I hate you Mr mafia

Chapter 5

The master suite had grown cold as the fire in the hearth dwindled to a heap of glowing, angry embers. Isadora remained huddled in the corner of the velvet armchair, her knees pulled to her chest like a shield. The maids had forced her into a silk nightgown—a deep, emerald-green fabric that felt like ice against her skin—but she hadn't touched the massive silver tray they left on the mahogany table. The scent of roasted lamb, wild rosemary, and saffron rice wafted through the room, making her stomach churn with a mixture of hunger and intense nausea.

​A sharp, authoritative knock broke the suffocating silence.

​Before she could even brace herself, the heavy oak doors swung open. Balthazar walked in. He had discarded his suit jacket, and his white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal the dark, intricate tattoos winding up his muscular wrists. He looked less like a corporate king now and more like the ruthless enforcer he truly was.

​His icy grey eyes swept the room, instantly locking onto the untouched silver tray. A frown marred his sharp features.

​"You haven't eaten," Balthazar stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate the very air around her.

​"I'm not hungry," Isadora spat, her voice trembling but defiant. She pressed herself harder against the back of the chair, refusing to look him directly in the eye. "And even if I were, I wouldn't eat anything provided by a kidnapper. For all I know, you've drugged it again."

​Balthazar closed the distance between them with slow, predatory strides. He stopped right in front of her chair, towering over her, casting a massive shadow that swallowed her completely. He reached down, picking up a silver fork, and casually carved off a piece of the lamb. He ate it deliberately, his eyes never leaving her face.

​"It isn't poisoned, Isadora," he said smoothly. "My chefs are the best in Spain. Eat."

​"No."

​Balthazar’s expression shifted, the casual demeanor vanishing in a heartbeat. He set the fork down with a sharp, metallic clink that made her flinch. In a sudden, fluid motion, he leaned down, gripping the armrests of her chair, trapping her between his massive arms. His face was inches from hers, so close she could smell the rich, dark tobacco and whiskey on his breath.

​"Let me make something entirely clear to you," Balthazar murmured, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly soft whisper. "You will eat. You will maintain your health, and you will look presentable. If you think you can stage a hunger strike to force my hand, you are severely mistaken. I have spent twelve years building an empire, and I will not let a stubborn girl ruin my plans by starving herself to death."

​"And what will you do if I don't?" Isadora challenged, tears of frustration stinging her amber honey eyes. "Force-feed me? Kill me? If I'm so important to your precious little mafia crown, you won't kill me."

​"I won't kill you, mi Reina," Balthazar whispered, his thumb extending to touch her chin, clamping down just firmly enough to force her to look at him. "But as I told you in the car, my cruelty has many avenues. If you refuse to eat, the staff of La Luna de Azúcar will suffer. Your assistant, Elena... I understand she has a younger brother who requires a scholarship for university? A single phone call from me, and his future vanishes. Another phone call, and your bakery is burned to ash. Do not test the limits of my patience."

​Isadora’s breath hitched, a cold dread paralyzing her chest. He was a monster. A cold, unfeeling demon who held the lives of everyone she loved in his calloused hands. "Why are you doing this to me?" she choked out, a hot tear spilling over his thumb. "Please... just tell me the truth. You told the Council I was an anchor. You told them I was a loophole, but I didn't believe you. There are a thousand girls in Granada. A thousand women who would gladly take your money and your crown. Why me? What is the real motive behind my kidnapping?"

​Balthazar’s thumb froze against her skin. For a fraction of a second, the icy barrier in his grey eyes shattered, revealing an abyss of ancient, suffocating guilt. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle leaped in his cheek. Isadora saw it—she saw the shadow of a secret hiding just beneath his ruthless facade.

​"Tell me," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "What did I ever do to you? Who am I to you?"

​The silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile like brittle glass. Balthazar stared into her amber eyes, his mind flashing back to a dark closet twelve years ago, to a trembling little girl clutching a blood-stained silver locket. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to scream the truth—that he was her executioner, her savior, and her self-appointed guardian.

​But the mask of the Rey slammed back down, cold and impenetrable.

​He slowly released her chin and stood up to his full height, pulling his emotions back into the shadows. He didn't answer her question. He didn't say a single word. He simply turned on his heel and walked toward the double doors.

​"Eat your dinner, Isadora," Balthazar said coldly over his shoulder, his voice completely devoid of the emotion that had briefly flared within him. "The maids will collect the tray in the morning."

