Chapter 165
Barton didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered for a moment on Isabella's pale face and the bandaged arm.
Then he turned slightly and pointed to Bob, who was standing behind him, looking at Isabella with a complicated expression.
"This is Bob," Barton said in a flat tone, "He wanted to see how you're doing, so I brought him here."
Isabella's eyes immediately shifted to Bob.
She quickly searched her mind for this name, this face.
Nothing.
She was absolutely sure she had never seen this man before, nor had she ever heard of this name.
Her world overlapped with Vitale's to some extent, but the connections were limited, and she remembered most of the people she'd met.
This person was a complete stranger.
Why would a total stranger want to see her, a kidnapped hostage, at a time like this?
Was he a buyer?
A higher-up in the chain?
Or something else?
Bob was also sizing up Isabella.
When his eyes landed on her face, a flicker of admiration flashed through them.
Even though her face was pale, her eyes filled with fear, her hair a mess, and even stained with dirt, Isabella's delicate features and that mix of fragility and defiance still hit hard.
The way she huddled in the corner didn't diminish her beauty. Instead, it stirred a strong urge to protect her.
But then, his gaze moved to her hair.
That golden hair, which should have shone like sunlight, had a section at the back brutally cut off, jagged and uneven, like an ugly scar scratched into a perfect piece of art.
Bob's frown deepened.
He turned to Barton, his face showing a mix of surprise and disgust.
"Barton," Bob gestured toward Isabella's hair with his chin, his tone a bit odd, "are you telling me you're the one who cut her hair?"
Barton followed his gaze, nodded openly, and showed no particular expression on his face, "Yeah, a little token for Vitale, a small proof."
Bob dragged out his words, shaking his head, the disgust in his tone even more obvious, "You're really twisted, you know that? Cutting a woman's hair as a token? What is this, some medieval horror story?"
Isabella's body trembled violently at those words.
Having her hair cut off was one of her deepest humiliations. Every time she touched the uneven ends, it felt like reliving the fear and helplessness of that moment.
Now, hearing these two men—especially this stranger—talk about it in such a casual, judgmental tone, as if discussing a flaw on an object, made her feel sick and filled with intense anger.
"What do you want from me?" Isabella suddenly looked up, her voice rising sharply with emotion and humiliation, overpowering the hoarseness from before. Her blue eyes burned with fury, "If you're just here to see how miserable I am and mock me, then get out!"
Her outburst caught Bob off guard. He seemed surprised that this seemingly fragile Isabella had such a temper.
Barton, on the other hand, remained calm, only raising a hand slightly to signal her to settle down.
Bob rubbed his nose, looking a bit awkward, and toned down the casual attitude from earlier.
He took a small step forward, stopping a few steps away from Isabella, trying to make his expression look sincere.
"Calm down, don't get so worked up."
"I'm here because I want to say that this whole thing might be a misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" Isabella frowned, looking at him suspiciously.
The word sounded so absurd coming from the mouth of someone connected to her kidnappers.
"Yeah, a misunderstanding," Bob spread his hands, putting on a helpless and regretful look, "I admit, I paid some people, but the person I wanted to teach a lesson was Amboni, that jerk. You know him, right? Vitale's friend."
Isabella's heart skipped a beat.
Amboni, Laura's boyfriend.
How could this be connected to Amboni?
"He messed up my business last time, cost me a ton of money, and made me lose face," Bob went on, his tone sounding pretty genuine, "I was pissed, so I wanted to get back at him. I hired some guys to grab his woman, give him a lesson. You know, Laura, the chubby office girl."
His eyes landed on Isabella's face, and he shook his head with a sigh, "But I didn't expect the people I hired to mess up and grab you instead."
"So, you see, this is really just a misunderstanding. I never meant to mess with Vitale. I don't have the guts for that."
Isabella listened quietly, her mind racing.
Bob's words sounded reasonable. They explained why he was here and why the kidnapping target shifted from Laura to her.
But was it really just a mistake?
The information Barton had let slip earlier, Eva's hatred, and that mysterious Marco...
Could all of this really just be an accident in a businessman's revenge plan?
Isabella didn't believe it.
At least, not completely.
But for now, whether Bob was telling the truth or not, this seemed like an opportunity.
A chance, perhaps, to try and escape.
