Chapter 170
Eva listened to Barton's analysis, the confusion in her eyes slowly fading, replaced by a cold, clear understanding.
She got it. The relationship between Bob and Barton wasn't just a simple employer-employee deal. It was a shaky alliance built on a shared enemy and their own selfish calculations.
Bob's cowardice and self-interest, ironically, became the guarantee of his loyalty to this alliance.
At least until the bigger threat, Vitale, was taken care of.
"I get it, boss," Eva nodded.
"Good." Barton gave her a satisfied glance, then suddenly shifted his tone, his voice dropping low and serious, "Eva, I called you in for another reason."
Eva's body tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly, "Go ahead."
Barton leaned back on the sofa, his sharp gaze scrutinizing Eva as if trying to pierce through her icy exterior and see into her soul.
"I want you to always remember how your parents died." Barton's voice wasn't loud, but it hit like a cold chisel, striking the deepest, most painful wound in Eva's heart.
Eva's body froze instantly, as if turned to ice.
The coldness and confusion in her eyes were swiftly replaced by a surge of raw hatred and pain, so intense it seemed ready to spill out of her.
Her breathing quickened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles turning white.
"I understand, of course," Eva's voice was hoarse, trembling with suppressed emotion, "Every time I close my eyes, every dream takes me back to that night. I'll never forget!"
Seeing the deep, unyielding hatred in her eyes, Barton didn't offer comfort. Instead, he nodded, a cruel satisfaction flickering across his face.
"Good. Hold onto that hatred, Eva," Barton's voice carried a mix of persuasion and command, "It's your strength, your weapon, your reason to live. I don't want you softening up just because of a few words from Isabella or some fake tears. Don't forget why we're here, or the blood debt you carry."
A flicker of struggle passed through Eva's eyes, but it was quickly buried under a harder, colder resolve.
She gritted her teeth, her voice returning to its flat tone, "Of course not. Isabella is the mafia boss's woman, an enemy, a tool. I know the difference."
"Is that so?" Barton raised an eyebrow, his piercing gaze burning into her, "Your recent behavior has disappointed me, even made me a bit sad."
Eva's heart skipped a beat, and she lowered her eyes.
"Aldo and a few others have some ideas about Isabella. I know that," Barton said slowly, his tone calm but carrying an undeniable pressure, "You've been stopping them, protecting her. Why?"
"I..." Eva wanted to explain it was for the bigger picture, to avoid obvious harm to Isabella that might completely enrage Vitale.
But Barton cut her off, "Listen, Eva. Later, if Aldo and the others mess with Isabella again, I want you to..."
He paused deliberately, watching Eva's reaction.
"Unless it's absolutely necessary, don't step in to stop them."
Eva's pupils shrank, and she snapped her head up to look at Barton, her eyes filled with shocked disbelief.
Barton seemed to have anticipated her reaction. He took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled slowly, the smoke obscuring his expression. Only his voice came through clearly.
"A little touching, taking some small advantage, it's not like she'll lose a piece of herself. As long as there are no obvious marks, as long as she's not killed, it won't affect her value as a bargaining chip. In fact..."
Barton's tone turned subtle and cold, "A bit of discipline and intimidation can make her more obedient, more scared. It'll also make Vitale feel real pain and urgency when he sees her in a video or, if it comes to that, in person. You get it?"
"Eva, you've been too kind to her lately. That's not good. I need you to always remember your position, your hatred. So, think of this as a small reminder for you and a lesson for her. Understood?"
Eva's body trembled slightly, not out of fear, but from an intense inner conflict.
Protecting Isabella had somehow become a hidden instinct for her, and Barton's order was forcing her to tear down that barrier, to silently allow or even encourage worse harm.
After a few suffocating seconds of confrontation, the shock and struggle in Eva's eyes finally dimmed under Barton's unyielding stare and the weight of her hatred, fading into silence.
She slowly lowered her head, a dry syllable escaping her throat.
"Okay."
Meanwhile, in a small room where she was held captive, Isabella sat on the floor, her back against the cold wall.
Having her hands free made things a little better; at least she could move her numb, stiff fingers and wrists.
She could pace back and forth in the tiny space, though each step felt like wading through a swamp of despair.
Isabella walked to the window with iron bars, gripped the cold metal, and looked out.
Her view was limited—just a small patch of gloomy sky that seemed to press down on her, and the faint white line of rolling waves in the distance.
The wind slammed against the building, making eerie noises.
This place was too remote, too desolate.
Could Vitale really find her here?
Isabella's mind was consumed with thoughts of Vitale.
His face, his eyes, the strength of his embrace, the tight line of his jaw when he was angry.
Her longing for him surged like a tide, intensified by fear and loneliness, almost drowning her.
She missed him so much it hurt her chest.
Yet, at the same time, Isabella felt a mix of relief and regret.
She was relieved because, before she was knocked out and moved, she vaguely overheard the guards from Thorn of Justice grumbling and cursing.
They mentioned Vitale's name, their tone filled with fear and irritation.
"That guy's like a rabid dog, chasing us down."
"We almost got caught at the dock."
"Good thing the boss burned the house to cut off any leads."
These bits of information were like tiny sparks in the dark, letting Isabella know that Vitale hadn't given up. He was frantically searching for her, even putting huge pressure and fear on her captors.
It gave her a faint, stubborn hope amid the despair.
Her regret came from remembering the watch Vitale had given her.
It wasn't just a fancy accessory; it was a special watch with a built-in tracker and emergency signal.
Vitale had insisted, half commanding and half worried, that she always wear it, especially when he wasn't around.
He'd said, "This way, no matter where you are, I'll find you."
But on the night she went to the bar with Laura, Isabella, feeling annoyed and thinking the watch's cold, masculine design didn't match her outfit, had taken it off in a huff and left it on her apartment dresser.
If she'd worn that watch, would Vitale have found her by now?
Would she have been spared this humiliation and fear?
The thought gnawed at Isabella's heart like a venomous snake, filling her with deep regret.
Lost in endless longing and remorse, she didn't notice the sound at first.
Suddenly, the lock on the iron door clicked open from the outside.
Isabella jolted, springing up from the floor, staring nervously at the door.
It creaked open, and a figure stepped in.
When she saw the face of the person entering, Isabella's face turned pale, her heart pounding wildly. She instinctively backed away until her spine hit the cold wall, with nowhere left to go.