Chapter 150
In the hospital room, Henley gently shook his head, "I don't know exactly what that package is, but my gut tells me it's definitely connected to Ms. Lorraine. Otherwise, Mr. Luca wouldn't have gotten so worked up all of a sudden."
Aria leaned against him, listening to his steady heartbeat and feeling the weight in his words.
She wasn't scared. She lifted her head, looking at Henley seriously, "Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, you're stuck in the hospital and can't move around easily. If you need someone to run errands, dig up information, or anything I can help with, just say it. I'm not afraid."
Henley looked down at her, the unfamiliar warmth stirred by her tears and kisses growing stronger and more overwhelming in his heart.
This girl was bold, independent, smart, and braver and more loyal than anyone he knew.
He never imagined that someone like him, living in shadows and bloodshed, would meet a flame so bright and fierce, a flame willing to come close and warm him.
The more Henley looked at her, the more the budding love in his heart surged, almost breaking through his usual calm and control.
"I..." Henley's voice softened, almost like he was whispering sweet nothings, "There's actually something I might need your help with."
Aria's eyes lit up, "Tell me!"
Henley cautiously glanced at the closed door, making sure no sound could leak out, before leaning close to Aria's ear and whispering so only she could hear, "The source of that anonymous package Mr. Luca received is important. If we can figure out which area it was sent from, or even which mailbox or delivery point, it might narrow down the search."
"I know you've got some connections and skills in this area."
He looked at Aria, his eyes full of trust and reliance, "Can you help me look into it? I know you can, good girl."
That "good girl" made Aria's heart skip a beat, her face heating up.
She nodded firmly without hesitation, "Yes, I can. Give me some time. I'll ask a few of my friends, and some contacts at delivery companies. Even if the package doesn't have sender info, as long as it went through the logistics system, there'll be traces."
But then she looked at Henley with concern, "Are you sure you don't need help here? I mean, with eating, drinking, or going to the bathroom?"
Henley was caught off guard by her blunt question and then chuckled, "Of course, I can manage. You know, for guys, going to the bathroom is easy—just unzip, and my dick pops out to pee."
His crude and slightly vulgar joke made Aria's face turn completely red.
She playfully hit his chest, but it caused Henley to cough heavily.
Aria froze in panic, looking at him nervously.
Henley caught his breath, seeing her worried and shy expression, and the love in his heart grew even stronger.
He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.
Aria felt the heat of his body and the outline of his muscles under the bandages, her heartbeat speeding up.
She softly asked, "So next time, will it pop out for me?"
Her words were like a spark, instantly igniting the suppressed fire in Henley's eyes.
His gaze turned deep and dangerous, his arm around her waist tightening fiercely, almost as if he wanted to merge her into his body, even though the movement caused sharp pain in his abdominal wound.
Henley lowered his head, seeking Aria's lips, his voice hoarse beyond recognition, "Of course."
Their breaths intertwined again, hotter and more inseparable than before.
The air in the hospital room seemed to heat up by a few degrees, filled with the smell of antiseptic and a hidden, restless hormonal tension.
Meanwhile, inside the castle.
Vitale and Victor rushed toward the main hall, shouting orders to the servants and guards who came running at the commotion, "Everyone, listen up! Right now! Go find a package delivered this morning. It's in brown paper, no name on it, about this big!" Vitale gestured the size of a shoebox, his sharp, eagle-like eyes scanning every face, "Victor tossed it somewhere. I don't care if you have to search every room, every closet, every damn corner—find it! Now! Immediately! Bring it to me untouched as soon as you find it! No one opens it without permission! Got it?"
Everyone sprang into action, the castle buzzing with tense and efficient searching.
Victor followed behind, full of regret and anxiety, trying to recall where he'd casually left the package that morning, "Damn it, I think I put it on top of the cabinet by the entrance where we keep umbrellas and random stuff? Or was it under the table nearby where we put letters? Damn, I didn't pay attention."
Time ticked by, each second feeling like a century.
Vitale paced back and forth in the main hall like a caged animal, constantly checking his watch, his fingers tapping the table unconsciously, fear and hope tearing at him like two venomous snakes.
Finally, a guard jogged over, holding an unremarkable brown paper package in his hands, exactly as Victor had described.
"Mr. Luca, we found it. It was under a pile of old magazines in the corner of the library."
Vitale practically lunged forward, snatching the package from the guard's hands.
