The Under Boss's Final Mistake

Chapter Four – Shadows in the House

POV – Bella

The next day, the buzzing of my phone woke me up. I reached out for my phone on the table.

Then I saw an unknown message from an unknown sender. Immediately I froze, my heart hammered hard against my chest as I tapped the message open.

I stared at my phone until my eyes burned. The picture didn’t fade, no matter how many times I blinked.

It was Papa's picture of him.

His face was swollen, one eye sealed shut. Blood crusted down his jaw. Chains cutting into his wrists.

Alive.

Not gone. Not dead. He is still alive.

But the words under the photo froze my blood:

“Your turn is coming, Bella.”

My breath stuttered. Sharp, shallow. And I remained silent, staring at my finger lying motionless on my thigh.

Whoever sent this wanted me terrified. Trembling. And damn it—it was working. But fear wasn’t the only thing chewing at me. Doubt was there too. A heavy, ugly weight I couldn’t shove down anymore.

I threw the phone on the bed and clutched my knees to my chest.

I demanded urgently, with my heart squeezing tight against the inside of my chest, unbelievably, and glancing at my phone on the bed, because of the way Papá had been treated and the amount of blood he had lost.

“Who knows if he has eaten ever since then.”

I felt a bit of relief knowing full well that Papá is still alive out there, somewhere.I mumbled, not knowing how best to respond to this new piece of information.

“Cheer up. Bella Papá is going to be okay. I whispered to myself before sleeping off.

Later that night, I was staring at the clock as it was moving; I followed it as it tick-tocked. Finally, the door cracked open, and I felt the breath I'd been nervously holding in my throat whoosh out. A relief sigh in seeing Aunt Lucia slip in from another one of her late-night “errands.” The kitchen clock ticked like a hammer, each second pounding against my skull, sending a deep, sharp signal down my spine.

She stopped dead when she saw me at the table. Purse dangling from her arm. Eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“Isabella,” she said, too smooth, too calm. “You should be asleep,” she murmured, staring at the clock while walking gently into the kitchen.

“I’m not a child,” I murmured. With my eyes blown wide and my heart sinking deep down into my stomach.

The words shot out before I could stop them. My voice shook, but I didn’t look away. “Who were you talking to on the phone last night?” I asked while folding my arms across each other.

For half a heartbeat, her mask cracked. Surprise. Quick. Gone.

“You’ve been listening to me?”

She murmured with a very confusing look on her face.

“You’ve been lying to me,” I whispered as my grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles hurt. I shoved the screen at her.

“Then I got this.”

The glow lit her face. And for a second—I swear—I saw guilt flash there. Then it vanished. Wiped clean. In its place, steel.

“Where did you get this?” she snapped. Too fast. Too sharp.

“They sent it to me.” My throat burned as I forced the words out. “He’s alive, Tía. Papá is alive. And you knew. You knew all along, didn’t you?”

Her purse dropped onto the counter. Her hand shook when she pulled out a cigarette. Flames flared, shadows cutting across her lined face.

“You don’t understand this world, Bella,” she muttered, smoke curling from her lips. “Sometimes survival means silence. Asking questions will bury you.”

Her words cut deeper than the photo.

The sound of her voice sends my brain reeling, one, because of how silky it sounds, washing over me slowly as she murmured quietly against my throat.

“You’re working with them,” I whispered. My own voice didn’t even sound like mine.

Her eyes flicked at mine. Hard. Cold. “Careful, niña. Don’t accuse me of things you don’t understand,” she snapped while approaching me with the cigarette in her hands.

But her hand betrayed her. Gripping the cigarette too tight. Too quick.

“I’m not stupid!” My voice cracked, breaking under the heat in my chest. “You’re selling him out. You’re selling us out, aren't you?

The silence after that was like a knife pressed beneath her throat.

She stubbed the cigarette out in the sink, slow and deliberate. Then she leaned in close until her perfume smothered me—sweet, heavy, wrong.

“You want the truth?” she whispered, lips curling as the words tasted bitter. “Your father crossed Don Romano. He made his choice. And now he pays. If you don’t want the same ending, keep your mouth shut.”

She murmured while walking past me.

Her voice hit harder than any slap.

Her shoulder hit mine, making me

Staggered back.

The kitchen spun. And for the first time, I didn’t see my aunt. I saw a stranger. Someone is already standing on the other side. Someone I don't comprehend anymore.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. My voice was buried somewhere deep, under the storm ripping me apart. My eyes were blown wide, and my heart was beating wildly against my ribs.

My hands were starting to shake because I was losing control of my emotions, so I squeezed my hands together and dragged in a deep breath as quietly as I could with tears stinging my ears.

I turned and ran upstairs. Slammed my door. Locked it.

Knowing that my aunt also had the other keys to my room. But I didn't bother.

I lean against the door, with my hands in my mouth trying to hold back tears, my lungs scraping for air. I almost felt safe with Aunt. Almost.

Then my phone buzzed.

My voice breaking unashamedly, feeling as weak and powerless as ever.

Then the phone in my hands buzzed again.

It was another message. From a different number.

No photos at this time. Just words.

Your aunt is right. You’re next.