Chapter 31

Chapter 31
Isabella's POV
The morning after our negotiations, I finally had my answer to yesterday's request.
Sigrid Larsson stood in the dining room doorway wearing a simple black uniform.
Gone was the cream La Perla silk robe. Gone were the designer heels and perfectly coiffed hair. Her blonde locks were pulled back severely, and the plain maid's dress hung on her frame like a punishment.
Marco had actually done it. He'd agreed to my most audacious demand—making his precious Sigrid serve as my personal attendant.
Her blue eyes blazed with barely contained fury as she approached with a silver tray, each step deliberate and controlled.
"Your espresso," she said through gritted teeth, setting the Waterford crystal cup before me with more force than necessary.
I lifted the cup to my lips, took a delicate sip, and made a show of wrinkling my nose in distaste.
"This is far too bitter," I said, setting it down with a soft clink. "I'd prefer a cappuccino instead. Please remake it."
The transformation in Sigrid's face was immediate—white shock followed by burning red rage.
"What did you just say to me?"
"I said the coffee is unacceptable. Make me a cappuccino."
"You think you can order me around?" Her voice rose with indignation. "I am Sigrid Larsson. My father controls half of Wall Street!"
She stepped closer, her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists.
"And you—you're nothing but a former prisoner who spent three years as a dock whore!"
The insult hung in the air like poison. In the old days, words like that would have shattered me. Now they just bounced off armor forged in three years of hell.
"Sigrid."
Marco's voice cut through her tirade like a blade. He sat at the head of the table in his charcoal Armani suit, calmly sipping his own espresso as if watching morning entertainment.
His dark eyes fixed on her with that deadly calm I knew so well.
"You will do exactly as Isabella asks," he said, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Without question. Without complaint. Without delay."
Sigrid stared at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
"Marco, you can't be serious—"
"I am completely serious." His tone dropped to that whisper that made grown men wet themselves. "Isabella requested your service as her personal attendant. I agreed to her terms. Now make her a cappuccino."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of destroyed expectations. I could see the war playing out in Sigrid's eyes—pride versus self-preservation, disbelief versus dawning reality.
This was really happening. Marco Salvatore was really choosing me over her.
"I won't do this," she finally spat, her voice cracking. "I won't be humiliated by some Brooklyn trash!"
She grabbed the silver tray and slammed it onto the marble table. China rattled against crystal, the sound sharp and violent.
"I'm leaving this house right now!"
She spun on her heel, stalking toward the corridor with her head held high like some deposed queen fleeing her kingdom.
But I was faster.
My hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist like iron shackles.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Let go of me!" She tried to wrench free, but I held firm. Three years of survival had made me stronger than I looked.
"You haven't finished your duties. Clean up this mess, then prepare my cappuccino."
"Impossible!" The word tore from her throat. "I'm not your servant!"
"Aren't you?" I tightened my grip, watching her blue eyes widen with pain. "Marco just said you were."
She yanked her arm away with desperate strength and strode toward the marble corridor, her black uniform billowing behind her like a storm cloud.
"I won't be back!" she called over her shoulder. "Do you hear me? I'm leaving Villa Salvatore forever!"
The sound of her footsteps echoed through the villa until the front door slammed.
Silence fell over the dining room.
I turned back to Marco, who was watching me with something that might have been admiration.
"Well," I said, settling back into my chair. "That was entertaining."
"You got exactly what you wanted," Marco observed, finishing his espresso.
"Yes, I did." I couldn't keep the satisfaction from my voice. "Thank you for honoring our agreement."
"I always honor my agreements, Isabella." His dark eyes studied my face. "The question is whether you'll honor yours."
The reminder hit like ice water. Our bargain. The pregnancy I was hiding. The child growing inside me that changed everything.
"I fulfilled my part," he continued, his voice becoming businesslike. "I gave you Sigrid as your servant. I allowed you to humiliate her exactly as you desired."
He leaned forward slightly, and I could see the hunger in his eyes—the possessive need that had never truly faded.
"Now, when can we begin preparing for the Salvatore heir?"
The question hung between us like a loaded gun. My hand wanted to drift to my stomach, to the secret I carried, but I forced it to remain still.
He doesn't know. He still doesn't know about the baby.
"I need to see my father first," I said carefully. "I need to confirm he's safe before we... proceed."
Marco's eyebrows rose slightly. "Your father?"
"Leonardo Romano. I need to see with my own eyes that he's alive and unharmed."
"You don't trust my word?"
"In this family, I've learned to trust only what I can verify myself."
Marco was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the mahogany table. I could practically hear the calculations running through his mind.
"Very well," he said finally. "That can be arranged."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from swaying.
"When?"
"Today. This afternoon." Marco checked his Patek Philippe. "He frequents a restaurant in Little Italy—Nonna's Kitchen. We can meet him there."
My father. After months of uncertainty, I would finally see my father again.
"Thank you," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Marco's expression softened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment I glimpsed the man I'd once loved beneath the monster he'd become.
"Two hours," he said quietly. "You'll have two hours with him, under guard. Enough time to satisfy yourself that he's safe."
The generosity of it surprised me. Two whole hours.
"And after that?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
His dark eyes met mine, and I saw the steel there—the implacable will that had built an empire on fear and blood.
"After that, we fulfill our bargain. No more delays, no more conditions."
The weight of his words settled over me like a sentence. In a few hours, I would see my father. But after that, I'd have to face the truth about my pregnancy. The choice between my father's safety and my unborn child's future.
I nodded slowly. "I understand."
Marco rose from his chair with fluid grace, straightening his tie.
"I'll have someone prepare the car. We leave tonight."
He paused at the doorway, turning back with that predatory smile I knew so well.
"Prepare yourself for an evening out."