Prince of vice, p.19
Prince of Vice, page 19
"Would that even be possible?" I murmur into the darkness, uncertain of what lies ahead for us.
My hand drifts to the rose gold necklace resting against my collarbone, its delicate chain warm against my skin. The symbol for St. Ives, which hangs at the center of the pendant, catches the moonlight streaming through the window, casting a soft glow on my chest. Though I may not be a practicing Catholic, the knowledge that Primo gifted me this token of protection, inspired by the patron saint of lawyers, brings me a sense of comfort.
"Watch over us, St. Ives," I whisper into the night, feeling the weight of the upcoming trial pressing down on me. "Guide my words so that the truth may be revealed. Only two more days," I think as I succumb to the darkness, my hand still clasping the necklace that binds us together. "Two more days, and we'll have our chance to change everything."
Sleep claims me quickly, and I drift through the abyss of dreams until the ghostly sound of footsteps down the hallway shatters my slumber. Blinking against the remnants of sleep, I try to focus on the unfamiliar noises, but dismiss them as the quirks of an apartment that has become almost foreign to me. Turning over, I allow my eyes to close once more.
Sudden, sharp pain sears through my arm as I'm wrenched out of bed, and a rough bag is shoved over my head. Panic blossoms inside me, tendrils of fear reaching into every corner of my mind. My heart beats a frenzied tempo against my ribs.
"Wh-what's happening?" The words leave my lips, muffled beneath the suffocating fabric.
"Shut up," a voice hisses. The cold steel of a knife presses against my throat, making me swallow any further protests.
As the world goes dark around me, I struggle to breathe, each inhale filled with the stale scent of the bag's confines. Time becomes an elusive concept, seconds stretching into eternity as I'm dragged somewhere unknown.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Primo
The dim light of the moon filters through the filmy curtains as I stand at the edge of my luxurious bed, the silky sheets inviting me to surrender to a night of rest. My fingers graze the cool fabric when an unfamiliar notification sound pierces the silence, startling me from my reverie. Heart pounding, I snatch up my phone, squinting at the screen as it reveals the unthinkable.
"Isabella," I whisper, my voice quivering with fear and disbelief. The blue dot on my phone indicates her rapid movements through the city, far from the safety of her apartment where she should be preparing for our trial or nestling into her own bed. Panic floods through me, adrenaline spurring me into action as I hastily dress, my thoughts racing alongside my pulse.
"Damn this place!" I hiss, cursing my secluded mansion as I stride into the garage, losing cell signal in its depths. The low growl of my car's engine reverberates around me as I peel out, leaving black tire marks as a testament to my desperation.
The signal returns, my eyes locked on the pulsating blue dot guiding me towards Isabella. Driving recklessly, I attempt to dial her number, but there's no answer. Guilt gnaws at me; I knew she should've stayed here with me. But I also couldn't bear to deny her request, to suppress her fierce independence that had drawn me to her in the first place.
After an agonizing ten minutes, the blue dot stops moving. Dread churns in my stomach, a stark contrast to the distant hope that maybe, just maybe, she's simply taken a midnight stroll.
But deep down, I know that isn't true. Too much time has passed, too many things could've happened to her by now. And if they have, I'll never forgive myself.
The abandoned warehouse looms before me like a relic of a bygone era, its corroded walls and shattered windows testament to the ravages of time. As I pull my car up as close as I dare without being detected, the headlights briefly illuminate a rundown van parked nearby before I dim them. It's the kind of vehicle that screams nothing but trouble.
Stepping out of my car, I take extra care to muffle the sound of the door closing, aware that every second counts in this precarious situation. My hands are steady as I grip the gun in one hand, the silencer already screwed in place. A fire burns within me, fueled by the thought of anyone daring to lay a finger on my Isabella. They won't survive the night.
I make my way around the van, peering inside only to find it empty. Voices echo from within the warehouse; it seems they're too preoccupied to notice my approach.
"Look, I don't know about this," one of them grumbles, his tone impatient.
"Shut up, no one asked you,” another sneers.
I inch closer to the building, my anger mounting with each step. Their ineptitude is almost laughable – no outside scout, all of them bickering inside like children. At least their incompetence reassures me that Isabella is still alive.
"Whatever we end up doing with her," a third voice says, "we should at least have some fun with her first. Been a while since I had a good fuck, and she looks like just the type to satisfy."