It felt light, with a regular shape.
The brown paper was slightly crumpled from being tossed aside, and the twine tying it was loosely knotted.
There were no labels, no handwriting, nothing. It looked as if it had never belonged to anyone, yet it carried an eerie, unsettling vibe.
Holding this lightweight box, Vitale felt his heart racing faster than ever before, even causing a faint pain in his chest.
This palpitation was far more intense than facing a hail of bullets or the schemes of business rivals, even more overwhelming than the first time he held Isabella in his arms—more intense, more terrifying.
He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, trying to steady his trembling hands and erratic heartbeat.
Then, Vitale carefully placed the package on the polished tabletop.
The room was dead silent. Everyone held their breath, watching. Victor stood by his side, hand on his gun, staring at the package as if it contained not an object, but a bomb about to explode.
Vitale pulled out the dagger he always carried at his waist. With the tip of the blade, he cut through the twine, and the paper fell open.
Inside was a plain cardboard box, also without any markings.
Vitale's hand paused for a moment, his fingertips trembling almost imperceptibly.
Then, he lifted the lid of the box.
The first thing he saw was a small bundle of hair, tied carelessly with a rough rubber band.
Blonde, soft, slightly curly strands.
Vitale's pupils contracted sharply. His entire body froze, his blood seeming to turn to ice before rushing back to his head in a violent surge.
Trembling, he reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing against the bundle of blonde hair.
The soft texture traveled through the nerves of his fingertips, striking his brain like a bolt of lightning.
It was Isabella's hair.
It was the hair that would scatter across his arm when she lay in his embrace, teasing his heartstrings.
It was the sweat-dampened blonde strands that clung to his cheek and neck during moments of passion, burning and lingering with their touch.
It was the fluffy, messy, yet utterly adorable tips of her hair when she groggily nuzzled his chest in the morning.
It was Isabella's hair.
They had cut her hair.
The real sensation at his fingertips ignited all the suppressed rage, fear, and destructive urges in Vitale's heart.
The veins on his forehead bulged, and the hand gripping the dagger tightened fiercely, his knuckles cracking with a terrifying sound, the veins on the back of his hand standing out like twisted ropes.
His other hand clutched the bundle of hair so tightly it seemed he might crush it, yet also as if it were his only lifeline.
"Vitale, calm down! Look at me! Stay calm!" Victor, seeing him like this, was horrified. He raised his voice and shouted, trying to bring back his sanity, "It's just a piece of hair. Isabella might still be okay. Look in the box. There's more inside. You should check the rest. Put the dagger down, slowly."
The surrounding guards and servants turned pale with fear, instinctively stepping back half a step, their hands on their weapons.
They knew all too well the consequences of Vitale losing control.
It would be a terrifying storm, destroying everything in its path, sparing no one.
Victor's shouts sounded distant, as if coming from underwater, muffled and distorted.
Vitale's gaze clouded for a moment, swirling with horrifying murderous intent and madness.
He stared at the hair in his hand, then suddenly shifted his focus to the box, as if only now noticing there was more inside.
Beneath the small bundle of hair lay an old-fashioned black videotape.
A medium-long outdated by time, its presence here felt especially strange and ominous.
Vitale's breathing was heavy, like a broken bellows.
He clenched his teeth so hard his gums almost bled.
With every ounce of strength, he forced himself to tear his gaze from the hair and focus on the cold videotape.
Then, very slowly, he loosened his grip on the dagger.
The blade fell onto the thick Persian carpet with a dull thud.
But Vitale's other hand still clutched the bundle of hair tightly, as if it were a part of Isabella's life, and letting go would mean losing her forever.
"Player..." His voice was so hoarse it was barely recognizable, the words squeezed out from deep in his throat, "Get a player."
Someone immediately dashed off and soon returned with an old but well-maintained device capable of playing such videotapes, connecting it to the large LCD screen in the study.
Vitale stood motionless, only his eyes—fixed on the screen—and the violent heaving of his chest showing he was still alive.
Victor stepped forward cautiously, carefully taking the videotape from the box.
He glanced at Vitale, receiving a barely noticeable nod, before inserting the tape into the player's slot.
He pressed play.
The screen first showed static, accompanied by a piercing noise.
A few seconds later, the static cleared, and the image became sharp.
Then Vitale saw something that sent rage coursing through him.