Bound to the devil

Chapter three

ISABELLA POV

Carlo Marchetti 's office is at the top of a building overlooking the city.

The elevator plays soft music as it carries me to the top floor.

My reflection stares back at me from the polish brass doors. I look horrible like a ghost with red-rimmed eyes and a swollen face. My dress soaked through the rain.

His secretary ushered me in without waiting.

Carlo sits behind a massive desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and knowing Carlo it is definitely whisky.

“Isabella.” He stands to greet me, opening his arms wide like I was his daughter.”I heard about your mother.im so sorry, please,sit.”

I pull away from the hug “Thanks for your concern, she's managing.” but I don't sit. He walks back to his chair

I stand in front of his desk, my body trembling. I can't tell if it's from the cold or the water. He looks at me like I'm his next meal.

“Mr Marchetti, the hospital says it would cost eighty thousand euros for my mom's surgery but they require forty thousand to begin treatment. Please sir I'm asking for an advance against my father's share in the company. I know there's a lock-up clause and I can't sell them for another five years but please…help me…you built this company together,you were his friend… a brother to him. I'm begging you ...” I beg desperately.

He holds up his hand. I stop talking.He walks around his desk and comes to stand beside me,so close I could smell his cologne and see the yellowing in his teeth.

He leans against the edge of the desk looking down at me,his hands on my shoulder.

"Your father was a good man," he says his voice low, intimate. "But those shares are tied up,there are legal restrictions and I can't just write a check against them."

“Please…”

But there's something I can do for you”he continues

“Then what can you do?” My voice cracks and hopes flicker in me.

He smiles, and his hand slides from my shoulder to my chin, tilting my face up toward his. His thumb traces my jawline.

“There’s my villa in Como,” he says quietly. “A weekend. That’s all I’m asking. You give me a weekend, and I’ll give you the money. No repayment. No interest. Just one weekend.”

I step back. His hand falls away.

“You were my father’s friend,” I say, my voice quiet but steady. “He trusted you with those shares. With us.”

He shrugs. “The shares are locked, Isabella. I can’t touch them. But I can help you in other ways ...if you’re willing.”

“I’m not.”

He picks up his whiskey, swirls it, takes a slow sip. “Then we’re done.”

Carlo's smile doesn't wave "I loved your father, Isabella. But he's gone. And you're here. And your mother needs money that you don't have."

He spreads his hands. "I'm offering you a solution."

"You're offering to buy me.”

"I'm offering to help you in exchange for something I want." He picks up his whiskey, swirls it, and takes a slow sip.

"There's no shame in it. Women have been making this trade since the beginning of time. You need something. I have it. The question is simply whether you want it badly enough."

I look at him,the silver hair, the expensive suit and the office that overlooks the city. All built with my father's sweat.

My father's picture used to sit on that desk. I remembered it. A photo of the two of them at a company party, arms around each other, laughing. My father in his cheap suit, Carlo in something Italian and tailored. They looked like brothers.

Now the photo is gone. And Carlo is looking at me in a way that would make even a monk blush.

"I won't," I said.

The words come out before I can stop them. I expected my voice to shake but it didn't.

Carlo raises an eyebrow. "No?"

"I won't go to your villa." My hands are shaking now, but my voice holds.

“My father trusted you,he thought you were family yet you're standing here, in his office, asking to buy his daughter like she's ..." My voice cracks. "Like she's a whore."

Carlo sets his glass down,his smile gone. His eyes were cold ...colder than Rinaldi's, colder than Ferrari's.

Rinaldi is a business man and Ferrari was just a coward. But Carlo ...Carlo was trusted,he was loved and he waited until my father was dead to show what he really is.

“Im sorry you feel this way,” he says in a flat voice. “ I was offering you kindness."

“Kindness?” I laugh. It came out broken. “My mother is dying and you think offering to f**k me is kindness? You disgust me."

He just keeps looking at me with those cold eyes and says "That's the only offer on the table, Isabella. Take it or leave it."

I stare at him,the man my father called brother. The man who held my mother's hand at the funeral promising to always take care of us.

I want to scream at him, throw his whiskey glass at his face.

I want to pick up the heavy crystal paperweight on his desk and smash it into his head.

But I can't do any of those so I turn and walk to the door. I turn to look at him one last time at the man who vowed never to fail us.

"My mother is going to die," I say. "And you can save her. You have the money. You have more money than you could ever spend. And you won't give it to me because I won't let you put your hands on me." I shake my head. "My father loved you. And you ..." My voice breaks. I can't finish.

I opened the door and walked out.

I make it to the elevator before my legs give o

ut. I crumble to the floor sobbing, clutching my chest as if that could stop how much my heart was breaking.