Chapter 181
Isabella took a long moment to snap back to reality before saying, "Harold? A rival? So this is a political fight, and I've become a pawn to attack their enemies—or to attack you?"
"It's more complicated than you think, Isabella." Vitale said, rubbing his throbbing temples.
The exhaustion from three days and nights without sleep hit him like waves, blurring his vision and making his eyes dry and painfully sore.
"Harold wants to hit me to indirectly target Elliot, who supports me. Bob wants revenge on Amboni. Barton and Marco are aiming to weaken the mafia's power. All these forces are tangled up, and unfortunately, you've become the key piece at the center of it all."
Vitale let out a deep, weary sigh, his voice heavy with frustration and disgust for this dirty game he couldn't escape.
"I really don't want to talk about this right now, Isabella." His voice dropped, carrying a rare, almost pleading tone. "My head is killing me, my eyes feel like they're burning, and I haven't slept in three days and nights. Can I just hold you, think of nothing, and sleep for a while?"
He raised a hand, pointing to his bloodshot eyes, trying to show her how physically drained he was.
"Look, my eyes are really about to give out."
Isabella looked at Vitale, seeing how worn out he was, barely holding himself together. The ice in her heart cracked a little with pity.
Setting aside the complicated grudges and bloodshed, the man in front of her was just a lover who had exhausted himself searching for her, pushed to his limits.
She stayed silent for a long time, wrestling with her emotions.
Finally, Isabella gave a slow, serious nod.
"Okay," she said softly but with a clear boundary, "Vitale, you can stay here and hold me while we sleep."
A faint light flickered in Vitale's eyes.
But Isabella quickly added, her tone firm, "But just holding. No touching beyond that, no further moves. Can you do that? It's the only thing I can accept right now."
She looked at him, her eyes full of seriousness and a hint of hidden nervousness, as if waiting for a promise that would decide whether tonight could be peaceful.
Vitale saw her guarded yet conflicted expression, mixed with compromise and concern. The anger, frustration, and disappointment in his heart were finally drowned out by the overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to swallow his consciousness.
What more could he ask for?
At least she agreed to let him stay, to let him hold her.
At least she didn't mention leaving again.
That was enough.
At least for tonight, it was enough.
Vitale nodded slowly and seriously, "Okay."
The word came out heavy, as if it carried the weight of crushed bones and blood.
He looked into Isabella's blue eyes, still tinged with fear but also softened by pity for his pain.
The desire, possessiveness, and unwillingness churning in his chest were ultimately overpowered by a sharper ache of concern for her.
Vitale wanted to say no.
He wanted to pin her in his arms in the most direct, forceful way, to use his warmth, his heartbeat, and his familiar hold to erase the bloody, terrifying images from her mind.
He wanted to make her remember only the passionate moments between them.
He even wanted to embed Isabella into his very being, to ensure in the most extreme way that she would never leave, never look at him with fear again.
But he couldn't.
Doing that would make him no different from those who had hurt and forced her.
It would only deepen her wounds, push her further away, make her fear him more, or even hate him.
He didn't want that.
Vitale would rather bear this gnawing longing and frustration than add even a tiny bit more pain to her life.
So he gave in.
In his over thirty years of life, this was an incredibly rare compromise.
Except for his mother Thea and his sister Liliana, he had never yielded like this to anyone or anything.
Even when facing internal family conflicts or powerful external enemies, Vitale was always the one who pushed forward, never backing down.
"I won't touch you," he repeated, word by word, as if setting the strictest rule for himself, "I'll just hold you while we sleep. No extra moves. Is that okay?"
There was even a faint, almost humble plea in his tone.
Isabella could feel the weight of his concession.
She saw the pain he was trying to suppress in his eyes and the violence he was forcing himself to restrain for her sake. Her heart felt like it was being gently squeezed by a tender yet bittersweet hand.
She knew this was the greatest sincerity and respect Vitale could offer.
She nodded slowly but firmly.
Vitale let out a barely audible sigh of relief, his tightly tensed shoulders relaxing just a fraction.
He said nothing more and began to awkwardly remove the rest of his clothes—the pants stained with dust and blood.
Then, he carefully lifted a corner of the blanket and lay down, moving as if afraid to disturb something fragile and precious.
The moment Vitale lay down, Isabella's body tensed almost imperceptibly. Then, almost instinctively, she turned over, facing away from him.
She didn't want to meet his gaze in the dark, afraid of seeing complex emotions in his eyes that she hadn't fully processed—emotions that might hurt her.
Love, desire, pain, and the cold, deadly intent of the dark world she feared.
She curled up, her back slightly arched, leaving a small gap between them.
Vitale looked at Isabella's back, feeling another stab of pain in his heart.
But he didn't force her to turn around.
He just silently, as gently as possible, moved his body closer to hers.
When his chest pressed against her cool back, when his arm carefully wrapped around her waist, when his long legs bent slightly to touch her calves, Isabella's body trembled sharply.
In that moment of skin-to-skin contact, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Countless memories, temporarily buried by fear and bloodshed, flooded her mind like a dam breaking.
No longer the cold cell, the cliff's chilling wind, or the explosion's fire and Eva's eyes.
It was the tingling sensation of Vitale's hot lips on her neck.
It was the strength of his solid arms around her waist.
It was the heat of his sweaty chest against her spine.
It was the seductive, low rasp of his breath in her ear.
It was the obsession and intensity in his blue eyes as he brought her to the peak of desire over and over, in the office, in the castle, even in the thrilling confines of an elevator—those wild, intense moments of intimacy.
Those warm, sun-like memories of closeness with Vitale instantly dispelled some of the cold darkness left by the kidnapping.
Isabella felt as if she had fallen from a nightmare into another familiar, warm nest filled with his presence.
But this sunlight had no warmth.
Or rather, that warmth was encased in a thick layer of ice called reality.
The moment she tried to sink into it and close her eyes, the menacing shadows beneath that ice would surface.
Eva's shattered car wreckage, the deep, bone-revealing gash on Vitale's arm, the calm look in his eyes as he admitted to killing.
A suppressed whimper, like that of an injured small animal, escaped uncontrollably from Isabella's throat.
Hot tears broke free again, soaking the pillow.
She bit her lower lip hard, her body trembling slightly from crying, yet she stubbornly kept her back to Vitale, not wanting him to see her in such a broken, vulnerable state.
Vitale immediately felt the trembling and dampness of Isabella's body in his arms.
His heart felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand, the pain almost suffocating him.
He tightened his hold, wanting to pull her closer, to use his warmth and strength to chase away her nightmares.
"Baby, don't cry. I'm here. It's okay now," Vitale whispered in her ear, his voice hoarse but gentle.
However, his tighter embrace acted like a key, unlocking the door to fear in Isabella's heart once again.