said impatiently, "Too loud. Eva, can you make her shut up?"