25

25
Six

The room smelled of smoke and alcohol. The men around the table were smoking huge cigars and drinking whiskey. I sat on the edge of the dark leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other.

Across from me, Arabella’s father sat stiffly in a bright purple plaid suit. The man had questionable style. His hair was silver-white and styled to perfection.

The expensive Richard Mille wristwatch on his hand, paired with the gold bracelet and chunky gold rings, oozed wealth.

It was probably new, dirty money he had received from selling off his own daughter to a vile man like Marco.

Marco leaned back with a smug smile. “So tell me again, Enzo Rodriguez. Why couldn’t you make it to your own daughter’s engagement party?”

Arabella’s father cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it might help his excuse land better. “I had a prior engagement,” he said, his voice cool and clipped. “Business. It couldn’t be postponed.”

Business. That’s what she was to him too, I guessed. A business deal. Handing his daughter over to Marco was a simple transaction. Nothing more.

Marco laughed lowly. “Your daughter missed you all night. She didn’t have any friends or family around on her big day. That was really sad.”

He took a sip from his glass. “You missed quite the show, though. I believe someone tried to hurt her, or like the doctor suggested, it could just be a stomach bug, but she fainted right there at her own engagement party. I almost lost it.”

Arabella’s father sighed like he was tired of even pretending. “She’s always been dramatic. I believe it was a mere stomach upset.”

I clenched my jaw and said nothing, but my eyes were fixed on the man. This… this is the man who gave her away. Who handed her to a monster like Marco and called it duty.

I wondered how many times he’d slept soundly knowing what he’d done. If it even haunted him.

The sound of footsteps pulled all of our attention to the staircase. Arabella appeared, barefoot, wearing a soft silk robe that dragged slightly behind her.

Her hair was wild, like she hadn’t touched it in hours. But her eyes… her eyes caught him and broke.

“Father?” she choked, her voice crumbling around the word. She stumbled down two steps, then froze. “What are you doing here?”

Her father stood. “Arabella. Come down. Let me see you.”

“No.” She shook her head, frantic now. “No—what are you doing here? What are you doing here? What are you doing here?”

She clutched the railing like it was the only thing holding her up. Marco just watched with an amused smirk on his face, like this was his favorite kind of entertainment.

“Come down, Arabella,” her father said again, gently this time.

She descended slowly, each step heavier than the last, and when she reached the bottom, she stopped inches from him. “Why are you here now?” she whispered. “When I needed you, where were you?”

“Arabella,” he muttered, glancing briefly at Marco, then taking her arm to pull her aside. “Let’s speak privately.”

She followed stiffly, like she didn’t trust herself to walk away. I stayed on the sofa, close enough to hear everything. Marco didn’t even pretend to leave.

Her father lowered his voice. “How are you doing?”

Arabella laughed, a dry, broken laugh. “How do you think I’m doing?” She shook her head, her lips trembling. “Why do you care? You never cared—do you suddenly now? What changed? You’re here to check on your investment, huh? You heard the news that I fainted, you’re here to see your prize…” She emphasized the word. “Is unhurt.”

Enzo sighed. “I didn’t know you were unwell—well, until I got here and was informed by the Capo.”

She swallowed. “I would have said that makes you a terrible father, but you’ve always been terrible. This isn’t new.”

“I hope the Don is treating you well,” he said, calm as ever.

“You don’t care about that. You never did. And no, he doesn’t.” Her voice cracked. “But it’s none of your business, is it?”

Marco put a hand over his chest. “Now, now, I’m offended, mi amore.”

Enzo tipped his head at Marco. “I apologize for her behavior, Capo,” he turned back to her. “You’re being emotional.”

“I’m being imprisoned!”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re safe. You’re protected,” he said in a monotone voice.

“I’m not safe!” Her voice rose, angry now. “Do you even care what you’ve done to me?”

Silence.

She looked away, tears brimming in her eyes. “How’s home?” she asked quietly. “How’s the garden? Is Emilia okay? Has she asked for me?”

“That’s not important now.”

Arabella stared at him, horror widening her eyes. “Not important?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She raised me. She sang me to sleep when Mother died. And you… God, you…”

“You need to forget the past, Arabella.”

Her shoulders sagged. “You don’t get to say that.” Her words spilled faster now, more desperate. “I’m here, Father. With a man who kills. I saw him do it. He attacked someone—an innocent man who talked to me. He didn’t even flinch. And then he touched me. His hands were covered in blood, and he touched me with those hands.”

Marco chuckled. “He wasn’t innocent…” he said aloud with outstretched hands.

Enzo blinked but didn’t move.

“Take me away,” she begged. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want this life. Why did you curse me with it?”

Marco glanced at me. “She’s a drama queen, isn’t she?”

“You were born into this life, Arabella,” he stated simply.

“No. No, I was born your daughter. You made this choice. You gave me to them. You threw me to the wolves and called it duty.”

She was crying now, shoulders shaking, voice trembling with every word. “Why? Why would you do this to me?”

He reached out a hand, like he might wipe her tears, but stopped halfway. Then, he lowered it. “You’ll adjust. In time.”

And just like that, he turned and walked out. No hug. No comfort. Just… gone.

Arabella stood there, trembling, staring after him. I rose, slowly, my chest tight. My hand gripped the edge of my seat. Marco was here.

As much as I’d have loved to go to her and comfort her, I couldn’t. He was watching. I slowly sat back down, feeling defeated.

She broke. A choked sob tore from her lips, and she collapsed where she stood.

I gritted my teeth hard and clenched my fists by my side, but I stayed, silent and still, wondering how a man could look at someone like her and walk away.

Then I turned to look at Marco. He had a wide grin on his lips—the sick motherfucker was enjoying this.