Chapter 75
The moment Vitale let go of Isabella, she practically fled to the bathroom.
Closing the door, she leaned against the cold tile wall, her hands covering her burning cheeks.
God, what had she just done in the elevator?
Through the crack in the door, she saw Blake talking to Vitale, their eyes occasionally glancing toward the bathroom.
Blake had that knowing smirk men share among themselves.
Clearly, they were talking about her.
Talking about the blonde woman who had boldly kissed Vitale in the transparent elevator.
Isabella's blood rushed to her face, half from shame, half from anger.
She must have been crazy to use her body to distract Vitale from his fear in that glass coffin of an elevator.
Even crazier, she had actually enjoyed his brief vulnerability, relished the moment he dropped all his defenses and relied solely on her.
A burst of laughter came from outside the bathroom.
Isabella frowned, adjusted her skirt, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
Henley stood outside like a statue.
Seeing her, the usually expressionless bodyguard showed a rare hint of a smile.
"You're more impressive than I thought, Ms. Martinez," he said quietly in Eldoria's language, a trace of admiration in his voice. "But do you know that when you kissed, everyone outside could see it clearly?"
Isabella whipped her head around, lowering her voice. "Damn it! Wasn't the surveillance turned off?"
"The process wasn't visible," Henley nodded. "But as the elevator neared the top floor, it slowed down. At that moment, everyone by the pool could see through the glass." He paused, then added, "Ms. Martinez, you're playing with fire."
"No," Isabella hissed, her voice barely a whisper. "I know what I'm doing. I just wanted to distract him—"
She stopped abruptly.
Because Isabella realized she couldn't explain the deeper reasons.
She wanted to punish Vitale for his coldness these past few days, to get back at him for pushing her away, to prove she wasn't just a weakness he needed to protect.
And she didn't want anyone else to know Vitale's secret.
The Vitale, who turned pale from a fear of heights, should only exist between her and him.
Henley watched her struggle calmly, then said, "Vitale's fear of heights—Amboni and I know about it. Even Blake knows."
He took a step closer, his voice softer. "So, do you know why Vitale insisted on riding the elevator alone with you? I'm guessing it wasn't just to 'mess around.'"
Isabella felt a wave of dizziness.
She groaned softly, pressing her fingers to her temples.
So, she'd been played?
Had Vitale used his weakness to gain her sympathy and make her take the initiative?
Isabella felt like a fox cleverly lured into a hunter's trap.
But oddly, she wasn't angry, just felt a complicated bitterness.
"Where is he?" Isabella finally asked.
"The meeting room is ready. The party's over."
By the rooftop pool, the vibe had completely changed.
The bikini-clad women were gone, the music had stopped, and the pool water rippled slightly in the night breeze.
A few people were already seated at the long table.
Vitale sat at the head, with Amboni on his left. The empty spot on his right was clearly reserved for Isabella.
Blake sat across from them, next to a thug with a scar on his neck and a red-haired woman Isabella hadn't seen before.
What made Isabella most uneasy was the red-haired woman's gaze.
She kept staring at Vitale, her eyes filled with admiration, possessiveness, and a hostility Isabella couldn't quite read.
As Isabella walked toward Vitale, everyone's eyes focused on her.
Vitale gestured for her to join him, and as she sat down, she could feel the red-haired woman's sneer and Blake's amused scrutiny.
"Alright, everyone's here," Blake said as the waiter started serving drinks. "Let's get down to business. Vitale, you want my support against the Valeria family. What do I get out of it?"
The negotiation began.
Isabella tried to focus, but the red-haired woman suddenly stood up, walked around the table, and approached her.
"Darling," the woman said in English with a Lumaria accent, "while the men talk about their boring business, we women can sit here and chat."
Without waiting for a response, she pulled Isabella to a nearby empty chair and sat her down.
Isabella felt an instinctive dislike.
She took the juice the woman handed her, thanked her politely, but gripped the glass tightly.
"I'm Camilla Rossi," the red-haired woman introduced herself. "Blake's niece, and an old friend of Vitale's."
Isabella straightened her back.
She glanced at Vitale, who was deep in conversation with Blake, seemingly oblivious to Camilla's little game.
"That man," Camilla pointed to another guy next to Blake, a young, handsome brunette with typical Eldoria features, "is my brother, Vitale. What do you think of him?"
Isabella shook her head, confused. "I don't understand what you mean."
Camilla smiled, leaning closer, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear. "I want to swap partners with you."
Seeing Isabella's shocked expression, her smile widened. "Yes, I want Vitale. If you agree to let me sleep in his room tonight, I'll let my brother Vitale be with you. He's skilled, young, full of energy, I guarantee you'll—"
"Enough."
Vitale's voice wasn't loud, but it stopped all conversation at the table.
He turned his head, his blue eyes devoid of any warmth. "Camilla, go back to your seat."
Camilla raised an eyebrow but didn't move. "I'm just chatting with Ms. Martinez. Girl talk. You're not interested, are you?"
Vitale didn't reply to her. Instead, he looked at Isabella. "Come here."
It was a command, not a request.
As Isabella stood up, Camilla suddenly grabbed her wrist with surprising strength.
"I'm talking to her, Vitale," Camilla's voice turned cold. "Since when did you become so rude?"
The air froze.
Blake watched the standoff with interest, not interfering.
The thug with the scar leaned forward, his hand resting on the gun holster at his waist.
Henley and Amboni tensed up at the same time.
Isabella felt Vitale's gaze slice like a blade over Camilla's hand on her wrist.
She took a deep breath and gently pried Camilla's fingers off with her other hand.
"Sorry," Isabella's voice was clear and steady. "I'm Mr. Luca's assistant and accountant. I can't make decisions about his evenings."
She paused, flashing a perfect professional smile. "But if you're interested in Tyson Group's business, I'd be happy to introduce our services."
Camilla froze.
Then she burst into laughter.
Not a fake laugh, but genuine amusement.
"My God, Vitale!" She let go, leaning back in her chair. "Where did you find this gem? She's a rose with thorns!"
Vitale didn't laugh.
He just reached out and pulled Isabella back to the seat beside him.
His fingers lingered for a moment on her wrist, where Camilla's grip had left red marks.
"Camilla," he finally spoke, his voice eerily calm, "touch her again, and I'll make you regret being born."
It wasn't a threat; it was a statement.
Blake's expression shifted. He cleared his throat. "Alright, kids, we're here for business, not to fight over jealousy."
The negotiation resumed, but the atmosphere had completely changed.
Camilla stopped trying to provoke and focused on listening to the men's discussion.
Isabella sat next to Vitale, feeling the tension in his body.
It wasn't anger toward Camilla, but something deeper, almost uncontrollable—a raw, simmering violence.