5
1175 Words
ISABELLA'S POV.
“You sick psychopath!” I cursed, slamming the door shut as I alighted from the car; he walked out the other end with a smirk strapped to the sides of his lips.
My eyes trailed off to his sleeves soaked with blood; the bullet meant for me had grazed through his arms, but I couldn't give a flying f**k about it.
“I almost died because of you; you brought me down into your war!” I screamed, seething with rage.
“So?” He questioned. Corking up his eyebrows like this was some sort of joke. “Maybe next time I'll just let them take you,” he responded, his words dripping with mockery and nonchalance.
I watched in awe. My lips parted as he stormed past me, whistling to himself; my heart thumped hard in my chest. Oh, I hated this man.
I hated him so much I wanted to strangle the life out of him, but I couldn't; he proved that to me twice. I was weaker compared to him.
The automatic doors pushed open as he walked in, and I followed behind, hot on his heels.
“You should have; no one asked you for your begrudging act of bravery; if you needed my pity, you could have said so.” I asserted; the words rolled off my lips with much venom.
He stopped to a halt, startling me in the process; I swallowed a visible lump in my throat seeing those icy blue gazes of his, his smirk growing even wider as he inched closer to me.
I didn't budge; I refused to. He was nothing; I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking I was scared of him. His face was closest to mine now,
The heavy scent of whatever wine he had at the gala, heavy in his hot breath, which fanned against my skin, intoxicating me.
“Don't bloody push my buttons… I won't let anyone else have you, Isabella. I don't deal with secondhand or damaged goods; I like my puppets well… pretty untouched and of value, so if this is the thanks I get for saving your life, you are welcome.”
He grinned, pulling away from me; it took a moment for me to realise he had pulled away already, yet my belly churned from disgust.
He was insane, pulling at my strands like I was some stick puppet of his. My fingers itched to strike his face. He had called me a puppet; the obsessed maniac wanted a puppet. I'd be damned if I listened to more of his insults.
“The key, they called me the key; what did that mean? I'm certain it has everything to do with you; after all, that's your expertise… isn't it? My darling husband of a mafia kingpin?” I asked, hoping for him to be as irritated as I was.
But all I had gotten was a sly smirk and a wink. He reached for a wine in the mini cellar, uncorked the cover, and poured out some contents into the glass, pulling off his shirt and tossing it over to the floor… inches away from my feets.
I watched him pour out some contents of the alcohol onto his skin; I swear it had jabbed at his senses.
Yet he didn't rant; he looked unaffected, probably some baseless pompous attitude of his.
“Don't bite so hard; you'll draw blood. One might actually think you cared, like you didn't try to murder me a day ago,” he teased, gulping some more content from the glass.
I released my lips between my teeth, not knowing I had bitten down on it; I rolled my eyes at the response. He was everything I hated in a man: arrogant, a maniac , and his ego needed stroking every f*****g time.
“That doesn't answer my question. Those people—they knew me. Who are they? What did they want?”I asked, closing in the space between us, and I grabbed the bottle, chunking down some of the alcohol contents.
Fuck, it burnt.
I could see a twisted smile etch on his lips, but I didn't puke it out; I swallowed, trying hard to hold the defiant gaze just as he held his, but my lips had churned, pressing tight as the soreness hit my throat.
“If you are that desperate for a response, how about you spill instead? You are a Moretti, lies and secrecy run in your blood.” He snapped, staring at me with the same nerve-twisting, condescending look.
What was it about the Morettis that irked him so much? The look in his eyes at the moment made me feel less like I was a bug he wanted to squish down, but why keep me around?.
“I don't know,” I called out one after the other, staring at him dead in the eyes; my eyes moved over to his cut and lightly bleeding arm, then back to his eyes.
“You know what, fine! I'm done.”
Before he could understand all that was happening, I sprang to my feet, losing the heels on my feet, running as fast as I could.
“What are you doing?” He asked in a semi-alarmed tone. I stormed towards the balcony, pushed the doors open, and climbed onto the railings, certain I'd die from falling off the fifth floor.
I needed to make sure of it; if I didn't, he'd hire the best doctors to put my bits and pieces back together.
“Get down, Isabella, what are you? A child,” he asked. still smirking, his back leant against the railing as well, both of his arms crossed over his chest.
“You think I won't?” I was not surprised by his arrogance and nonchalance, although I had hoped somewhere in him he would crack seeing me in this situation, but I was wrong; he had no other reasons for keeping me closer.
“I don't know, would you, it seems like you are stalling, just jump already and stop the chit chat?” He quizzed. Cracking up his eyebrows. “Do you think you can run from me? Isabella? Really?” He asked again, seeming to have the best time of his life having the upper hand.
“I'd rather die than spend a single more minute with a nutjob like you. I'm sure hell would be better than staying with you, maniac” I said, as I could not hold my anger back.
Closing my eyes shut, I took in one last breath.
“Go ahead, jump, Isabella, but remember this: Matteo dies the moment you do,” he asserted, causing a. Jolt of electricity to course over me; I pushed my eyes open, staring down at the blazing blue ones of his.
“Oh go ahead Isabella, I dare you, jump and watch your brother die because of you… What would it be? Your death and your brother's? Or hell with me?”
- Writer
