Chapter 158
Victor's call quickly connected to the men stationed on the perimeter, and a concise order was relayed.
Within just a few minutes, a response came through the encrypted channel, the voice urgent and clear, "Boss, we checked. There's indeed an unnoticeable man-made waterway behind the villa, leading to a nearby lake area."
"There are obvious, fresh footprints in the grass, more than one person. At the small private wooden dock by the river, there are signs of recent use. The rope for securing a boat is loose, there's water stains and some oil on the ground, but the boat is gone. Judging by the traces, they haven't been gone long!"
The information confirmed that Harold hadn't lied about this part at least.
Vitale listened to the report, a cold glint sharpening in his eyes, though he felt little relief.
They had a lead, but Isabella had been taken away, disappearing into the vast lake area via the waterway.
This was more frustrating than her being held in a fixed location because the search area had now expanded endlessly.
"Victor," Vitale's voice was ice-cold, "leave two men here to guard this house and keep a close eye on them."
"From now on, not even a fly gets in or out. Cut off all their external communication, including landlines and internet. Wait for me to come back and deal with this."
Hearing this, Harold immediately got agitated. He struggled to stand up but was forced back by the dark barrel of a gun held by one of Victor's men, "Mr. Luca, I've already told you everything I know. I helped you! You can't do this to me!"
"This is illegal detention! And what did you just say? You're going to tell Elliot about me? No! You can't do that! He's my competitor! You're trying to completely ruin me!"
He could already see his reputation shattered and his election dreams crushed. Fear turned into desperate screams.
Vitale slowly turned around to face Harold.
There was no expression on his handsome face, just a bottomless coldness and an almost cruel, exhausted smirk.
"What's that got to do with me?"
"Right now, I only care about finding my Isabella, got it?"
"If anything happens to her, if she loses a single hair or gets a tiny scratch, every single one of you will pay with your lives!"
"I don't mind going back to the darkness and using the methods you fear most to make you all wish you were dead."
Harold's words choked in his throat.
Looking into Vitale's eyes, he saw something beyond human anger or murderous intent—a completely unhinged, dark will.
He had no doubt that Vitale meant every word and would follow through.
For Isabella, he would turn into a demon without hesitation, crushing anything in his way to dust.
Harold collapsed onto the sofa, his face ashen, not daring to say another word.
He had met plenty of tough guys, but never had anyone's gaze made him tremble with fear and despair from the depths of his soul like Vitale's did.
Vitale didn't look at him again and gave Victor an order, "Contact Elliot. Use a secure line to briefly explain the situation here. He'll know what to do."
This was like handing a sharp knife to Elliot. How he used it to destroy his political rival was up to him.
Vitale didn't care about the process; he only wanted results.
Harold would be punished, and perhaps, out of gratitude or as part of a deal, Elliot might use his political resources to provide secret help with the lake search or other matters.
"Understood," Victor replied immediately.
Vitale didn't linger. With Victor and two of his most elite men, he quickly left the oppressive, scheming villa.
They needed to act fast, to track down the missing small boat and search for Isabella's trail in the vast lake area.
Time was now the most precious and cruelest thing.
Meanwhile, in some unknown place.
Isabella woke up.
The first sense to return was her hearing.
A very faint, almost inaudible humming sound, possibly from a ventilation system or some electronic device on standby.
Then came her sense of smell—a too-clean, unnatural scent mixed with disinfectant and some kind of air freshener, masking any trace of nature or human presence.
Isabella's eyelids fluttered a few times before finally opening with difficulty.
Her vision was blurry at first, just a blinding white.
After a while, it slowly came into focus.
Isabella realized she was lying on a narrow but relatively clean bed, covered with a thin white blanket.
Above her was a stark white ceiling, devoid of any decoration.
Everything in her line of sight was a lifeless white.
This was a pure white room.
Aside from the bed she lay on, a metal IV stand beside it, and a small white door in the corner that looked like a basic bathroom, there was nothing else.
No windows.
The only exit was a heavy, seemingly metal door, seamlessly embedded into the wall. There was no handle or keyhole, just a small grid-covered window near the top, possibly for observation or ventilation, where a faint airflow and that unnatural freshener smell seeped in.
This was a prison cell.
Isabella's mind was still foggy, with fragmented memories flashing chaotically.
A dark boat cabin, rocking motion, men's lewd laughter and rough hands, overwhelming fear and resistance, then a woman's sharp reprimand.
Right, it was that woman, the one called Eva, with eyes as cold and sharp as a cat's. She was the one who stopped those men from assaulting her.
And then?
It seemed someone injected her with something. A cold sensation spread through her veins, followed by endless darkness.
Isabella suddenly threw off the blanket, the movement tugging at the needle in her hand and her weak body, making her dizzy.
But she ignored it, urgently lowering her head to check her body.
Her clothes had been changed.
She was no longer in that thin undergarment but in unfamiliar, soft white clothing.
Trembling, Isabella carefully touched and checked her body, especially the sensitive and private areas.
There was no expected pain, no strange marks, and the clothes were clean and dry.
Her innocence was still intact.
A wave of immense relief and lingering fear surged through her. Isabella covered her face with her hands, and the tears she had held back for so long finally broke free, soaking the white sleeves.
Oh, God.
If that woman named Eva hadn't shown up, if she had been violated by those monsters...
Even if she made it back to Vitale alive, how could she face him?
How could she face herself?
That shame and trauma would probably haunt her like the worst curse, turning every touch, every intimate moment, into a new nightmare.
It would be an abyss even God couldn't soothe.
Isabella cried for a while until her emotions calmed a bit. The instinct to survive and the urgent need to escape took over again.
She wiped away her tears, took a deep breath, pulled out the annoying IV needle from her hand, and carefully got out of bed.
Her legs felt weak when they touched the ground, but she could still stand.
Isabella walked to the heavy metal door, stood on her tiptoes, and tried to look out through the high grid window, but it was pitch black outside, and she couldn't see anything.
She pushed the door with all her strength, but it didn't budge.
She felt along the doorframe, searching for any possible gaps or mechanisms, but found nothing.
The door was completely locked from the outside.
Isabella looked around the pure white cage with no sense of time.
Despair crept up again, like cold vines wrapping around her bit by bit.
She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, whether it was day or night, whether Vitale had received any signal or was looking for her, or even why these people had kidnapped her and what they planned to do with her.
She was completely cut off from the outside world.
It felt like the entire world had abandoned her in this white, silent tomb.
Finally, Isabella exhausted the little strength and courage she had just regained. Dragging her weak body, she stumbled back to the bed and sat down dejectedly.
She hugged her knees tightly, burying her face in them, trying to draw a tiny bit of warmth and safety from herself.
Right now, her greatest relief was that she was still alive and hadn't been violated.
But the worst thing was being trapped in this isolated hell, with no idea when it would end or what awaited her.
Time lost all meaning here, every second stretching into torment.
In the midst of this endless despair and loneliness, a thought suddenly struck Isabella's foggy mind like lightning.
Her hair!
That video!
The kidnappers had cut off a lock of her hair, saying they would send it to Vitale as proof!
With trembling hands, Isabella lifted her head and touched her hair.
Her once smooth, shoulder-length blonde hair now felt uneven.
Near the back of her neck, a small section had clearly been roughly cut short, the stubble prickly to the touch.
They really did it! They cut her hair and sent it to Vitale!
Had Vitale seen it?
What would his reaction be when he saw her hair?
Would he feel the same despair and pain she felt now, or would he become even more unhinged?