​The doors thudded shut, and the lock clicked into place. Isadora sank back into the chair, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed into the empty, luxurious room. The true motive remained hidden, a ghost haunting the golden cage she was trapped in.

​The next morning, the bright Andalusian sun poured through the glass wall, painting the charcoal-silk room in hues of brilliant gold. Isadora had eventually forced herself to eat a few bites of the bread and fruit the night before, knowing she needed her strength if she was ever going to survive. She was currently dressed in a simple, elegant cream-colored sundress the maids had left for her, staring out at the distant mountains, when the lock on the door turned once again.

​Isadora stood up, her body tensing, expecting the severe, terrifying form of Donna Catalina to walk in to begin her "breaking" process.

​Instead, a vibrant, melodic laugh echoed from the hallway.

​The door swung open, and a young woman breezed into the room. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with sun-kissed golden skin, flashing emerald eyes, and a mane of wild, honey-blonde curls that bounced with every step. She wore a bright, bohemian-style floral dress and carried a silver tray piled high with fresh pastries and a steaming pot of coffee.

​"Oh, thank god, you're awake!" the woman exclaimed, bypassing the tense, terrified Isadora completely and setting the tray down on the table. "I told Caspian if they let that old bat Catalina near you first thing in the morning, you’d probably throw yourself off the balcony, and frankly, I wouldn't blame you!"

​Isadora blinked, completely caught off guard. "Who... who are you?"

​The woman turned around, a warm, genuinely radiant smile lighting up her face. She walked over to Isadora and, without an ounce of hesitation, took Isadora's cold, trembling hands into her own warm ones.

​"I'm Valentina," she said gently, her emerald eyes filled with deep empathy. "I'm Caspian’s girlfriend. Well... fiancée, depending on what day of the week it is and how much he’s annoyed me. But more importantly, I’m your only ally in this madhouse."

​Isadora pulled her hands back slightly, her suspicion keeping her guarded. "You're with them? You're part of this family?"

​"By choice? Absolutely not," Valentina laughed, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Isadora to sit. "My father was a secondary don in Malaga. I grew up in this world, Isadora. I know the stench of it. I know exactly how terrifying it is. When Caspian told me what Balthazar did last night... I almost castrated him for helping his brother carry it out. I am so, so sorry for what they did to you."

​The genuine kindness in Valentina's voice cracked the icy wall of terror around Isadora's heart. For the first time since her abduction, someone was looking at her like a human being, not a tool or a peasant. Isadora sank into the chair, her voice barely a whisper. "Why are they doing this to me, Valentina? Balthazar won't tell me. He threatens my friends, he locks me away... I’m just a baker. I don't belong here."

​Valentina sighed, sitting across from her and pouring two cups of coffee. She pushed one toward Isadora, along with a perfectly baked pan de bono. "Drink. You look like a ghost, sweetie."

​Isadora took a hesitant sip of the warm coffee, the caffeine instantly clearing some of the exhaustion from her brain.

​"Here is what I can tell you," Valentina said, her tone turning soft and serious. "In the Valiente empire, Balthazar is the law. He is brilliant, he is lethal, and he never makes a mistake. The story he told the Council—that you are an outsider meant to strip them of their leverage—makes perfect sense on paper. But Caspian has doubts. He thinks there's a deeper secret, because Balthazar has never been reckless. Taking you was a massive provocation to the other families."

​Valentina reached across the table, gently touching Isadora’s forearm. "But whatever Balthazar’s real motive is, you need to listen to me carefully. Do not let Donna Catalina break you today. She is coming, Isadora. She wants to turn you into a submissive, silent little doll to protect their family image. If you let her see your fear, she will feed on it."

​"I am afraid," Isadora admitted, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. "I'm terrified."

​"I know, cariño," Valentina whispered, her emerald eyes flashing with a fierce, protective fire. "But you have fire in you. Caspian told me how you stood up to Balthazar in the car. Keep that fire. Eat the food, learn their stupid rules, let them think you are adapting. Play the game until we can figure out what Balthazar is hiding. I’m right here with you. I won't let them hurt you."

​For the first time in twenty-four hours, as Isadora looked into Valentina's warm, supportive face, a tiny spark of hope flared in her chest. She wasn't entirely alone in the fortress of wolves. She had a friend. And as she took a bite of the pastry, Isadora made a silent promise to herself: she would play their game, she would wear their crown, but she would find the truth behind her kidnapping, no matter what secrets Balthazar Valiente was burying in the dark.