Chapter 151
In the center of the frame, Isabella was tightly bound to a pillar with rough hemp rope.
She was wearing only thin, light-colored underwear, which looked strikingly harsh under the dim light. Her skin was covered in tiny goosebumps from the cold and fear.
Her golden hair hung messily over her shoulders, with a strand stuck to her forehead, where there was a dark red stain.
Blood.
Vitale's breath stopped instantly.
Was that blood hers?
Or someone else's?
Whoever it belonged to, seeing it on Isabella's face meant violence, meant harm, meant the harsh reality that he had failed to protect her.
Her body struggled faintly under the ropes, each movement seeming so futile and fragile, yet it was as if she was using her last bit of strength to fight against fear and humiliation.
Just this still image was enough to tear at Vitale's heart with invisible claws, the pain so intense he almost doubled over.
And what happened next pushed that pain and rage into the depths of hell.
The camera seemed to adjust, capturing Isabella's face more clearly.
Then, a hand roughly tore the tape off her mouth.
Isabella gasped sharply, then coughed violently. Tears streamed down from the pain and shock, mixing with the dirt on her face, making her look even more pitiful.
But she quickly forced herself to stop coughing, lifted her head, her lips trembling, pale from dryness and fear.
A distorted male voice beside her commanded, "Speak. Say what we told you to say."
Isabella's chest heaved a few times, then she opened her mouth. Her voice was hoarse and shaky, but she still tried hard to pronounce every word clearly, "Vitale..."
As soon as her voice came out, Vitale's muscles tensed up, his nails digging deep into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped blood marks.
"They want you to bring the person you captured to the abandoned Seagull Dock in the south to exchange for me..."
Isabella's voice was full of fear, but Vitale could read a deeper message in her forced calmness and the slight shake of her head.
She was warning him.
Warning him that this was likely a trap, warning him not to act rashly, not to risk himself alone for her sake.
"And money..." Isabella seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, her voice growing weaker, "One hundred million dollars."
She finished saying everything the kidnappers had instructed her to say, then, as if she had used up all her strength, her head drooped slightly, her chest still rising and falling rapidly.
"Good," the distorted voice sounded again, carrying a hint of cruel satisfaction.
The camera moved away from Isabella, focusing on a stained ceiling, or perhaps the top of the room.
Then, a voice clearly altered by a voice changer flowed from the speaker, "Vitale, listen carefully. Come alone. As long as our people board the ship safely and the money is counted without issues, your woman will be returned to you unharmed. Play any tricks, and you know the consequences."
As soon as the words ended, the video cut off abruptly, the screen plunging back into dark, snowy static.
A deafening crash exploded!
Vitale kicked a nearby chair with full force, sending it flying.
The chair smashed into the wall, splintering into pieces, wood chips and debris scattering everywhere.
Everyone flinched, standing frozen in place, eyes lowered, terrified of becoming the next target of his rage.
Even Amboni, who had rushed over, stopped dead at the doorway upon seeing this scene, his face draining of color, wisely choosing to watch from a distance for now.
Vitale, in his current state of fury, was more terrifying than any wild beast.
Only Victor, after the initial shock, gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
"Vitale," Victor raised his voice, trying to pierce through the barrier of rage blocking Vitale's hearing, "look closely. Isabella is in there. She's a mess, she's scared, she's suffering! But that's exactly what you need to remember! You have to take this mess, this fear, and give it back to those bastards tenfold! A hundredfold!"
"What's the point of tearing this place apart? Other than letting those rats hiding in the shadows laugh at us and making Isabella suffer one second longer, does it help at all?"
"If you lose your mind, throw tantrums, smash everything, will Isabella come back right now? No! They kidnapped her and recorded this just to make you lose control! To make you, the leader, break down!"
"If you completely lose it now, what happens to us? What happens to Isabella? Isn't that exactly what they want, a chance to take us apart in the chaos?"
Vitale's bloodshot eyes stared at Victor for a few seconds, the murderous intent in them still chilling, but there seemed to be a faint, struggling glimmer of clarity.
He turned sharply, avoiding everyone's gaze, twisted the faucet open, scooped up cold water with both hands, and splashed it hard on his face.
Once, twice, three times...
The icy water streamed down Vitale's jaw and neck, soaking the front of his shirt.
The cold stung his skin, cooling the boiling lava in his mind just a little.
