Chapter 3 - THE UNLOCKING
The heavy iron key turned in the lock with a sharp, resonant click that echoed down the quiet hallway of the west wing.
Inside the room, the curtains were drawn shut against the gray afternoon light. Isabella was sitting on the edge of the velvet armchair in the corner, her knees pulled tight against her chest. She looked small. So small that it hurt to look at her.
Her swollen, tear-stained eyes snapped up when the door opened. When she saw me standing in the doorway, she flinched—a tiny, involuntary movement that sliced through my heart deeper than any knife ever could.
"Aleandro..." she whispered, her voice ruined from crying. "Please... don't come in here. Just... tell your men to take me away. Put me in prison. Do whatever you have to do."
I walked into the room slowly, shutting the door behind me and locking it from the inside.
I didn't yell. I didn't reach for the gun strapped to my shoulder.
Instead, I pulled the wooden desk chair across the rug, set it down directly in front of her, and sat down.
"Why didn't you tell me about Sofia?" I asked softly.
Isabella froze. The color drained from her face so fast I thought she was going to faint. Her lips parted, but no sound came out for three full seconds.
"How... how do you..." she stammered, her hands flying to her mouth as fresh tears overflowed her lashes. "Oh God. Aleandro... how do you know?"
"Mia saw you in the rose garden," I said gently, reaching out to touch her trembling knee. "She heard what the man on the phone said to you."
A ragged, agonizing sob broke out of Isabella’s throat. She collapsed forward, burying her face into my chest. Her hands grabbed at my lapels, holding onto me like a drowning victim holding onto a lifesaver in the middle of a storm.
"They have her, Aleandro!" she sobbed, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. "They took her three weeks ago from her school parking lot! They sent me a picture of her in a concrete cell... tied to a chair... they said if I told you, if I gave you even a hint, they would kill her instantly!"
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her onto my lap, burying my face into her hair. The scent of jasmine was still there, underlying the raw copper smell of her fear.
"Who has her, Isabella?" I asked against her ear, my voice dropping into a dark, murderous register. "Give me a name."
Isabella shook her head frantically against my shoulder. "I don't know! He uses a voice distorter! He calls from burner numbers that change every six hours! He told me... he told me he wanted your master financial ledger. The one that controls all the shipping ports in Brooklyn."
"The Vance syndicate," I growled, the pieces instantly falling into place.
Cassian Vance. The rival family head who had been trying to push into my territory for two years. He didn't have the fire-power to take me head-on, so he hit me where he knew I was weakest—through the heart of the woman I was going to marry.
"Aleandro, I'm so sorry," Isabella wept, kissing my cheek, my neck, her hands framing my jaw. "I tried to find another way! I tried to trace the calls myself, I tried to hire private security, but his men were watching me everywhere! When I planted that bug in your office... I felt like I was dying. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to scream it!"
"Hush," I whispered, wiping the hot tears from her face with my thumbs. "Look at me, Isabella."
She looked into my eyes, her hazel gaze wild with desperate hope.
"You should have trusted me," I told her, my voice resolute. "I am Aleandro Moretti. Nobody touches what is mine. Not you. Not your sister."
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I stood up, holding her securely in my arms.
"The lock on this door is gone," I said. "And by tomorrow night, Sofia comes home."
