Page 22 of Power
Then, without waiting for her response, I walk out, leaving her standing there, quiet, like the world is about to swallow her whole.
Chapter 7
Vittoria
The evening feels heavy with humidity. It sticks to my skin as I stand on my bedroom balcony.
I suppose I should be grateful that Dario’s reign of terror doesn’t extend into my living space. At least here, I can stand without worrying about a bullet finding me. Sometimes, I think about the basement he put me in when I first arrived. It’s a miracle I’m not still chained down there, wasting away in the dark.
At least here, I can think. Even if all I’m left with are the things that bother me most.
The sun dips lower, casting streaks of gold and amber across the sky. My fingers rest lightly on the railing, my mind lost in thoughts of Enzo.
I miss him. The way his arms felt around me, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered. He has always been my home, my safe place. The only man I have ever known, ever loved. The thought of him sends a deep ache through my chest.
Is he looking for me? He must be. Enzo would move the earth to find me. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t rest. And yet, I am still here, tucked away in Dario Bellini’s world, out of reach.
How? How has Dario managed to keep me hidden this long? The thought unsettles me. Perhaps Dario isn’t just dangerous—perhaps he’s calculated and methodical. A man who doesn’t make mistakes, at least that’s what I’ve allowed myself to believe in the little time I’ve stayed here, watching the man.
I love my husband but why does Dario Bellini make something stir inside me—something I don’t understand and don’t want to name? It’s wrong. It has to be.
From here, a movement below catches my eye. Dario stands near the pool, his posture relaxed and his phone is in his hand. Even from here, he commands attention. He looks up, and our eyes meet. A hint of something unreadable passes through his eyes before he gives a nod to one of his men. I don’t need to hear him to know what that means.
A few moments later, footsteps approach behind me.
“Let’s go,” a voice grunts.
I turn back, catching sight of one of his men. I don’t know his name, but he’s built like a refrigerator and about as warm as one. With no other choice, I follow him through the sprawling house until we reach a set of glass doors leading outside.
The pool area is bathed in the dim glow of underwater lights, casting long shadows across the deck. Dario is now in it, phone pressed to his ear, expression impassive. Even without saying a word, he owns the space.
I stop near the edge of the pool, waiting. His call is in Russian, and though I can’t understand a word, his tone is biting and makes me suspect someone on the other end is having a very bad day.
He carries an Italian name, but I’ve heard him speak Russian before—once or twice, never enough to piece together the full story. The thought comes naturally: there must be more to this man than meets the eye. I’m sure he isn’t Russian. Or is he?
Who really is he?
He paces, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief moment before running through his hair. Frustration tightens his features as irritation fills the space between us, looming like a storm on the horizon.
Minutes pass before Dario’s eyes move to me, but he keeps talking into the phone. Another minute. Then another. When he finally hangs up, he exhales through his nose and looks at me fully.
“Your husband.”
The words land like a stone, but I keep my face neutral. “What about him?”
“I need to know everything about his business.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t know what to tell you. Enzo doesn’t share details with me. And if you think kidnapping me is going to make him hand over money or whatever it is you want, then you’re more delusional than I thought.”
"Delusional? Because your husband doesn’t care enough about you to pay a few million, something I'm sure he can afford?"
I scoff. “You’re delusional because Enzo loves me more than you can imagine, and he won’t rest until he finds me. So go ahead—name your price. You’ll see how fast he comes.”
Dario’s jaw tightens. “Yet here you are. Still. So tell me—who’s the delusional one?”
“Are you insinuating that my husband doesn’t love me?”
“I didn’t say anything. The fact that you did speaks for itself.”
