ISABELLA
When Antonio and I returned from seeing my father, the dinner table was already set and waiting for us.
He insisted we eat before he left for the club, even though the atmosphere between us was tense and suffocating.
The room was painfully quiet, broken only by the soft clink of our forks against our plates.
My mind kept drifting back to Tom and everything he had said to me earlier.
He had offered to help me escape from Antonio, but I still did not know whether I could trust him or if his intentions were truly pure.
"Do you like the food?" Antonio asked suddenly, clearly trying to fill the silence.
"It's good," I replied. "It's always good."
He studied me for a moment before asking. "Tom… what did he want?"
I lifted my gaze to meet his across the table
