Chapter 82 What The Fuck Am I Doing Here?
Chapter 82 What The Fuck Am I Doing Here?
My mind was a spinning, chaotic mess, going absolutely crazy as the wheels ate up the empty asphalt. Every survival instinct I had was screaming at me to do something... anything...grab the wheel, kick the door open, tuck and roll...but the sheer absurdity of the situation had me completely paralyzed. I was physically glued to the leather seat, my eyes darting frantically between Isabella’s cold profile and the bleak, dead brush passing outside the window.
Then, the car began to slow.
Up ahead, the deserted road fractured into a massive crossroad. Isabella guided the sedan right up to the line of the intersection and smoothly slowed into a halt.
As if on cue, three other vehicles pulled up at the exact same time from the other three directions of the crossroad. One black SUV to our left, one to our right, and a heavy sedan directly across from us. Every single road leading into the intersection was blocked. Our car became the fourth and final piece of the puzzle, completing the four points of the cross.
Fucking hell!!!
I haven't called my father in a long time...would he even know if I died? How I died? Would they find my body?
All four vehicles sat idling, their hoods angled inward, facing each other in a grim, perfect square. The tint on their windows was completely opaque, reflecting nothing but the gray sky and the dead wasteland around us.
My heart didn't just skip a beat—it dropped straight into the pit of my stomach.
There was no exit. No turning back. The trap hadn't just been sprung; it was locked tight from every single angle.
I whipped my head around to look at Isabella, my breathing shallow, my hands trembling as I balled them into fists against my thighs. The frantic beat of my heart was echoing so loudly in my ears I was surprised she couldn't hear it.
"Isabella, what the hell is going on?" I demanded, my voice cracking slightly before I forced it steady. I pointed a shaky finger toward the windshield, gesturing to the wall of tinted glass and metal surrounding us. "Why did you bring me out here? Who the fuck is in those cars?"
Isabella didn't answer right away. She took one last, slow drag of her cigarette, the orange ember flare reflecting in her cold, dark eyes, before she casually flicked the ash out of the barely cracked window. She didn't look scared. She didn't even look tense. She just looked incredibly bored, like she was waiting for a train to pass instead of orchestrating a execution.
Slowly, she turned her head to look at me, a tiny, chilling smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.
My heart was hammering a million miles an hour.
"Isabella, what have I done?" I asked again, but Isabella didn't answer... instead, she started to laugh.
She laughed so hard she had to lean back against the headrest, until actual tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
I just sat there staring at her, completely frozen, wondering if I was about to be murdered by a total psychopath.
Finally, her giggles died down. She reached up with a manicured finger, delicately dabbing away a tear so it wouldn't ruin her makeup.
Then, she turned to look at me, her eyes bright with a naughty smile...
"Oh, Celene," she murmured, her voice dripping with pure mockery. "How on earth do you think you're going to cope as a mafia wife if you get this easily spooked?"
She just kept laughing, shaking her head as she pushed her door open and stepped out into the dry heat.
I sat there, utterly paralyzed, blinking through the windshield as the doors of the other three vehicles clicked open in perfect unison.
My brain braced for the worst. I expected heavily armed hitmen, towering guards in tactical gear, or hardened cartel bosses to step out and finish the job.
Instead, three elderly women stepped out of the cars.
They all looked like they belonged at a high-end country club or a charity gala, dressed in designer pantsuits and wearing oversized sunglasses. One of them adjusted a pearl necklace, another smoothed down her silk blouse, and the third waved cheerfully at Isabella like they were meeting up for Sunday brunch.
I just sat in the passenger seat, my jaw practically hitting the floor, trying to process the fact that I had just prepared to meet God and yet.... it would be so embarrassing if old women ganged up to kill me...
The women all greeted each other with air-kisses and loud, elegant chatter, their voices echoing across the empty intersection. It looked like a luxury country club meeting had spontaneously broken out in the middle of a fucking wasteland.
Isabella walked back over to the passenger side, tapped on the window, and motioned for me to get out. My legs were still a little shaky, but I opened the door and stepped onto the gravel, completely bewildered.
"Everyone, this is Celene," Isabella announced, gesturing to me with her cigarette like she was presenting a prize pony. "The girl who thinks she can handle my son."
The three women turned their sharp, heavily made-up eyes on me, sizing me up in a split second.
"Celene, dear," Isabella continued, stepping closer to introduce them one by one. "This is Victoria, Francesca, and Beatrice. Don't let the pearls fool you...their husbands helped my late husband, Cole's father, build this city's underworld from the ground up, and now, we're friends who help each other."
The women smiled warmly, though there was a distinct, hardened glint in their eyes that told me they had probably ordered a few hits on people themselves over morning coffee.
"It's lovely to finally meet you, Celene," Victoria said, tilting her sunglasses down. "Isabella hasn't stopped talking about the girl who actually survived the poison."
My blood ran cold. The word hung in the air between us, completely out of place among the designer sunglasses and pearl necklaces.
"The poison?" I repeated.
I looked from Victoria’s polished smile over to Francesca and Beatrice, then slowly turned my gaze back to Isabella. The casual, airy way Victoria had said it made me uncomfortable.
Victoria let out a loud laugh, waving her hand dismissively as if I’d just made a silly joke.
"Oh, listen to her, Isabella! So delightfully tense," Francesca chimed in, chuckling as she adjusted her silk scarf. "No, darling, we didn't plan it. Stop thinking crazy thoughts...But word travels very fast in our circles. We know exactly what kind of snakes Cole deals with, that's all."
"Exactly," Isabella said, taking a slow drag of her cigarette and smiling warmly. "Don't look so terrified, Celene. If we wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it past the mansion gates. We’re all just impressed and glad that you’re still standing."
The tension in my shoulders finally eased, a wave of relief washing over me. I let out a breath I didn't realize I’d been holding and even managed a small smile.
Of course, I thought to myself, feeling a little ridiculous. They weren't masterminds behind a hit; they were just the ultimate gossip network of the underworld. They knew everything because their husbands fucking ran everything.
"Sorry," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I guess I’m still a little jumpy."
"Perfectly understandable, dear," Beatrice said kindly. "Now, come closer. Let's see if you can handle a strip club."
A WHAT?!?!!!