Chapter 180
Vitale kept his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slightly with excitement and anticipation.
He could feel Isabella's gaze on him, could hear her faint breathing.
She was hesitating, struggling, but at least, she reached out her hand.
This realization brought a faint glimmer of hope to Vitale amidst his endless exhaustion and pain.
He waited, longing for those familiar small hands, with their unique warmth and gentleness, to touch his cold skin and drive away the bloody memories and the distance between them at this moment.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
The touch he had expected never came.
Instead, Vitale heard the very faint rustle of fabric and a subtle shift in the air, as if someone was pulling away.
Vitale snapped his eyes open.
In those blue pupils, the spark of hope hadn't even fully ignited before it was instantly frozen by the scene before him.
Then, it was replaced by a deeper red, mixed with confusion, hurt, and rage.
Not only did Isabella not come closer, but she wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, shrinking back until she was almost pressed against the hard wooden headboard.
Tear stains still lingered on her face, her eyes red and swollen.
But now, the way she looked at him carried not just the earlier fear and conflict, but also a clear sense of retreat and resistance.
She wasn't just rejecting him emotionally; now, even her body was instinctively moving away from him.
This realization stabbed into Vitale's heart like a red-hot dagger, twisting and turning mercilessly.
The exhaustion, anxiety, and pressure from three days and nights of desperate searching, combined with the piercing pain of being rejected by the person he loved most, surged inside him like volcanic lava, nearly breaking through the shell of rationality he was barely holding onto.
A sharp, almost explosive pain throbbed in his temples, and his vision darkened in waves.
Instinctively, Vitale raised a hand, pressing hard on the bridge of his nose, his knuckles turning white from the force, trying to use this physical pain to suppress the more overwhelming emotional torment.
"Isabella..." His voice was hoarse beyond recognition, filled with suppressed exhaustion and a bewildered desperation on the verge of collapse, "What exactly do you want?"
Vitale looked at Isabella, his eyes full of confusion and the desperate, beast-like redness of someone pushed to the edge.
He didn't understand. He had found her, brought her back, and just moments ago, she had seemed to care for him. So why, in the blink of an eye, was she pulling away even further?
Could it be that his honesty, his vulnerability, instead of bringing them closer, had become the final push that drove her away?
Isabella was startled by the unhidden pain and bloodshot intensity in his eyes, but the barrier in her heart still stood like an invisible wall.
She bit her lower lip, her voice soft, "I'm sorry, Vitale. I know I shouldn't make you feel this way. This is all because of me..."
Isabella paused, as if gathering her thoughts or mustering the courage to say what came next, "But I really can't do it. I can't be intimate with you right now." Her voice trembled slightly. "I think there's something wrong with me mentally. When I close my eyes, all I see are those images—explosions, blood, Eva, and the wound on your arm. They're all mixed together. I can't give myself to you physically right now. It would make me feel awful, so confused."
Isabella looked up at Vitale, her eyes pleading and carrying a near-desperate clarity, "I think maybe I should leave for a while, get away from this place full of memories and the smell of blood. We could take some time apart, let me calm down and sort things out. Is that okay? Maybe then..."
"No!"
Before she could finish, Vitale cut her off with a near-roaring shout.
That roar was filled with absolute determination and a near-obsessive fear.
Vitale shot up from the edge of the bed, his tall frame swaying slightly from excitement and exhaustion, casting a shadow that almost completely enveloped Isabella, who was curled up in the corner of the bed, "No way! Absolutely not!" His bloodshot eyes locked onto her, each word seeming to burst through gritted teeth. "From the moment I brought you back from that place, Isabella, don't even think about leaving my side for a single step! Not ever!"
Vitale took a step closer, his body unsteady from fatigue, but his presence even more intimidating, "You want to leave? Only if I'm dead! Do you hear me? Unless I, Vitale, become a cold corpse, you will never disappear from my sight again!"
Isabella was stunned by his sudden, intense reaction and this almost curse-like declaration.
She hadn't expected Vitale's emotions to be so extreme, so uncompromising.
She had only suggested a temporary separation to cool off, but it triggered such a fierce, life-and-death response from him.
For a moment, Isabella froze, unsure how to react.
Should she insist on leaving?
Angering the beast in front of her, who was clearly on the edge of losing control, would have unthinkable consequences.
Should she compromise and stay?
