Chapter 57
Vitale whispered softly in Isabella's ear, "Actually, in my heart, you hold the same place as my mother. So, Isabella, you mean a lot to me."
Isabella froze, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Vitale, the mafia boss known for his cold and ruthless nature, had just compared her importance to that of his beloved mother.
In that stunned moment, Vitale tried to push forward, but she suddenly tightened her body, clamping down on him.
"Vitale," Isabella's voice was clear despite the heat of desire, "Have you ever used me?"
Vitale let out a low grunt. Her question was like a bucket of cold water dousing his burning desire.
Who would've thought she'd ask something so sharp at a moment like this?
Vitale responded with a rough kiss, then, while she was already filled with him, squeezed in two fingers.
The sudden fullness made Isabella scream, pleasure shooting through her like an electric current.
But she stubbornly repeated, "Answer me."
"No," Vitale's voice was hoarse with desire but firm, "I would never use someone I love."
He increased the force of his thrusts, each deep push seeming to underline the truth of his words, "I want your body, your mind, your soul... I want all of you to belong to me. So, Isabella, you should trust me, not doubt me."
Isabella was pushed against the headboard by his relentless movements, letting out a series of gasps, "God, Vitale! Are you trying to break me?"
"Who told you to ask a question like that and provoke me?" Vitale panted, slowing down a bit, "I want to break your body, but I can't bear to."
He cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes, "Say you love me, Isabella."
Isabella shook her head stubbornly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Then when will you say it?"
"When I've made something of my work."
That sentence was like the final spark. Vitale let out a low growl and released inside her.
He collapsed onto Isabella's chest, panting, sweat dripping onto her flushed skin, "How long will that take?"
"A few months, I guess. Why, Vitale?"
"I'll give you space," Vitale promised, his fingers gently running through Isabella's blonde hair, "I'll let you become the best assistant and accountant. I'll wait."
The aftershocks of pleasure still lingered in her body. Isabella sat up, held Vitale's face, and gave him a deep kiss. "Vito, I'm okay with Henley being my bodyguard, and I'll start calling you Vito."
Vitale's eyes lit up instantly. He kissed her back fiercely, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth, "Can I go in again? It still wants you."
Isabella shook her head with a playful smirk, "No, it's a bit sore down there."
"Damn, I should've been gentler," Vitale muttered, frowning in frustration. Then he grabbed her hand and placed it on his still-hard erection, "Can you help it out, then? It's aching."
He leaned close to Isabella's ear, his voice low and tempting, "Whenever you want to touch me, in any way, I'm all yours."
"I'm afraid not, Vito," Isabella said, sliding off the bed and walking barefoot to the bathroom, "I'm tired. I need a shower and sleep."
At the bathroom door, she turned around, stood on her tiptoes, and winked at Vitale.
That look, a mix of innocence and seduction, was like the strongest aphrodisiac.
"Damn it." Vitale groaned, charging into the bathroom like an enraged lion.
In the steamy space, he made love to her again for a long time.
So long that Isabella's legs were shaking, barely able to stand, and her pleas for mercy came out broken.
When Vitale carried a drowsy Isabella out of the bathroom, she couldn't even lift a finger.
He gently blow-dried her hair, each strand of blonde carefully tended to between his fingers.
After making sure she was fast asleep, Vitale grabbed his phone and stepped onto the balcony.
The cold night breeze cleared his head a bit, but a dangerous fire still burned in his eyes.
"Henley," he said curtly when the call connected, "take good 'care' of Simon. I want to see him bruised and battered by tomorrow morning."
After a pause, he changed his mind, "No, I'll take him there myself."
---
The underground fight club, Inferno, truly came alive at midnight.
Sweat, blood, and the stench of cheap cigars mingled together, forming a nauseating haze in the underground arena.
Inside the iron cage, two bare-chested men fought in the most primal way.
The dull thud of fists hitting flesh echoed like drumbeats, striking the nerves of the crowd.
"Kill him! Come on!"
"Ribs! Aim for the ribs!"
Wild shouts surged from all directions.
Businessmen in suits and workers with calloused hands were no different in this moment, all with bloodshot eyes, waving betting slips and beer bottles.
A woman in high heels stood in the front row, lipstick smearing onto her teeth as she screamed, completely unaware.
Henley leaned against the railing of the second-floor circular walkway, expressionless as he looked down at the bloody spectacle.
Simon stood beside him, holding a glass of whiskey, the clinking of ice almost drowned out by the chaos below.
"I heard Vitale broke Chris's legs over that woman," Simon said, sipping his drink with a mocking tone, "Attacking an innocent guy for a woman—has he lost his mind?"
Henley didn't respond, his gaze sweeping over the entrance.
He could feel that familiar oppressive presence approaching, like the low pressure before a storm.
"I've been with Vitale for ten years, and I've never seen him like this," Simon continued, placing his empty glass on the railing. "What's the mafia's rule? Family first, business second. Where do women even rank?"
Inside the cage, a fighter was knocked down hard, and the referee started counting.
The crowd's roars nearly shook the roof.
"I'm wondering," Simon turned to Henley, "if one day he has to choose between that woman and the family, what will he pick?"
Henley finally spoke, his voice low, "You're asking the wrong person."
"Am I?" Simon chuckled, "But you're his most trusted bodyguard. You should know best—"
His words cut off abruptly.
A commotion at the entrance rippled through the crowd like a stone dropped into a pond.
Half the screaming mob fell silent, many stepping back instinctively to clear a path.
Vitale walked in.
He wasn't wearing a suit, just a simple black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the brutal scars on his forearms.
His red hair looked like congealed blood under the dim lights.
Vitale didn't look at anyone, heading straight for the cage. The crowd parted like the Red Sea wherever he walked.
As he passed the second floor, Vitale glanced up at Simon.
Just one glance.
Simon's empty glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the concrete floor.
The sharp sound of breaking glass pierced through the sudden silence of the arena.
"Mr. Luca," Simon forced a smile, "I'm with Mr. Malone. You can't do this to me. I haven't done anything to Isabella. I'm innocent."
Vitale nodded, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, "I know. But you touched something of mine."
He took off his shirt, revealing a tight white T-shirt underneath, "So I'm here to invite you to play. Don't worry, I'll cover the medical bills."