Chapter 164
Barton looked at Bob, expecting another angry outburst, but it didn't happen. Instead, he noticed a faint smile on Bob's lips.
Bob was pleased. The effect he wanted had been achieved.
From the moment he stepped into this room, yelling at Barton, kneeling, and pleading, all his intense reactions were indeed driven by real fear.
But the deeper goal was never about hoping Barton would suddenly have a change of heart and get rid of Isabella, the problem.
That would be too naive.
Who was Barton?
And who was Marco?
A plan they had carefully crafted, even going so far as to kidnap the wrong person to push it forward. How could it be changed just because of a few desperate pleas from him?
Especially since the video had already been sent to Vitale.
This news, though it made Bob feel like he was falling into an icy abyss, also completely confirmed his judgment.
This was a one-way street with no turning back.
His real purpose had always been just one thing.
To force Barton to personally say the words that he would protect his family.
As long as those words came out of Barton's mouth, it meant a transfer of responsibility and a certain level of commitment.
Barton, and the Thorn of Justice behind him, along with the mysterious Marco, would have to ensure his family's safety to some extent, at least while they still needed him as a collaborator.
This couldn't eliminate all the risks, but it was at least a thin layer of protection.
Before Vitale's furious storm could sweep everything away, this might be the only small shield he could secure for his family.
Now, he had that protection.
Even if the cost might be his own life.
So, when Barton said those words about arranging people to protect his family, the heaviest stone in Bob's heart lifted just a little.
The fear was still there, but at least it wasn't the hopeless, pure despair of waiting for death.
"That's great then," Bob finally spoke, his voice hoarse, sounding like he had accepted reality, "Thank you, Barton, at least you thought of this."
He paused, as if suddenly remembering something crucial, and cautiously looked at Barton before saying, "But before that, I want to make sure of something."
"How is Isabella doing? You haven't tortured her to death, have you?"
He saw Barton's brow furrow almost imperceptibly, and quickly, as if afraid of causing a misunderstanding, waved his hands and added, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not questioning you, Barton. I know you. You've got control. But…"
He lowered his voice, his gaze meaningfully glancing toward the door.
There, Eva and the guards were standing outside.
"You know, some of your men have a pretty direct way of doing things."
"They don't hold back. I've heard about that guy Aldo, and a few others. The way they look at Isabella, it's like hungry wolves eyeing fresh meat. I'm a bit worried that if they can't control themselves…"
Bob didn't finish his sentence, but the implication was clear enough.
He was suggesting that Isabella might have suffered more harm than necessary, maybe even be in critical condition.
A dead or severely injured hostage would lose a lot of value and could even become the spark that fully ignites Vitale's rage.
Barton's eyes grew colder.
"Bob, for God's sake, I'm not going to argue with you. I appreciate your concern for our situation."
He took a step forward, looking straight at Bob with an unquestionable tone of defense, "But I hope you stop badmouthing my men. They might do things differently from you, but they're my people, warriors of Thorn of Justice. They know their limits and understand the bigger picture. Especially under the orders of the Father and me."
Barton's tone carried an undeniable authority and confidence in his control over his team.
But Bob noticed that Barton didn't directly or clearly deny the possibility that Isabella might have been harmed beyond what was needed.
This made his heart sink a little, while also strengthening his resolve to see her with his own eyes.
"Alright, alright," Bob raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, softening his tone with a hint of helplessness, "I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry. I know you keep things under control."
"So, since you guarantee she's fine, and I happen to be here," Bob tested the waters, glancing toward the dim hallway leading to the cell, "can I go see her? Just to confirm with my own eyes."
"You know, since this whole thing involves me now, I'd like to see what this weakness of Vitale's, the one that's got us in this mess, actually looks like."
Barton looked at him silently, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.
Letting Bob see Isabella could bring some unnecessary variables, like Isabella begging Bob for help or Bob saying something he shouldn't.
On the other hand, letting this key player see with his own eyes that the hostage was still alive might calm him down further and make him more cooperative.
More importantly, Barton was confident in his control over the situation.
The place where Isabella was held was hidden enough, heavily guarded, and Bob alone couldn't stir up any trouble.
Besides, letting Bob see Isabella might also make him realize more clearly that there was no turning back.
A few seconds later, Barton slowly nodded.
"Fine," he said briefly, then turned toward the door, "Follow me."
He opened the door and quietly gave a few instructions to Eva, who was standing guard outside.
Eva's deep green eyes swept over Bob, cold and emotionless, before she nodded, signaling one guard to stay behind while she and another guard followed Barton and Bob toward the area where the cell was located.
Meanwhile, in the dim, cold cell, Isabella sat with her back against the wall, knees bent, on the hard bed board.
Time had lost all meaning here, with only endless waiting and the occasional sound of footsteps or a door opening to remind her of the outside world.
The wounds on her body were healing slowly. The sharp pain in her shoulder had turned into a constant dull ache and stiffness. Her right hand had regained some movement but still couldn't bear much strength.
The cold and lack of proper food left Isabella constantly tired, yet her mind stayed oddly alert due to ongoing tension and the will to survive.
She had been trying to find a chance to connect with Eva again, even if just to get a tiny bit more information or to crack Eva's icy demeanor even slightly.
A few days ago, their conversation about family and betrayal had ended with Eva's anger and abrupt departure, but Isabella could sense that the ice wall wasn't completely unbreakable.
Eva's pain was real, and real things could be touched.
However, since that day, Eva seemed to have received some clear instructions.
Her visits to change dressings became regular but brief. She barely spoke, moved quickly and mechanically, and left immediately after finishing, never lingering. Her eyes deliberately avoided meeting Isabella's, as if Isabella were just an object needing routine maintenance.
Isabella had tried to speak up a few times, only to be shut down by Eva's cold "Don't talk" or simply ignored.
This frustrated her but also made her more cautious.
A change in the other party's attitude often meant a shift in the external situation or plan.
That day, when the familiar, heavy sound of the iron door lock turning echoed again, Isabella's body tensed up almost instinctively, her heart tightening.
But she quickly forced herself to relax a bit, even managing to put on a faint, weak smile.
Maybe this time, Eva would be willing to say a little more.
The door opened.
However, what met Isabella's eyes wasn't Eva's tall, cold figure.
The first person to walk in was a stranger she had never seen before, a man in his forties, wearing an expensive suit. Though the suit was a bit wrinkled now, and his face carried an unshakable look of anxiety and exhaustion, you could still see traces of a privileged life.
His gaze darted around, eyebrows knitting tightly as he took in the cell's dirty, rundown state, as if he wasn't used to such a place.
Right after, another man walked in.
This one, Isabella recognized.
Though she had only seen him once, when she was first brought here and still barely conscious.
The man with a kind face but eyes so deep you couldn't read them, the one Eva called the boss.
The faint smile on Isabella's face froze instantly and then vanished completely.
Like a startled animal, she shrank back sharply, her spine pressing hard against the cold corner of the wall, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself as she stared intently at the two unexpected visitors.
"What do you want?" Isabella's voice was hoarse, trembling slightly from nerves, but she tried to sound less weak.