Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Isabella's POV
Marco's hand shot out with lightning speed, fingers closing around my wrist like a steel manacle. I'd been so close to the door—so close to freedom—when he caught me.
My blood froze. He's awake. He's been awake this whole time.
But when I turned to face him, expecting to see those cold, calculating eyes, I found something entirely different. Marco's grip was tight, desperate, but his dark eyes were unfocused, swimming with the effects of Connor's sedative.
"Isabella..." His voice was thick, slurred, but filled with raw desperation. "Don't... don't leave me."
Relief flooded through me. The drugs were working—he was barely conscious, acting on instinct rather than cunning.
"Marco, let go," I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "You need to rest."
"No." His grip tightened, pulling me back toward the sofa. "Ti prego, Isabella... please don't leave me. I haven't slept properly in so long."
The vulnerability in his voice made my chest tighten. This was Marco Salvatore—the man who commanded fear from New York's underworld—reduced to begging me to stay.
"You don't understand," he continued, his words becoming more slurred as I allowed him to pull me closer. "I've tried everything. The finest mattresses from Italy, private doctors with their sleeping pills, even those meditation experts from Tibet."
His laugh was bitter, hollow. "Nothing works. Every time I close my eyes, I see Lucia's face. I see the blood, the accusations, the way you looked at me when I..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
"But when you're here," Marco whispered, his forehead nearly touching mine, "the nightmares stop. The guilt quiets. For the first time in three years, I can actually rest."
His other hand moved to cup my face, fingers trembling slightly. "I know I have no right to ask this of you. Not after what I did. Not after the hell I put you through."
Those dark eyes that had once looked at me with cold calculation now held nothing but desperate longing.
"But I'm asking anyway. Stay with me, Isabella. Not as my prisoner, not as my property. Just... stay."
The sedative was taking stronger effect now. Marco's words were becoming more slurred, his eyelids growing heavy.
"Promettimi..." he murmured, his grip on my hand loosening as consciousness began to slip away. "Promise me you'll never leave me again."
I watched as the drugs finally claimed him, his breathing deepening into unconsciousness. His face, free from the harsh lines of control and authority, looked almost peaceful.
This is the man who sold me to hell, I reminded myself, even as my heart clenched at his vulnerability.
I gently extracted my hand from his loosened grip. Marco's fingers fell limply to the sofa cushions. He stirred slightly, mumbling something in Italian that sounded like my name.
For a moment, I hesitated. The memory of his desperate plea echoed in my mind: Promise me you'll never leave me again.
But some promises were impossible to keep.
I turned toward the door again, my footsteps silent on the Persian rug. Each step felt like a small betrayal, but I forced myself to keep moving.
This is my only chance at freedom. My only chance to give my unborn child a life without violence and fear.
As I reached the doorway, I allowed myself one last look at Marco's sleeping form. Even unconscious, he seemed to be reaching for something—for someone—that wasn't there.
Goodbye, Marco.
I slipped into the marble corridor, closing the door behind me with barely a whisper of sound.

——
Marco's POV
The moment Isabella's footsteps faded into the marble corridor, my eyes snapped open with crystalline clarity.
The sedative Connor had arranged was working—I could feel the artificial drowsiness pulling at my consciousness, making my limbs heavy and my thoughts sluggish. But it would take more than a simple sleeping drug to truly incapacitate a Salvatore.
Did Connor really think I'd survived thirty years in this life without building up resistance to chemical manipulation?
I'd been receiving controlled doses of various substances since childhood—a necessary precaution in a world where poison was as common as bullets. What might knock out an ordinary man would merely make me drowsy.
But I'd let Isabella believe the drugs were working. I'd let her see my vulnerability, my desperate need for her presence. Every word I'd spoken had been the truth—I did need her to sleep, I was haunted by nightmares of Lucia's death, and I was terrified of losing her again.
But I'd also known, even as I begged her to stay, that she would run.
She thinks she's so clever, planning her escape with my own soldier.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Connor O'Brien, the man I'd trusted with my life countless times, had chosen to betray me for a woman who would never truly love him back.
I rose from the sofa with fluid precision, my movements steady despite the drugs coursing through my system. The Armani suit fell perfectly back into place as I adjusted my cufflinks.
From my inside jacket pocket, I withdrew my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.
"Giuseppe," I said when the call connected, my voice carrying its usual authority despite the chemical haze. "Initiate Plan B."
"Sì, Don Marco," came the immediate response. "The men are in position."
"Good. And Giuseppe?" I moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the moonlit grounds of Villa Salvatore. "Make sure they understand—Isabella is not to be harmed. Not a single hair on her head."
"Capisce, Don."
"Connor, however..." I let the threat hang in the air. "Use your discretion."
I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket. The estate grounds stretched before me, bathed in silver moonlight. Somewhere out there, Isabella was making her way toward what she believed was freedom.
Poor, sweet Isabella. Still so naive about the world she's trying to escape.
Did she really think I hadn't anticipated this? That I hadn't prepared for every possible scenario? I'd been playing chess while she was still learning the rules of checkers.
The sedative was making me philosophical, I realized. Or perhaps it was just the bitter satisfaction of watching my own elaborate plan unfold.
She thinks she's running toward Connor and a new life. Instead, she's running directly into my web.
I settled back onto the sofa, allowing the drugs to pull me into a light doze. There was no need to chase her myself—my men would handle that. And when they brought her back, when Connor's betrayal was laid bare before her, she would finally understand a fundamental truth about her situation.
There is no escape from Marco Salvatore. There is only the illusion of choice.
The moonlight continued to stream through the windows, casting everything in silver and shadow. In a few hours, this would all be over.
Ti amo, Isabella, I thought as sleep finally claimed me. And soon, you'll have no choice but to accept that love.
Outside, the hunt had already begun.