Chapter 90
Vitale had just pushed the door open, not even getting a chance to see the room clearly, when a hand reached out from behind the door, grabbed his collar, and yanked him inside with force.
Isabella quickly shut the door behind him, then pushed him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed. Losing his balance, he fell flat on his back onto the soft mattress.
Before Vitale could react, Isabella was already straddling him, her hands braced on either side of his chest.
"Baby," Vitale recovered from his surprise, a lazy smile curling on his lips, "you're so eager, I'm scared."
His tone was teasing, but Isabella could feel his heartbeat under his chest, racing just as fast as hers.
"I've been waiting for you for a long time," Isabella said calmly, though her voice had a tight edge to it. "Stay still. I'm going to get something, and I'll be right back."
She got off the bed with smooth movements, and Vitale didn't even have time to grab her wrist.
He lay there, watching her walk to the suitcase on the other side of the room.
Moonlight streamed through the window, outlining the slim curve of her waist and long legs under her nightgown.
Vitale turned his head, cracking open one eye to sneak a peek at what Isabella was pulling out of the suitcase.
It was a first-aid kit.
Isabella returned to the bed with the kit, sat on the edge, and silently took his hand. She gently wiped the wound with a disinfectant wipe, her touch soft and careful.
Vitale watched her lowered eyelashes, the way she carefully avoided the already scabbed areas, and how she cleaned, disinfected, applied ointment, and bandaged in a methodical order.
The room was quiet, filled only with the faint sound of the wipe rubbing against skin and their intertwined breaths.
The silence stretched on for so long that Vitale felt like he was suffocating.
"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" he finally spoke, his voice sounding abrupt in the stillness.
Isabella didn't look up, continuing to tend to the scrape on his ring finger. "I know you must've gone to check on Ali. Saves me the trouble of explaining."
Her voice was steady, but Vitale could hear the suppressed tremble in it.
"What if I'm not jealous?" Vitale pressed, using his uninjured hand to lightly lift a strand of her fallen blonde hair. "What if I didn't lose control just because I saw that jerk touch you? Would you tell me? I mean, the less painful memories. The past where he scared you—would you tell me on your own?"
Isabella's movements paused.
She finally looked up at him, staring for so long that Vitale thought she wouldn't answer.
"I noticed," she said at last, her voice soft. "When Ali showed up, my reaction—you must've noticed. But I need time to say it out loud. Some scars take courage to uncover."
Isabella lowered her head again, continuing to bandage, though her movements slowed.
"What did you guys do? It wasn't just a drive, right?"
Vitale opened his arms, inviting her into a hug.
Isabella hesitated for a moment, then carefully settled into his embrace, making sure not to touch any of his wounds.
Her body was warm and soft, carrying the clean scent of soap and a faint, unique fragrance that was hers alone.
Vitale wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head, and took a deep breath.
"I fought him in a boxing match. He lost. Now I want to hear your story, Isabella. All of it."
Isabella's body tensed for a moment, then she began to speak.
She talked about the alley behind the university library, about how Ali appeared out of nowhere, reeking of alcohol.
She described how he pinned her against the wall, covering her mouth with his hand.
How he tore her shirt, his knee forcing between her legs.
How she felt that suffocating helplessness, that raw, animalistic fear.
How that night became a nightmare that haunted her for years, making her instinctively wary of men's touch—until she met Vitale.
By the end, Isabella's voice was barely audible, her body curled up in his arms like a small animal trying to hide.
Vitale's heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.
He tightened his hold, pulling Isabella closer, then lowered his head to kiss the top of her head, her forehead, and finally her lips.
The kiss was light and gentle, without any desire, just a simple comfort.
"Easy," Vitale's voice was hoarse as his fingers gently combed through her blonde hair. "Listen to me, Isabella. This isn't the whole story. Ali told me something at the boxing club, before I broke his ribs."
Isabella looked up, confusion filling her blue eyes.
"He said he just wanted to scare you, play a cruel prank, but he didn't expect you to fight back so hard. He got angry and lost control."
He paused, looking into her eyes. "Of course, I don't know if he's telling the truth. Maybe he made it up to get me to go easy on him. Maybe if Chris hadn't been there that night, something worse would've happened."
"But either way, I'd still beat him up. He scared you. No, he made you carry this trauma for years. That's not okay."
Isabella closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, some of the fear had faded.
"I'm not afraid of him."
"I'm afraid of the memory. My mind got hurt, Vitale. That's not something a prank can explain."
Vitale's knuckles tightened, and even through the bandage, Isabella could feel the strength in them.
He stared at her, a dark emotion she'd never seen before swirling in his blue eyes.
"If you want, I'll kill him for you. End that night for good. Bury that memory with him."
Isabella's eyes widened in shock.
"You mean you'd cut off his head? Tonight, when you took him out, you almost killed him, didn't you? At the boxing club, right?"
Vitale felt his blood turn cold.
His expression didn't change, but Isabella could sense the stiffness in his body.
"Who told you that? Who said I thought about killing him at the boxing club?"
Isabella's face shifted from worry to shock, then to a horrified realization.
"Oh my God, I was just guessing. Is it true? Did you really think about taking his life tonight?"
Vitale stared at her for a few seconds, then let out a short, bitter laugh with no trace of amusement, just cold self-mockery.
"Of course not. Kill his top negotiator on Blake's turf? That'd start a war, Isabella. I'm impulsive, but I'm not stupid."
He raised his uninjured hand, gently rubbing her chin with his fingers. "I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Make him remember what happens to anyone who touches you."
Isabella let out a relieved breath. "Good. I don't want you going back to that old life. I mean, I don't know if all mafia guys like killing, but I don't want you cutting off heads or becoming a real monster for me."
"If he touches you again," Vitale warned, "if his excuse is a lie, if he has any wrong ideas about you, or tries to hurt you again, I won't have many options left."
"Isabella, protecting you is my instinct. And sometimes, my instincts are pretty dark."
Isabella looked at Vitale, at this man she loved.
She thought he seemed crazy right now.
Crazier than the possessive madness when they fucked, more dangerous than the cold, calculating madness in business.
But at the same time, Isabella felt a strange sense of safety.
Because Vitale was willing to become a monster for her.
Because she knew he really would.
"Alright," Isabella took a deep breath, placing her hands lightly on Vitale's shoulders. "I've taken care of your wounds. Now you need to rest. Go to sleep. We've got important stuff to handle tomorrow—those contracts, Blake, and..."
"And Ali," Vitale added, his eyes darkening.
"And Ali," Isabella confirmed, then tried to get up from his embrace. "So you should go back to your room and get some sleep."
Vitale tightened his arms, not letting her go. "So, are you going to sleep holding me tonight? I mean, just cuddling, no clothes. Is that okay?"
Isabella's cheeks instantly flushed red.
She glared at him, but Vitale's expression was as innocent as if he were suggesting they watch the stars together.
"No way," she said firmly. "Because if we sleep like that, Vitale, you know neither of us will get any rest. We'll be fucking until dawn."
Vitale raised his injured hand as if pledging. "I swear to God, just holding you. I need this, Isabella. I'm exhausted today."
There was a rare tiredness in his voice, and a plea that Isabella couldn't refuse.
She looked at the bandage on his hand, the shadows under his eyes, and the fragile smile on his lips.
Isabella's heart softened.
But her reason was still fighting.
"Still no," Isabella said finally, pulling herself out of his arms and standing up. "I'll open the door for you. You should go back to your room and rest."
Her nightgown swayed lightly with her movement, the subtle curve of her hips visible under the moonlight.