Page 12 of Marriage of Revenge

I’m not sure if my father is trying to make sure I don’t escape or if he’s trying to protect me.

I slide down the door, my body shaking with a mix of anger and despair. My father’s words weigh heavily on my shoulders, and I feel the magnitude of what’s being asked of me.

Yet if I don’t do it… what’s going to happen to Mrs. Romano, to Naomi, to the nurses and ballet dancers, to the friends I used to have?

I wanted to leave. To dream. To live a different life. But I can't.

My eyes drift to the ornate dresser in the room’s corner again. I haven’t opened that hidden compartment in months, but something’s pulling me toward it now. A curiosity, maybe, or a need to face what I’ve been avoiding.

I get up and walk to the dresser. The drawer creaks as I pull it open, and I reach inside to the secret compartment hidden beneath. My hands are shaking a bit, but I know what I have to do.

Inside the hidden drawer lies an envelope. It's been there, waiting. My name is scrawled across the front in choppy handwriting, like someone wrote it in a hurry. Or in fear.

I pull out the paper inside, the ink smudged and faded, and unfold it with care. As I re-read the words for the thousandthtime, my heart pounds in my chest. Those words—this warning—feel like an omen now. With a shaky breath, I tuck the paper away, hiding it once more.

In two days, the game begins.

And I don’t know if I’m ready.

CHAPTER 6 – ISABELLA

The wheels of thejet scrape against the tarmac, a deafening roar filling my ears, my mind, my heart. I grip the armrest, my knuckles white, as a slight jolt travels through the cabin and through whatever nerves I thought I could keep steady.

We've arrived in Naples.

The city I'd visited as a carefree child now feels like a grand stage with a twisted performance awaiting me.

My father's touch on my shoulder pulls me back, grounding me. For a brief, fleeting moment, I'm his little ballerina again, that energetic girl on tiptoes, the one that could make him laugh and the one that could make the world around her swirl. I long to push back, to remind him of the strong woman I've become, but his grip and those eyes... they pull me back into a dance I never wished to perform.

But when he stands up without another word, I’m reminded that he’s on a mission here and I guess I am, too.

"Is he here?" His tone is sharp, each word a staccato. And I know by his tone he’s asking about Antonio. The name reverberates through me, a mix of old melodies and haunting tunes. “Make sure he gets the lilac delivered to his room.”

The lilac—Antonio’s mom’s favorite flower. She’s the one who taught me which ones were safe for cats and which ones weren’t. How Lilies could really hurt Pavarotti: the stem, leaves, flowers, pollen, and even the water in a vase. Georgio knew it when he brought me those flowers, once. Probably hating Pavarotti because he made him sneeze.

Antonio’s mother is the one who made sure that never happened again.

My father is taunting Antonio, trying to destabilize him before the auction. Or maybe he’s trying to get him to back off.

Maybe I should ask the pilot to turn around and fly me back to Chicago. But to what? And if I do, what would happen to Naomi? To our families?

Taking a deep breath, I channel the fiercest version of myself. "Come on, Bella. You danced on broken toes. You've pirouetted past doubts. You danced with death. This? It's another stage. Own it."

“Let’s go,” Georgio tells me, guiding me from the plush seats of the private jet into the awaiting limo where more security men are waiting. Their stern faces are hidden behind dark sunglasses, their suits as stiff and unwelcoming as their attitudes.

It’s morning here and the sun is peeking through clouds.

The limo speeds up, and through the tinted windows, I catch fleeting glimpses of Naples—old men chatting on park benches, children chasing pigeons in piazzas, bakeries that look amazing. But all these vibrant snippets are overshadowed by the looming presence of the men in the car and my father's overbearing precautions.

The hotel looms large and intimidating as we pull up, my stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread.

“I have meetings to attend,” my father says. “Tell Georgio if you need anything. And get some rest. Tonight is going to be a long night.” He turns to Georgio. “I have Paola coming in to get her ready. She’s the only one allowed inside her room...”

“Paola?” I ask with a frown.

“Someone I trust. Someone on the inside.”

He glances at me. “And she’s not allowed outside until this evening. Not without me.” As if he senses the annoyance prickling down my spine, he adds. “It’s for your safety.”

---