Chapter 98
Isabella's tears finally stopped.
She remembered what she had done before the party.
She went to the pharmacy, bought condoms, and then ran into Colt.
That moment was too awkward, too personal. There was no way she could tell Vitale about it.
Vitale looked at Isabella's hesitant expression and the blush on her face. A flicker of understanding passed through his blue eyes.
He didn't press her for details. Instead, he just sighed softly, his fingers brushing over her damp cheek.
"That party is a tradition passed down from my father."
"Every winter, the guests are a mixed bunch. Politicians, businessmen, family members, and some thrill-seekers."
Vitale paused, his gaze drifting to the end of the hallway, as if he could see that distant, sinful estate.
"I've never gotten involved. Since I took over the family business, I've tried my best to stay away from all of that. I thought if I didn't participate, if I didn't show up there, you wouldn't know about it, and you wouldn't be upset."
"But I didn't expect you to barge in. And I definitely didn't expect you to hear those sounds."
Isabella's heart tightened.
She remembered that room, the moans slipping through the crack in the door, and the gut-wrenching feeling of thinking Vitale was inside.
"I saw your men," Isabella whispered. "I thought you were in there, too. I thought you were with another woman..."
She couldn't finish her sentence.
Tears welled up again, but this time it wasn't out of anger—it was out of fear and relief.
Vitale cupped Isabella's face, his thumb gently wiping away her fresh tears.
His hands were warm, his touch unbelievably tender.
"You should trust me more, Isabella."
"Just like you've given me your body, give me your trust too. I've promised I won't hurt you, won't betray you. Aren't those promises enough for you to believe that I'd never be in a place like that, that I'd never insult what we have in such a way?"
Isabella closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of Vitale's hands and the sincerity in his words.
She knew he was telling the truth.
She knew it logically. But in that moment, when fear and jealousy overtook her, trust felt as fragile as paper.
"And then there's Henley," Vitale continued, his voice taking on a cold edge. "He was supposed to protect you. Where was he? Why did he let you go to that party alone?"
Isabella shook her head, her blonde hair swaying lightly. "I don't know. I thought he'd be there at the party, maybe on some kind of task. But he wasn't. When I went in, it was just Amboni's men. No Henley."
Vitale's expression darkened.
He let go of Isabella's face and dialed a number on his phone.
The call was answered almost instantly.
"Henley, explain yourself. Why was Isabella at that party outside the city, and you weren't by her side?"
Henley's panicked voice came through the phone. "Boss, I had a nicotine craving. When Ms. Martinez went into the pharmacy, I was waiting outside."
"Then I saw a store at the corner and thought I'd just step away for a few minutes to buy a pack of cigarettes."
"Henley," Vitale said, "go outside now and run ten miles. You don't get to sleep until you're done."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by Henley's incredulous wail. "Ten miles?! Boss, it's snowing out there! The wind cuts like a knife! This is torture for an old man! I'm forty-five!"
"Then make it twenty miles."
"No! I think ten miles is fine! Ten miles is great!" Henley's tone instantly became submissive. "I'll go change into my running shoes right now. Boss, I swear I'll never smoke again, never leave Ms. Martinez's side for a second, I promise—"
"Swear after you finish running." Vitale cut him off and hung up.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Isabella.
The coldness from moments ago had faded, replaced by a deep exhaustion.
"I'm tired, Isabella."
"Let's go upstairs, okay? We can talk slowly. About everything."
Isabella had been so angry—about the party, the moans, the fear and jealousy that had consumed her all night.
But now, in the face of Vitale's explanation and exhaustion, that anger popped like a balloon pricked by a needle, disappearing completely.
She nodded and reached out, taking his hand.
Vitale seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
He picked up her small suitcase and led her toward the elevator.
As the elevator went up, Isabella clung tightly to Vitale's arm, her face pressed against his shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispered, her fingers gently rubbing his arm. "We'll be there soon."
Vitale looked down at Isabella, a hint of gratitude flashing in his blue eyes.
Once they entered the room, he took off his suit jacket and headed toward the bathroom.
"I need to take a shower first."
"Today felt dirty."
Isabella understood what he meant.
