Chapter 178
Vitale lowered his head, not kissing Isabella's lips again.
Instead, with incredible gentleness and a sense of reverence, he softly kissed away the lingering tears at the corner of her eye.
Then, his kisses, light as a feather, moved downward with utmost care, brushing over the small scratches on her cheeks, and landing on her collarbone, which stood out more due to her thin frame.
His movements were endlessly tender, as if he were handling a fragile, long-lost treasure.
While kissing her, Vitale used one hand to slowly unbutton the remaining buttons of his shirt, slipping it off and tossing it aside.
His lean, muscular upper body was revealed, marked with old scars and a fresh, bandaged wound on his left arm.
Then, with the same gentleness, he helped Isabella slip out of her thin nightgown.
When Isabella was fully exposed before him, Vitale's breathing grew noticeably heavier.
She had indeed lost weight—her ribs were faintly visible, and there were bruises and small marks on her skin. Her hands were still wrapped in gauze.
But in his eyes, she remained the beautiful woman who haunted his dreams, the one he would give everything for.
His kisses continued downward, touching her shoulder, her chest, her flat stomach...
Vitale even bent down, with deep care, to kiss the uneven ends of her golden hair at the back of her head—a mark symbolizing humiliation and pain.
Under his gentle, persistent kisses, Isabella's body trembled slightly, a reaction mixed with physical pleasure, emotional comfort, and an indescribable sadness.
When his warm lips touched her stomach, a strong jolt shot through Isabella's spine.
But at that moment, a vivid image stabbed into her mind.
An explosion.
Towering flames.
Twisted car wreckage.
And Eva's deep green eyes, looking at her in her final moments.
All tenderness and desire froze in an instant.
Isabella's eyes snapped open wide. As if burned, she pushed Vitale's shoulders away with force, sat up abruptly, and frantically wrapped the blanket around her naked body, staring at him in terror, "Vitale... that car... was it on purpose? Did you deliberately let Eva get in, let her drive off, and blow her up? Was it you?"
She stared into Vitale's eyes, desperately searching for a hint of denial, a flicker of hesitation.
Vitale was caught off guard by her sudden push and accusation.
Seeing the fear and distance reignite in her eyes, his heart sank.
He knew some things couldn't be avoided.
He didn't dodge or explain right away.
Slowly, he sat up, bare-chested, on the edge of the bed, meeting her terrified gaze.
A few seconds of silence felt like a century.
Then, Vitale nodded, his voice calm but carrying a chilling coldness and honesty, "Yes."
Isabella's pupils shrank to pinpoints, and the color drained from her face in an instant.
It was as if she was seeing the real Vitale for the first time.
Watching her pale face and disbelieving expression, Vitale felt a sharp pain in his chest, but he didn't stop, "I won't let anyone who hurt you go. Eva was part of the kidnapping, held you hostage, pointed a gun at you. She had to pay the price."
His tone reverted to the absolute ruthlessness of a mafia boss who controlled life and death, "As for Barton, Victor and the others are still hunting him down. He's cunning, leaving plenty of men behind to cover his escape..."
He paused, his eyes showing no emotion, as if stating something completely ordinary, "Those who stayed behind have all been taken care of by my people."
A few casual words, but how many lives, how much blood, lay behind them?
Isabella's lips trembled violently. She looked at Vitale, her eyes filled with unfamiliar fear and a despair as if her beliefs had shattered.
She shook her head desperately, as if trying to deny everything before her, to reject this cruel reality, "No... no... it's not like this. My Vitale wouldn't... he wouldn't kill so many people. He's not that cruel. You're not him... you're not..."
Isabella couldn't reconcile the man calmly admitting to killing so many with the Vitale in her memory—the one who, despite his cold and domineering nature, would cover her with a blanket at night, clumsily comfort her, and take a bullet for her.
Seeing her break down, Vitale felt as if countless needles were piercing his heart.
But he didn't back down or soothe her with lies.
He suddenly reached out, grabbing Isabella's wrist, still trembling under the blanket.
His grip was strong, with an undeniable force, making her stop shaking her head and look at him.
