Chapter 47: Isabelle
Chapter 47: Isabelle
Alessandro barks a short laugh, a sound with all the joy of a gunshot. “Kindness,” he spits. “You see where that gets you.” He circles back to the desk and flicks his ash into the crystal tray. “You always were a slow learner. But you have a gift for suffering, I’ll grant you that. It’s the only reason you’re still here.”
There’s a silence, thick and crawling. He leans against the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles, arms folded, the cigar burning low between two fingers.
“You’re going to tell me everything you remember about that night and how you got away from him tonight,” he says, “and if I think you’re lying, I will cut the tongue out of your mouth and serve it to the dog. Do you understand the terms, cara mia?”
I nod once, and he gestures for me to begin.
It’s an old dance, this: the abuser’s catechism, the victim’s ritual of half-truths. I tell him about the alleyway, about Cara’s sobbing, about the being thrown in the back of the van, I tell him the way my 'kidnappers' moved, how I was put into the cell somewhere under ground. I use the name Irishman andI omit Liam’s name. I omit the softness, the protection, the way he held me after. I say only what I have to say. The rest is mine.
He interrupts, sometimes to laugh, sometimes to demand a detail he thinks I’ve hidden. His rage is a living thing, thickening the air every time I hesitate. My heart stutters at the pauses, but my voice does not break. As I try to tell him one of the guards left my door unlocked.
At the end, he flicks the last of his cigar into the dying embers of the fireplace. The room smells of burning sweetleaf and old paper.
He pushes off the desk and approaches again, looming, his body cutting off the lamplight. He rests a finger under my chin, tilting my face up.
“You’re not clever enough for treachery, I think,” he says, “but you are just smart enough to make yourself useful.” The finger slides away, almost a caress, and he steps back.
“If you ever see him again,” Alessandro says, voice now glacial, “I will know. If you ever breathe a word, even in your sleep, I will know. There is nowhere in this city you can hide from me. I will take everything from you. Do you understand?”
I nod again, throat closing.
“Good. Because tomorrow, you are going to the church with me. There will be a reconciliation. I expect you to look the part.” He straightens his cuffs. “You will greet your Irishman’s corpse with a smile if I tell you to.”
He leaves the room, soft-soled, without another word.
I collapse into the club chair by the fire, the upholstery swallowing my bones, before I realise I have no right to sit in this house without being told to and the standing again. The taste of cigar smoke clings to my lips. Rain cracks against the window; a siren screams somewhere downtown. I picture Liam, still out there, still breathing, maybe already planning how to end this.
I sit until the fire goes out, counting the embers. I hope he’s counting too.
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The night is far from over. In this house, the dark only sharpens. By the time Alessandro returns, my legs are numb from standing statue-still, but I straighten the instant I hear the twin clicks of his shoes on the tile.
He sweeps into the study like a storm front, peeling off his raincoat and letting it fall in a neat heap on the Persian rug. His eyes barely flick to me as he moves around the desk, but I feel the heat of his fury radiating across the room, making my skin itch.
He doesn’t speak. He only watches his hands—knuckles white, veins standing out—until he turns to me with those black, burning eyes. Then, without warning, he strides past the desk, grabs my arm, and hauls me down the dark hallway. My heart hammers so loud I’m sure the walls will hear.
He unlocks a hidden door set into the wood paneling and pushes me inside. The stairs descend into chill dampness—stone walls slick with moisture, a single bare bulb swinging overhead. I stumble down, my pulse racing, until we reach a small chamber I recognize all too well. This is the place he once used for others. Now it’s where I’ve landed.
He doesn’t pause. He drags me to the center of the cold floor, shoves me against the stone wall, and yanks metal shackles down from an iron peg. My wrists scrape as he forces them overhead and locks them into place. My arms ache, stretched almost beyond endurance. The chains rattle, echoing like distant thunder.
He steps back to admire his work, a thin, cruel smile tracing his lips. Smoke curls from the freshly lit cigar pressed between his fingers. “Think carefully,” he says, voice low and smooth, “before you betray me again.”
I swallow, tasting dust and fear. “I haven’t—”
He cuts me off with a look. “Don’t lie.” He circles me, the chain clinking with every step. “You’re in my house, Isabelle. Every thought, every breath, belongs to me.” He leans close, so I can feel the heat of his breath. “Disappoint me again, and I’ll make sure you never forget whose property you are.”
He straightens, flicking ash to the floor. “Tomorrow, you will appear beside me at Mass, dressed and smiling. And you will not so much as glance at another man.” His voice drops to a hiss. “Or you’ll wish I’d left you here in darkness forever.”
He turns on his heel and walks back up the stairs, the door clanging shut behind him. The echoes fade, leaving me alone in the basement’s damp hush. My shoulders burn where the chains dig in. My mind swims with panic, but beneath it, a small spark of defiance flickers.
I press my forehead to the cold stone, breathing in the mildew and dust. They can lock my body, but they can’t claim my mind—at least, not yet. I close my eyes and picture a sliver of sky, a world outside these walls. I’ll hold on to that image until I’m dead.
Above me, Alessandro’s voice drifts down, commanding a maid. His rage is undimmed. And somewhere in the distance, the first pale light of dawn begins to cut through the earth.
But in this blue-shadowed half-world, I vow: not all of me is his. Not anymore.
authors note July 7th 2025: I am sorry for the delay in writing, sadly cancer doesn't care that I have a story to finish. Thank you so much for sticking it out with me. I will be finishing this story very soon.