Isabella pushed down her doubts and churning emotions, forcing her eyes to look softer, more helpless, with a faint glimmer of hope after surviving a nightmare.
Cautiously, with a slightly trembling voice, she asked, "Since this is a misunderstanding..." She looked at Bob, then quickly glanced at the silent Barton beside him, "Can you let me go?"
"Let you go?" Bob let out a light chuckle, the sound echoing in the cramped, filthy cell, grating on the ears.
He shook his head, his face showing a mix of regret and some fake sympathy, "No can do. At first, I did think about it. I was scared out of my mind, couldn't wait to get rid of this trouble and stay as far away from Vitale's wrath as possible."
"But then I thought about it some more," Bob dragged out his words, his gaze roaming over Isabella's pale face, catching every tiny shift in her expression, "It's been a week. A whole week has passed."
He held up a finger, drawing a 'one' in the air, as if to emphasize how long and meaningful that time was.
"Vitale, with all his power, supposedly can find anyone in Arcturus, can get anything done. But a week has gone by, and he still hasn't found you," Bob's voice carried a hint of sly doubt, like he was trying to plant a seed, "Don't you think that's a bit strange?"
Isabella's heart clenched, as if an invisible hand had gripped it tight.
She instinctively wanted to argue, to shout that Vitale would come, that he would never give up on her.
But the words stuck in her throat, blocked by a cold wave of fear.
A week?
Had it really been a week?
In this endless darkness, where every day felt like a year, her sense of time had long since blurred.
But Bob's confident tone slithered into her ears like a venomous snake, wrapping around her reason.
Could it really have been that long?
Was Vitale facing some impossible obstacle?
Or was he, as the rumors said, truly cold and ruthless, deciding after weighing the pros and cons that she wasn't worth the huge risk to save?
No!
He wouldn't!
Isabella screamed in her mind.
She remembered the burning possessiveness in Vitale's eyes when he looked at her, his clumsy yet stubborn protectiveness, the trembling embrace and hot tears when he found her at the clinic.
Those couldn't be fake.
But what if?
What if it was all just a fleeting act on his part?
Weren't mafia bosses the best at disguising and manipulating emotions?
Wasn't Marina a living example of that?
Her rational side told her not to let Bob's words get to her, but her emotions were like a small boat in a storm, tossed violently by those malicious speculations.
A wave of immense sadness and a chilling sense of abandonment gripped her, making her already pale face look almost transparent, as if she might shatter in the next second.
The stubbornness in her blue eyes was quickly covered by a fragile sheen of tears. Her lips trembled slightly, but no sound came out.
Bob and Barton took in every bit of Isabella's reaction.
A gleam of triumph flashed in Bob's eyes, while Barton remained calm, standing to the side like a detached observer.
He knew Bob well, knew that even under extreme fear and selfishness, this man couldn't shake off his lustful nature.
That was also why Barton had finally agreed to let Bob see Isabella.
Besides calming him down and showing off the "goods," he also wanted to see just how much charm this woman—who had captivated Vitale and supposedly left an impression on his men—really had.
Could she also sway Bob, a guy who'd seen plenty of women?
Judging by now, the effect was pretty good.
Isabella's vulnerability and beauty clearly struck something deep in Bob, tapping into some hidden fetish and protective instinct.
Seeing Isabella shaken and on the verge of breaking, the dark desire Bob had suppressed out of fear bubbled up again, mixed with an urge to claim this precious, fragile thing for himself.
He cleared his throat, softening his voice, even adding a coaxing tone, "Don't be like that."
"Look, Vitale hasn't come after all this time. Maybe he really thinks you're not worth the risk."
"Mafia guys, they're the coldest, most heartless people. They turn on you in a second. Being with him was always dangerous for you, wasn't it?"
Isabella suddenly lifted her teary eyes, glaring at him with a mix of offended anger and disbelief.
Bob didn't care and kept up his act, "How about this? Come with me."
"I'll take you out of here, away from these rough, brutal guys. I'll protect you, won't let them hurt you anymore. Of course..."
He changed his tone, putting on a troubled look, "You probably can't go back to Vitale for now. After all, you're considered a missing person. It'd be hard to explain if you went back."
"And honestly, going back to him is really dangerous. We both know he has so many enemies. This kidnapping is just one example."
Bob reached out, as if to touch Isabella's cheek, but she jerked her head away sharply.