Vitale stared into her tear-filled, fear-stricken blue eyes, and word by word, clearly and firmly, shattered the harshest reality before her, "Isabella, look at me. I am Vitale, your man, and the mafia boss of Eldoria. This is my world. Protecting you, eliminating every threat in the most direct, most effective way—that's how I do things. Cruel? Maybe. But it's the only way I can survive, the only way I can hold you tight in my arms. Now, do you understand?"
Vitale's hand gripped Isabella's wrist like a steel clamp, not letting her pull away.
He stared into her blue eyes, filled with tears, fear, and confusion, his voice low and hoarse, each word heavy as if soaked in the darkness of night, "Yes, I am that cruel."
Vitale leaned forward, closing the last bit of distance between them. In the depths of his blue pupils, her pale face reflected a pain that felt almost like betrayal, "Isabella, I thought, after all the times we've been so close, my body, my desire, my madness, my possessiveness—you'd already felt it all so clearly. I thought, through these raw connections, you'd at least understood and accepted who I am, accepted the kind of world I live in and its colors."
Vitale's tone suddenly grew intense, "Why? Why are you looking at me like this now? Why are you pulling away from me? As if I'm some monster you don't even recognize!"
Isabella's heart clenched at the pain and accusation in his words. The ache in her wrist was nothing compared to the chaos in her mind.
She opened her mouth to argue, but found herself at a loss for words.
It wasn't that she didn't understand the darkness of Vitale's world or that his hands were stained with blood.
It was just the first time she faced this reality so directly, so brutally.
Especially when this reality was tied to the tragic death of Eva, someone she saw as complex but not entirely evil—the impact was overwhelming.
Seeing Isabella hesitate, tears streaming down her face, Vitale felt a mix of stifled anger and grievance rising in his chest.
He suddenly let go of her hand, not to release her, but to vent his emotions in a more intense way.
He pointed at his bloodshot eyes, at the bandage on his left arm where blood had seeped through, his voice trembling slightly with emotion, "Do you know how I got through these past three days and nights? I didn't dare close my eyes. Every time I did, I saw you being tortured. I searched for you like a mad dog, kept going with drugs, terrified that if I was a second too late, I'd never see you again. All I wanted was to find you fast, to drag out every bastard who dared touch you, crush them, and pull you out of that damn hellhole."
Vitale's voice rose sharply, laced with a wounded accusation, "But now? I've saved you, I'm holding you in my arms, and you look at me like I'm a stranger. My Isabella wouldn't do this to me. She wouldn't fear me or push me away just because I punished those who hurt her."
His words hit Isabella like a hammer.
Yes, Vitale did it all for her.
All his rage, all his hunting, even the explosion that killed Eva—it all stemmed from her being kidnapped, from her being in danger.
What right did she have to stand on some moral high ground and judge him?
Judge a man who, for her sake, hadn't slept in three days and nights, who risked his life and stirred up a storm of blood?
A wave of immense guilt surged over her, drowning out the earlier fear and distance.
But the complex feelings she had for Eva, the shock of witnessing a young life end so brutally, still lingered in her heart. It stopped her from immediately falling into Vitale's arms, from accepting everything about him without reservation like before.
She cried harder, not out of fear of Vitale, but because of the tearing conflict inside her, "Eva... Eva saved me... if it weren't for her stopping them a few times, I might... I might have been ruined by Aldo and the others... She's not a pure evil like Barton. She was just... just blinded by hatred. You shouldn't have... even her..."
"Saved you?" Vitale cut her off sharply, his jaw clenched tight, his cheek muscles twitching with anger, veins bulging on his forehead, "Isabella, you're too naive!"
He leaned closer, his gaze sharp as a blade, trying to cut through the unrealistic illusions in her mind, "She was a core member of Thorn of Justice, the mistress of that hypocrite Marco. The blood on her hands isn't any less than Aldo's crew. Why isn't she that kind of evil? Just because she gave you some gauze, stopped a few harassments? That was just part of her orders, or a moment of weakness on her part! Her true nature is no different from those who kidnapped and hurt you!"
"Mistress?" Isabella was stunned by this more specific, horrifying accusation. She shook her head fiercely, unable to believe it, "No, that's impossible. She looked so young, barely sixteen or seventeen. Marco could be her father. How could that be?"