He braced his hands on the edge of the sink, head lowered, letting the water drip off, breathing heavily as if he had just struggled back from the brink of drowning.
A few seconds later, Vitale slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror.
In the reflection, his eyes were filled with terrifying red veins, his face pale and ashen from rage and exhaustion. His jaw was clenched tight, and his lips pressed into a cold, hard line.
He wiped the water droplets from his face with his hand, turned around, and looked again at the now-dark screen.
Isabella's pale face was etched into Vitale's very bones.
An overwhelming wave of heartache nearly drowned him.
But stronger than the heartache was the rage, the murderous intent, and the unyielding will to get her back.
She was so scared, so helpless, yet still thinking of him, warning him to beware of a trap.
How could he betray her resilience and love?
Vitale turned off the power to the player.
The screen went completely dark.
He didn't say a word. Instead, he walked over to a heavy punching bag hanging on one side of the room.
It was a tool he used to stay in shape and release stress.
Silently, he put on thick leather gloves.
Then, under everyone's held breath, Vitale threw a fierce punch!
His heavy fists slammed into the bag like a violent storm.
Each punch carried all his anger, fear, guilt, and raw power.
The dull thuds echoed through the study, the bag swinging wildly, the chains holding it groaning under the strain.
Vitale's movements grew faster, fiercer, completely without technique—just pure, animalistic release.
Sweat quickly soaked his hair and shirt, clinging to his tense muscles.
He didn't know how long he kept hitting until the heavy bag finally burst under his force.
The fine sand and stuffing exploded out, kicking up a cloud of dust!
Vitale froze in his punching stance, chest heaving violently, sweat streaming down like a river.
Then, he suddenly bent over, a harsh retching sound escaping his throat.
He collapsed to his knees in pain, hands pressed to the ground, his body trembling uncontrollably from the extreme emotional and physical reaction.
"Vitale!" Victor and Amboni shouted at the same time, rushing forward.
Victor quickly signaled a servant to bring warm water and a towel, while Amboni stood nervously nearby, wanting to help but unsure if he should.
Victor looked at Vitale—kneeling on the ground, vomiting in distress, shaking all over—and felt a surge of deep worry.
He had only seen Vitale like this once before.
When Liliana was brutally murdered, her heart cut out.
Back then, Vitale had been consumed by grief and sought mad revenge, but at least he held onto a clear goal of avenging Liliana.
Now, Vitale was even more dangerous, more unpredictable.
The intense physical reaction lasted a few minutes before Vitale slowly calmed down.
He took the warm water Victor handed him, rinsed his mouth, and roughly wiped his face and neck with the towel.
When Vitale looked up again, though his face was still pale and his eyes bloodshot, the frantic edge of madness seemed to have settled into a colder, more controlled authority.
He pushed away Victor's attempt to help him up and stood on his own, though his steps were still unsteady.
"Victor."
"Play that video again, on a loop. Get the best audio analyst to restore that processed, voice-changed sound. I want to hear it as it really is. I don't like listening to this sneaky noise."
"Amboni," he turned to the grim-faced Amboni, "investigate. Use every contact and channel you have. Find the person who delivered that package to the castle gate this morning, whether it's a mailman, a homeless guy, or some innocent person being used."
"Bring them to me. I want to know who gave them the package, where it was handed over, and what that person looks like. I want all the details, now!"
"Yes!" Victor and Amboni responded almost in unison, their voices firm and resolute.
Seeing the icy, commanding glint in Vitale's eyes, they felt a slight relief.
As long as Vitale could still give orders, there was still hope.
Vitale gestured to Victor, "Play it."
Victor quickly turned the player back on.
After the static cleared, Isabella's bound, pitiful figure reappeared on the screen. Her trembling voice, the kidnappers' commands, and the voice-changed threats hit everyone's senses once again.
Vitale didn't explode in anger or smash anything this time.
He just sat quietly, hands clasped on his knees, his posture even seeming a bit stiff.
Only his slightly trembling fingertips and bloodshot eyes betrayed the raging storm inside him, far more intense than his calm exterior suggested.
The hand gripping the dagger at his side shook slightly, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
Vitale forced himself to watch, not missing a single detail, every frame, every sound.
Then, in the brief moment after Isabella finished her coerced words, just before the camera shifted to the ceiling and the voice-changed threat began, Vitale's sharp ears caught something.
A faint sound, almost drowned out by background noise, coming from off-screen.
A man's low, lecherous chuckle.