Chapter 18
Vitale stood in the study on the top floor of the castle, facing the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the blue of the Lunaire Sea stretched all the way to the horizon.
He had just cleaned out the traitors within the family. Those bastards who killed Liliana had already been fed to the sharks.
But the joy of victory didn't last long. It was replaced by a bone-deep emptiness.
When he closed his eyes, Isabella's figure would appear.
That golden hair flowing in the moonlight, those blue eyes glistening beneath him.
He remembered her scent—not any expensive perfume, but the purest freshness after a bath, mixed with the subtle hint of sweat when aroused.
"God." Vitale murmured, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the cigar.
He clearly remembered every detail of Isabella's body.
Those pink nipples like newly bloomed roses, growing hard between his lips and teeth.
That tight, wet passage, contracting violently during her climax, almost crushing him.
The gunshot wound on Vitale's back had already scabbed over and fallen off, but he desperately missed the scratches her nails had left.
"Bastard." He cursed under his breath, finding himself hard again.
For the past month, he'd been like a young punk just discovering sex. Whenever he thought of Isabella moaning beneath him, of the crisp sound when he spanked her bottom, desire would awaken beyond his control.
Then he would take Isabella's panties that he had torn, wrap them around his cock, and stroke himself rapidly while facing the mirror.
"Isabella, Isabella, Isabella, damn it."
Vitale would call out her name, then release. When his cum soaked her panties, he'd gasp, feeling emptier and emptier.
He had tasted Isabella's sweetness and refused to give it up.
Damn it, why did she run away?
They had been so happy together. Her body could take all of him. She shyly asked him to kiss her.
Looking so turned on—that couldn't have been fake. Why did she run away?
He hadn't made Isabella any promises, so she got scared?
Isabella, like a curse, kept Vitale tossing and turning all week, constantly wanting to fuck her.
Pin her down on the bed and fuck her senseless.
"Damn it!"
Vitale cursed under his breath, took a hard drag on his cigar, and exhaled smoke that shrouded his cold features.
The study door was knocked gently, and Torian walked in, dragging his battered body.
His left arm was still in a sling—a souvenir from last week's cleanup of the traitors. Vitale had deliberately let him get hit.
Who told him to let Isabella go.
"Mr. Luca, there's trouble at the third dock. They hijacked a shipment of ours." Torian kept his head very low, barely daring to look at Vitale.
Vitale turned around, a bloodthirsty gleam flashing in his eyes.
Good. He was just looking for somewhere to vent all this pent-up desire and rage.
"Get the car ready." Vitale's voice was cold as winter wind.
As they descended the spiral staircase, the entire castle fell silent.
Servants lowered their heads and held their breath, bodyguards straightened their backs.
Since Isabella left without saying goodbye, Vitale's temper had become more dangerous than a volcano.
Last week, some clueless newcomer looked at him once too long and got three ribs broken before being thrown out of the castle.
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom stopped in front of the dock warehouse.
Vitale stepped out of the car, his black coat billowing in the sea breeze.
He didn't even draw his gun—he snapped the ringleader's neck with his bare hands.
When the other two thugs raised their guns in terror, Torian and his men had already dealt with them efficiently.
"Clean this place up." Vitale wiped his fingers with a handkerchief, as if he'd just crushed an insect.
In the car on the way back, he finally asked the question he'd been suppressing: "Amboni Scott, the person I asked you to find—any news?"
Amboni, the former hitman who now ran Lumaria's top detective agency, nervously adjusted his glasses: "Not yet, Mr. Luca. The main problem is you didn't even provide a photo. It's like looking for a golden needle in the ocean—very difficult, super difficult."
"Yeah, I mean, I'm not saying I'm not looking, it's just hard to find. You have to understand, Mr. Luca."
Vitale lit a cigar and took a deep drag.
Through the smoke, his profile looked particularly hard: "It's my fault for not keeping even one photo."
He swore to himself that when he caught Isabella, he would record every moment of them making love, so she could never escape again.
"Mr. Luca, if I may ask," Amboni ventured carefully, "will this Miss be our mistress? I've never seen you so obsessed with any woman."
Vitale stared at the olive groves flying past the window: "Am I that special about her?"
Amboni exchanged a glance with Torian, who was driving: "You even spared a traitor's life for her. In the past, that betrayer would have been torn to pieces long ago."
Vitale's gaze suddenly turned cold: "Watch your words, Amboni."
Amboni shrank back but still gathered the courage to continue: "I think she's made you more human. You should really consider settling down, having a daughter as beautiful as her. Then someone would be waiting for you when you come home."
Vitale suddenly laughed: "Amboni, you're really not cut out for this line of work. You should open a flower shop in some small town and play matchmaker all day."
"I'm pretty much a regular person now," Amboni shrugged, "just occasionally need to handle some tricky matters."
"There's one thing I don't understand, Mr. Luca. You should have Ms. Lorraine's phone number, right? Why not just call her directly?"
Vitale did have it.
The note with the phone number was hidden in his cigar box. He looked at it three times a day.
But he stubbornly refused to dial it.
Vitale was angry about Isabella leaving without saying goodbye. He wanted her to come back to him on her own.
"Let's handle business first," Vitale changed the subject. "Find the insider who swallowed our payment. Also, my company needs a new secretary. You're in charge of hiring."
"Any specific requirements?" Amboni pulled out his tablet to take notes.
Vitale looked out the window and said softly: "Golden hair, blue eyes, about five-foot-seven, a dimple on the left when she smiles..."
Amboni's typing suddenly stopped. He looked up at the rearview mirror and saw Torian frantically making eye signals at him.
"Mr. Luca," Amboni carefully chose his words, "are you hiring a secretary or looking for a missing lover?"
Vitale's lips curved into a dangerous smile: "Is there a difference?"
The car fell silent, with only cigar smoke slowly rising.
Amboni finally said softly: "I'll do my best to find the right person, Mr. Luca, whether it's a secretary or... something else."
Vitale didn't respond. He just gazed toward the Lunaire Sea, silently repeating in his mind:
No matter where you run, my little gambler, I will catch you and bring you back.
Next time, I will never let you leave my side again.