His head throbbed.
His body felt heavy, and his thoughts were clouded.
He tried to sit up.
He couldn’t.
He pulled at his hands.
Restrained.
His eyes flew open.
A collar was fastened around his neck, and a chain secured him in place.
For several seconds, he remained completely still.
Then the realisation struck him.
“ISABELLA!”
His voice thundered through the apartment.
She appeared in front of him, looking almost suspiciously cheerful.
“Good evening, Don.”
Dante’s expression was murderous.
“What have you done?”
Isabella tilted her head.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Untie me. Now.”
“That’s a rather demanding way to ask for help.”
“WHO SENT YOU?”
He tried to reach for the gun he usually kept nearby.
His hands were tied.
The gun was out of reach.
His anger intensified.
“Tell me who sent you, or I swear I’ll—”
Isabella picked up the gun before he could reach it.
She approached him slowly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“Who sent me?” she repeated. “Nobody, sweetheart.”
She pressed the cold barrel of the gun lightly against his chest and traced it over his defined abdominal muscles.
Dante went completely still.
Isabella looked at him with exaggerated admiration.
“You know, Don, your face is handsome enough to cause trouble. But this body…” She let out a quiet, appreciative sigh. “This is almost unfair.”
Dante stared at her in disbelief.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Possibly.”
“Isabella, untie me.”
She leaned closer, her smile widening.
“Not yet, baby.” And she freed their hands, but left the collar around the neck
His fury was immediate.
But beneath it lay something else: confusion.
This was the same woman who had been frightened of him only two weeks earlier. The same woman who had struggled to meet his eyes when he threatened her.
Now she stood before him, holding his gun, making fun of him while he was restrained.
Dante Moretti had faced armed enemies without blinking.
Yet he had never encountered anyone quite like Isabella Romano.
She finally loosened the ropes around his hands.
Dante immediately tested his freedom, his expression promising revenge.
But the collar remained around his neck.
He reached for it.
Isabella slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch that.”
His head turned slowly towards her.
“Did you just slap my hand?”
“Yes.”
“You have three seconds to explain yourself.”
“Three… two… one.”
He stared at her.
She smiled.
“Time’s up.”
For the first time in his life, Dante Moretti found himself at a complete loss for words.