But the chaos and barriers in her heart were still there. She couldn't pretend nothing had happened, couldn't just fall into his arms.
All Isabella could do was instinctively meet Vitale's burning, terrifying blue eyes with her own, filled with alarm and caution.
The air was thick with silent, intense conflict.
She wasn't rejecting him as a person, nor was she rejecting the feelings or desire between them.
In fact, her longing for Vitale had never faded; the memories of their intimate moments still burned hot.
But now, those surging desires were overpowered by a stronger force—the lingering terror from witnessing death and violence.
Those bloody images were like cold chains, binding her body and her desires.
She was too scared, so scared that even the most intimate touch would trigger a physical shudder.
Isabella knew this might be a sign of post-traumatic stress, but she couldn't control it.
Seeing Vitale's eyes grow even more bloodshot from her silence and wariness, his chest heaving violently, Isabella felt a deep sense of helplessness and heartache.
She forced herself to calm down, trying to communicate in a softer, clearer way, "Vitale..." She took a deep breath, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "Okay, I won't leave. I promise you, I won't leave."
She noticed Vitale's tense muscles relax just a tiny bit, though his gaze remained vigilant and oppressive, "But..." Isabella added cautiously, watching his reaction, "can you not disturb me for a while? I mean, let me be alone in this room, just to stay quietly for a bit? Just for a little while. I need some space, some time, to process all of this. That's not too much to ask, right?"
She tried to use a negotiating tone, even with a hint of pleading, to gain just a small space to breathe and sort out her thoughts.
Isabella thought this compromise might at least temporarily ease Vitale's anger and anxiety.
However, she once again underestimated Vitale's sensitivity and obsession at this moment.
"No." Vitale's voice was cold, cutting her off with absolute finality.
He even took another small step forward, the overwhelming presence of his tall frame almost suffocating Isabella, "It's too much, Isabella," Vitale stared at her, speaking word by word, his tone laced with a deeply wounded anger and a barely noticeable trace of grievance. "My brothers—Victor, Efren, and so many others—they're probably still out there right now, fighting to hunt down Barton's remaining men, dealing with the mess. Bullets don't care who they hit. They're risking their lives to keep us safe."
Vitale's voice suddenly rose, filled with an accusing intensity, "I brought you back. Do you know how many connections I used, how many favors I owe, how much risk I took? I even..."
He paused, as if weighing whether to say it, but finally did, his tone carrying exhaustion and self-mockery, "I even tapped into the network of your good friend Doria's husband, Elliot."
"What?" Isabella's eyes widened sharply, the color draining from her face, replaced by greater shock and a defensive alertness as if a boundary had been crossed, "Wait! Vitale, you're a mafia boss. Why are you involved with Doria's politician husband? You didn't hurt my friend, did you? Doria doesn't know anything! You can't drag her into this!"
Isabella's reaction was so intense, filled with deep concern for her friend's safety, that it momentarily overshadowed her own fear.
This made the faint glimmer of hope in Vitale's eyes—the hope of being understood—completely extinguish.
All that remained was deeper disappointment and a cold bitterness.
Still, he forced down the complex emotions swirling in his chest and patiently explained, "No, I wouldn't hurt her." Vitale's voice lowered, carrying a near-helpless certainty. "I know Doria is one of your best friends, someone you trust in Arcturus, aside from Aria. I wouldn't, and I've never thought of hurting her or using her to threaten you in any way."
Seeing the doubt still lingering in Isabella's eyes, Vitale continued, "When we were tracking down clues about the kidnapping, we found that Elliot is indirectly connected to this."
"Indirectly connected?" Isabella's heart raced, her brows knitting tightly, "Didn't you say it was Bob who hired people to kidnap someone because of a grudge with Amboni, and they accidentally took me instead? How is Elliot involved now? I don't believe it! Doria's husband is a politician. He might have his ways, but he loves Doria. He wouldn't hurt her friends! Why would he get mixed up in this?"
Vitale nodded, a weary agreement showing on his face, "Yes, you're right. Senator Elliot himself didn't directly harm you, nor did he intend to. In fact, he provided a lot of useful information." His tone shifted, his gaze sharpening. "The one who actually worked with Bob, planned and carried out your transfer from the initial location, and set up obstacles to mislead us, was Harold. He's Elliot's main rival in politics."
Isabella was even more shocked. The flood of information was too much, overwhelming her mind.