It wasn't physical dirt, but the filth of that party, those deals, that world.
Vitale had a strong aversion to anything unclean, especially before being intimate with Isabella.
He always had to wash thoroughly, as if he needed to scrub away all the darkness and bloodshed before he could touch her with a clean body.
Isabella stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the sound of water running inside. Steam drifted out through the crack in the door, carrying the familiar scent of Vitale's cologne.
Then something came to her mind.
"Vitale."
"I saw Ali at the party. He was there. How could he be at a private event like that? Didn't you say it was exclusive?"
The sound of water paused for a moment.
Then Vitale's voice came through, tinged with surprise. "Ali was there? I didn't invite him. Honestly, I haven't updated the guest list for that party since my father's time, but Ali definitely isn't on it."
"Did you see Blake, though? That kind of party would be right up Blake's alley. He loves that kind of depraved atmosphere."
Isabella frowned, trying to recall.
She had walked through those rooms, seen all sorts of people, but Blake's face with his graying hair...
"I didn't see Blake," Isabella said slowly, a sudden thought popping into her head. "But the room I heard, the voice that sounded like it came from inside your room... could it have been Blake? You said he likes to mimic your style, your voice. What if he was imitating you...?"
The bathroom door swung open.
Vitale stood in the doorway, wearing only a towel around his waist. His hair was wet, water droplets rolling down his toned chest, over his abs, and disappearing at the edge of the towel.
Steam billowed out behind him, making his figure look hazy and alluring under the light.
But his expression was serious.
"It's possible," Vitale said, rubbing his hair with a towel in a casual yet undeniably masculine way. "Blake's got a twisted personality. He likes my style, my voice, and he's even copied the way I talk before. If he was in that room, deliberately making those sounds..."
Isabella instinctively grabbed another towel and started wiping the water off his back.
Her fingers touched his skin—warm, firm, still damp from the shower.
Vitale let out a soft groan. He closed his eyes, letting her continue.
"Isabella," he said, his voice much softer than before.
"What is it?"
"I would never be with another woman."
"No matter the situation, no matter the reason. You have to believe me."
Isabella's hand paused on Vitale's chest.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers, steady and strong.
"I want to believe you," Isabella said quietly, looking up to meet his gaze. "But there are so many women who admire you, Vitale. Marina, Judy, and anyone who might show up at those parties. I don't know if what you're saying is true or not. Sometimes, trust is hard."
Vitale's face twisted with disgust.
Not at Isabella, but at the possibility she described.
He grabbed the hand holding the towel, gripping it tightly, then lifted his other hand to gently hold her throat.
Not with force.
Not as a threat.
Just a possessive, claiming gesture.
Vitale's fingers were warm, the pads rough from years of holding a gun, pressing against the skin of Isabella's neck. He could feel her quickening pulse.
"Isabella," Vitale leaned down, so close she could feel his breath, "I'm not a good man in many ways. I lie, I manipulate, my hands are stained with blood, and my decisions have ruined lives. I'm not the upright man you might imagine."
He paused, his thumb gently brushing over her throat. "But I could never hurt you, in any way. Betrayal, lies, physical violence, emotional pain—I would never do that to you. Do you understand?"
"Are you saying you're not happy when we're together? I've never forced you. Every time, every single time you melt under me, every time you call my name, every time you cling to me and beg me not to stop."
"Those moments are real, Isabella. That happiness, that desire, that connection—it's all real. Isn't that enough to prove that my feelings for you aren't something I could just give to someone else?"
Isabella looked into Vitale's eyes and saw the promise in them.
She understood Vitale, this complex, dangerous man, assuring her of his loyalty in the only way he knew how.
"Yes," Isabella finally said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I believe you."
Vitale seemed to relax.
He released her throat, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, gently pulling her closer until their foreheads touched.
"Thank you," he whispered, the word carrying emotions she couldn't fully decipher.
Then Vitale kissed her.
A light touch of lips, a gentle exploration with his tongue, as if tasting her trust, confirming her presence.
When the kiss ended, Isabella was soft in his arms, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his bare chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
Vitale lifted her effortlessly, as if she were a child, and carried her toward the bedroom.