Chapter 2: The Hostage
1334 Words
Chapter 2: The Hostage
The safehouse wasn’t what Isabelle expected.
It wasn’t a concrete cell or a windowless room. It was a penthouse—barely lit, clean, sterile. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like silk… just before it strangles you.
Dante shoved the door open with his shoulder, dragging her inside by the wrist.
“You can let go,” Isabelle hissed, twisting against his grip.
“I will when I know you won’t run.”
“I ran through fire to save my life. You think I’ll run back into it?”
“I think you’ve got your brother’s talent for lying.”
Dante released her, slamming the door behind him. Three locks clicked into place. The sound was final.
Isabelle stumbled back a step, her heel catching on the hem of her ruined gown. She didn’t fall—she never fell—but her legs ached from adrenaline, and the tightness in her chest wouldn’t ease.
“You think you’ve got me cornered,” she said, her voice low. “But you don’t even know who I am.”
Dante turned. He was already shrugging out of his bloodstained jacket, revealing the shoulder wound she'd almost forgotten about. His white shirt was ruined—soaked in crimson, torn at the sleeve.
“I know exactly who you are,” he said flatly. “Isabelle Raze. Victor’s only sister. The one he hides from the world like she’s some porcelain doll. Or maybe a bomb.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about.”
He unbuckled his gun holster and tossed it onto the glass table. “No? Then tell me. Why were you really at that wedding? And why did your brother try to kill everyone there—including you?”
Isabelle folded her arms. “You think he ordered the attack?”
“I think you don’t look surprised enough if he did.”
“I’m surprised,” she said coldly. “Just not naïve.”
That made him pause.
He studied her for a long moment—those unreadable dark eyes flicking over her face. She was pale, a smudge of blood on her cheek, but still held herself like royalty. Like a queen in chains.
“You’ve been lying to Victor,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And now you’re going to tell me why.”
“Because he’s not the man you think he is,” she said, barely above a whisper. “He’s worse.”
---
Dante didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, he walked to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured a glass. He took a long drink, not offering her one.
“I know what he did to Matteo,” he said finally.
Her stomach dropped. “You’re sure?”
“I found the files last year. Surveillance tapes. My brother’s voice—begging. Screaming.” He turned toward her. “Victor filmed it.”
Isabelle’s throat closed up. She took a shaky step back, bumping into the wall.
“I didn’t know he—”
He snapped his gaze to hers. “Don’t. Don’t pretend you didn’t know who you were living with.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, her voice breaking. “I swear I didn’t.”
Dante set his glass down, walking toward her slowly. Like a wolf circling prey.
“Tell me the truth, Isabelle. Are you still loyal to him?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you disappeared by now? You had years to run.”
She looked away, her voice raw. “Because he never let me.”
---
A pause.
Dante leaned one hand against the wall beside her head. “What does that mean?”
Isabelle swallowed hard. “Do you think Victor just let me go to parties and shop all day? I was under house arrest for four years. Every move tracked. Every conversation monitored. I’ve tried to escape twice.”
He stared at her, unreadable. “And you think that makes us allies?”
“No. But it makes me useful.”
“To me?”
“To your revenge.”
---
Silence.
Then, his voice dropped. “Careful, Isabelle. Useful people still bleed.”
She stared at him. “Then bleed me.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t touch her. But the air between them shifted—tighter, charged. His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, and she noticed.
“I’m not scared of you,” she whispered.
“You should be.”
---
He turned away suddenly, grabbing a clean shirt from a side drawer and pulling it over his bloodied shoulder.
“Go shower. You smell like smoke and gunpowder.”
She didn’t move.
Dante’s voice darkened. “That wasn’t a request.”
---
Later...
Isabelle stood under the hot stream of water, her hands pressed to the tiled wall. Her red gown lay shredded on the floor beside her. Bruises were blooming along her ribs, and her arms trembled from the trauma she hadn’t had time to process.
She could still feel his hand around her wrist.
Still hear the panic under his voice as he dragged her out of the burning building.
He’d saved her life.
And now he wanted to use her.
Just like everyone else.
---
Meanwhile…
Dante sat at the glass table, turning the gun in his hand slowly. He didn’t trust her. Not even a little. But when he looked into her eyes… he hadn’t seen a liar.
He’d seen someone trapped. Like Matteo.
Victor destroyed everything he touched. Families. Empires. Brothers.
And now, he had her blood on his hands too.
Dante cursed under his breath and stood, just as Isabelle emerged from the hallway in one of his black shirts, the hem reaching her mid-thigh. Her hair was wet, eyes sharper now.
She looked like someone who’d survived war.
And was ready for another.
---
“I want to help you,” she said simply.
He raised a brow. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“No change,” she replied. “I’ve wanted him dead for a long time. I just needed someone with the balls to pull the trigger.”
“And you think that’s me?”
She walked closer, stopping just before the table. “I know it is.”
Dante leaned forward slightly. “And what do I get in return?”
Her lips curled, dark and defiant. “Me.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I’m not a man who sleeps with leverage,” he said.
“I’m not offering sex.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m offering secrets.”
---
She dropped something onto the table. A USB drive.
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”
“Everything Victor’s been hiding. Account numbers. Blackmail files. Intel on his allies. I stole it six months ago and hid it in a lockbox under my floorboards. If he ever found it—”
“Why give it to me now?”
“Because I don’t want to live afraid anymore.”
He stared at the drive. Then at her.
“You’re either the smartest woman I’ve ever met…” he muttered, “or the most dangerous.”
“Maybe both.”
---
He picked up the drive. Held it between two fingers. “If this is a trick…”
“It’s not.”
“If you’re lying—”
“I’m not.”
A long pause stretched between them.
Then Dante said, “You’re not leaving this place.”
“I figured.”
“Not until I know what side you’re really on.”
“And when you do?”
He met her eyes. “Then maybe I’ll let you pick a side.”
She smirked. “I already have.”
---
And for the first time that night… Dante Vale didn’t feel like he was in control.
Not completely.
And Isabelle Raze knew it.
- Writer
