Chapter 21
1264 Words
ADRIAN
The moment I stepped away from Isabella, the warmth of her skin still lingering on my fingertips, my phone vibrated again. Persistent. Urgent.
I didn’t want to answer it.
Not now.
Not when she’d finally looked at me like she wanted me.
Not when her breath had hitched and her lips had parted and I’d been one second away from kissing her — really kissing her — for the first time in years.
But the caller ID froze me.
Mamma.
I exhaled sharply and answered after I had a fair distance from Isabella. “Mamma?”
Her voice came through in a rush — frantic, breathless, terrified.
“Adrian, it’s Bianca. She’s gone.”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean gone?”
“She ran away. She—” Her voice cracked. “She’s in Mexico.”
I closed my eyes, jaw clenching so hard it hurt. “Where in Mexico?”
She told me the name of the city and it's not far away from where I am.
"Who is she with?"
"She's with that boy.”
That boy.
The useless, spineless i***t, Mario, who thought he could take my sister away from her family. From her protection. From me.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Adrian—”
“I’ll handle it,” I repeated, softer this time. “I promise.”
When I hung up, the world felt different. Sharper. Darker. The sun was still shining, the ocean still glittering, but everything inside me had shifted.
Bianca, my baby sister, is in Mexico.
With a boy who couldn’t protect her from a mosquito, let alone the people who would use her to get to me.
And the worst part?
My time with Isabella — the first real moment we’d had in years — was gone. Interrupted. Ruined.
I took a breath, forcing myself to calm down before I walked back to her.
But the second she saw me, she knew.
Her eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said.
She stared at me like she could see straight through the lie. “Adrian.”
“Drop it.”
Her jaw tightened. “You disappear in the middle of lunch, come back looking like someone died, and you want me to drop it?”
“Yes.”
She scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
I didn’t have the patience for this. Not now. Not when my sister was God‑knows‑where with a boy who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
I sat back down at the table, trying to regain control of my thoughts.
But Isabella wasn’t done.
“Adrian,” she said again, softer this time. “Talk to me.”
I shook my head. “Not now.”
She stared at me for a long moment — hurt flickering across her face — and then something in her expression shifted.
Dangerously.
"Fine."
Before I could ask what she was thinking, she stood up, grabbed the hem of her dress, and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.
I froze.
She was standing there in nothing but her underwear — delicate, soft, absolutely not meant for public viewing — and every single one of my men immediately turned around like their lives depended on it.
Which they did.
“Isabella,” I growled, standing so fast my chair scraped the stone floor. “What the hell are you doing?”
She ignored me.
Of course, she did.
She walked toward the water, hips swaying, hair catching the sunlight, completely unbothered by the fact that she was half‑naked on a private beach with armed men twenty feet away.
“Isabella!”
She didn’t look back.
She just stepped into the water, dove under, and disappeared beneath the waves.
I swore under my breath.
She was doing this on purpose.
To provoke me.
To punish me.
To get a reaction.
And it was working.
I stood at the edge of the shore, fists clenched, watching her swim farther out — graceful, stubborn, infuriating.
She resurfaced, pushing her hair back, and shot me a glare from the water.
A glare.
Like I was the one being unreasonable.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t go after her.
I just stood there, watching her, because if I got any closer, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
She hated that.
I could see it in the way her jaw tightened, the way she kicked harder, the way she kept glancing back at me like she wanted me to follow.
But I didn’t.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I wanted to too much.
Because if I went into that water with her — with her in nothing but thin fabric and sunlight — I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.
And I couldn’t afford to lose control.
Not today.
Not with Bianca missing.
Not with danger closer than she realized.
She swam back to shore eventually, chest rising and falling, droplets sliding down her skin like they were mocking me.
She walked past me without a word, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around herself with dramatic force.
“You didn’t even check if I was okay,” she snapped.
“You weren’t drowning,” I said.
“You didn’t know that.”
“I knew.”
She glared at me. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re reckless.”
“You’re hiding something.”
“And you’re half‑naked.”
She threw her hands up. “Because you wouldn’t talk to me!”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “So your solution was to strip?”
“It got your attention.”
“It got my men traumatized.”
“They turned around!”
“They shouldn’t have had to.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you’re being childish.”
Her eyes flashed. “You know what? I’m done. Enjoy your perfect little villa and your perfect little mood swing.”
She turned to walk away.
I grabbed her wrist.
She froze.
“Isabella,” I said quietly, “don’t walk away from me.”
She looked back at me, eyes softening just a fraction. “Then talk to me.”
I opened my mouth.
But before I could say a word, my phone rang again.
Luca.
My stomach tightened.
I let go of her wrist.
She stepped back, hurt flickering across her face again.
I answered the call.
Luca’s voice was sharp. “We found something.”
My pulse spiked. “What?”
“A hotel reservation. Under a fake name. But it’s her.”
“Where?”
“Not far from you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Adrian,” Luca said, voice low, “you need to get her. Now.”
When I hung up, Isabella was staring at me — confused, frustrated, worried.
“Adrian,” she whispered, “what’s going on?”
I looked at her.
At the woman who drove me insane.
At the woman I wanted more than I should.
At the woman who had no idea how close danger was.
“We’re leaving,” I said.
She blinked. “What? Why?”
I didn’t answer and just reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
"You know what? How about I stay here and enjoy the beach while you go to Timbuktu or somewhere very far away from here? I'm just a nuisance to you anyway."
There it is– the ever defiant Isabella Romano.
- Writer
