Chapter 3-1 : Isabella
1128 Words
I didn’t sleep.
How could I? My brain was spinning like a tornado, trying to process everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.
I was married. To Dante Blackwell. Who apparently had been stalking me for six months. And who knew I wasn’t Sofia. And who was involved in some kind of criminal conspiracy that might get us both killed.
Perfect.
I got out of bed around 5 AM and took a shower. The bathroom was ridiculous, all marble and rainfall showerheads and a tub the size of my old living room. There were fancy soaps and lotions arranged on a tray, and when I opened the closet, I found all my clothes hanging neatly.
He really had packed everything. My work blazers. My jeans. Even my ratty college sweatshirt that I should have thrown away years ago.
I dressed in black pants and a simple blouse, then ventured out of the bedroom.
The penthouse was quiet. Early morning light filtered through those massive windows, turning the city below into a watercolor painting. It was beautiful, in a cold sort of way.
I found the kitchen all stainless steel and granite, and started opening cabinets until I located the coffee. At least Dante had good taste in beans. Italian roast.
“You’re up early.”
I spun around. Dante stood in the doorway, wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair was messy, and he hadn’t shaved.
He looked… normal. Almost human.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said.
“Neither could I.” He moved past me, taking down two mugs. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.”
“Of course you do.” He poured two cups and handed me one. “Sofia takes hers with cream and three sugars.”
“I know how my sister takes her coffee.”
“Just making sure you know I know.”
I took a sip. It was perfect. Strong and bitter and exactly what I needed.
“When can I see her?” I asked.
“After breakfast. I’ll drive you.”
“Where is she?”
“A safe house. About an hour outside the city.” He leaned against the counter. “She’s scared, Isabella. She thinks she got you killed.”
My chest tightened. “I need to talk to her. Now.”
“It’s five-thirty in the morning.”
“I don’t care.”
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. Let me get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in his car, a black Aston Martin that probably cost more than my parents’ restaurant—heading north out of the city. Dante drove in silence, his jaw tight.
“You’re angry,” I said.
“I’m frustrated.”
“About what?”
“About the fact that you don’t trust me.”
I laughed. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you. You manipulated Sofia into running. You manipulated me into marrying you. You’ve been stalking me...”
“I prefer ‘observing.’”
“...and you expect me to just fall in line because you say so?”
“I expect you to use that brilliant mind of yours and see that I’m trying to help you.”
“By trapping me in a marriage I never wanted?”
“You walked down that aisle, Isabella. No one forced you.”
He was right, and I hated it. I’d made the choice. Desperate and stupid as it was, I’d chosen this.
We drove in tense silence for the rest of the trip. Eventually, Dante turned off the highway onto a narrow road that wound through trees. We ended up at a small cottage, isolated and plain.
Sofia’s car was parked out front.
I was out of the Aston Martin before Dante had even turned off the engine. I ran to the front door and knocked.
“Sofia! It’s me! Open up!”
The door opened. My sister stood there in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her hair in a messy bun. When she saw me, her face crumpled.
“Izzy.”
We collided in a hug. She was crying, shaking, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do...”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I pulled back to look at her. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just scared.” She looked past me at Dante, who stood by the car. “He told me he’d keep you safe. Is it true? Did you really marry him?”
“I did.”
“Oh God.” She pressed her hands to her face. “This is my fault. All of it.”
“Stop.” I gripped her shoulders. “Tell me what happened. Why did you run?”
Sofia glanced at Dante again. He nodded.
“Come inside,” she said. “I’ll explain everything.”
The cottage was small but comfortable. Sofia had clearly been here a few days, there were dishes in the sink, magazines on the coffee table. Dante stayed outside, giving us privacy.
Sofia and I sat on the couch. She twisted her hands together, not meeting my eyes.
“I really tried, Izzy. I tried to go through with it. I knew how much Mom and Dad needed this. But then I found his father’s files.”
“What files?”
“In Dante’s office. I was looking for it doesn’t matter why. But I found this box. Papers. Photos.” She shuddered. “His father was involved in some terrible things. Human trafficking. He would bring women into the country illegally, promising them jobs, then sell them.”
My stomach turned. “How many?”
“Dozens. Maybe more. And it’s still happening. The organization didn’t die with his father. Someone’s keeping it running.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But I think it’s someone close to Dante. Someone in his family or his company. When I confronted him about it, he got this look on his face.” She broke off. “I thought he was going to hurt me. I panicked and ran.”
“But he didn’t hurt you.”
“No. He called me that night. Told me to stay away, that it wasn’t safe. That’s when I realized he was trying to shut it down, not protect it. But by then, I’d already left the note for you.”
I sat back, processing. “He’s been investigating his own father’s crimes.”
“Trying to. But it’s complicated. These people have money, connections. If Dante moves too fast, they’ll destroy the evidence and disappear.”
- Writer