That comment is enough to snap the last thread of my patience. My blood boils, fury coursing through my veins like molten lava. Whoever dared to abduct Isabella will pay dearly for their actions. The loan sharks had been dealt with, but maybe they didn't get the message clearly enough. Or perhaps this is motivated by the trial, a last-ditch effort to silence her and, consequently, me.
I grit my teeth at the realization that it's likely my connection with her that has placed her in such danger. The thought of losing her because of my own actions is unbearable. I can't – won't – let that happen.
"Alright, enough talk," one of them announces, his voice dripping with malice. "Let's have some fun."
"Over my dead body," I mutter under my breath.
As I breach the doors of the warehouse, gun raised and heart pounding, I know one thing for certain: tonight will end with either their deaths or mine. But no matter the outcome, I'll make sure that Isabella is safe.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Isabella
As I strain to make sense of the muffled voices around me, I realize that I'm tied to a rickety wooden chair, hands and feet bound with rough rope that digs into my skin. A gag presses against my lips, while a coarse bag obscures my vision. Through the fabric, I can just make out dim lights flickering, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
"Look, I don't know about this," a nervous voice breaks through the tense atmosphere. "Primo's lawyer goes missing, and you think he's just gonna sit back and do nothing? He'll retaliate, hard."
"Shut up," another voice snaps. "No one asked for your opinion."
From their fumbling conversation and haphazard plan, I can tell they're desperate, acting without proper forethought. This realization ignites a spark of hope within me, fueling my determination to escape.
"Whatever we end up doing with her," a third voice says, his words dripping with sinister intent, "we should at least have some fun with her first. Been a while since I had a good fuck, and she looks like just the type to satisfy."
As panic claws its way up my throat, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, I force myself to focus on wriggling my wrists against the ropes. Their careless binding works in my favor as I manage to free one hand. Just as I'm about to cautiously loosen the knots around my feet, the voices abruptly cease.
With bated breath, I wait, listening intently to the sudden silence.
Frozen in place, my heart hammers against my ribcage as I fear they've sensed my escape attempt. Instead, one of them mutters about an unexpected visitor at the door.
"Who the hell is that?" the nervous voice hisses.
"Nobody should be here," another growls.
And then, like the sweetest music to my ears, I hear Primo's smooth, commanding voice. Relief courses through me, threatening to bring tears to my eyes.
"Who do you work for?" he asks calmly, his tone laced with danger.
"Go to hell!" one of the captors snarls.
"Wrong answer."
The sound of a gunshot slices through the room, followed by a thud as a body hits the floor. I flinch, unease and hope warring within me.
"Next," Primo says coolly. "Who sent you?"
"I-I don't know!" stammers the second voice.
"Wrong again."
Another gunshot rings out, and I shudder as another lifeless form collapses onto the cold concrete. The third man, the one who threatened to violate me, begins to ramble desperately.
"Look, I don't know who gave the order, but I can find out! Just--"
"Actually," Primo interrupts icily, "I never intended on getting information from you. Not after what you said you'd do to my sweet Isabella."
The man's guttural screams pierce the air, but I can't see what's happening. My heart aches for Primo, torn between gratitude and horror. I sense him close by, and I choke back sobs.
A final gunshot silences the screams, leaving only Primo and me in the room. He comes to me swiftly, still keeping the hood in place for reasons unknown. Perhaps it's to save me from the sight of what he's done to my captors. His strong arms lift me up, carrying me up a flight of stairs. I can feel the chill of the morning air and sense the faint sunlight filtering through the fabric.
It's not until we're inside a car that he finally removes the hood. Overwhelmed, I collapse into his embrace, my body shaking with emotion. He holds me tight, murmuring apologies and reassurances as if to soothe away my pain.
Grabbing his phone, Primo calls Teddy, relaying the address before hanging up.
"Isabella," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. You're safe now, and I swear I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
Chapter Thirty
Primo
As I pull the car into the mansion's garage, my heart races in anticipation. I swiftly dial a doctor as I gaze at the imposing facade, the dark stone contrasting sharply against the velvet night sky. Isabella, still shaken from her ordeal, tries to protest, but I silence her with a firm yet gentle command.
"Isabella, don't argue. We cannot be sure that you weren't harmed," I say, my voice laced with concern. "I'm just lucky I got to you in time."
I scoop her up effortlessly, cradling her delicate form as I carry her into the mansion. As we pass through the extravagant foyer, Isabella looks into my eyes, her voice a mix of gratitude and curiosity. "How did you know I was kidnapped? And how did you know where to find me?"
I hesitate for a moment, the shadows dancing across my face as I finally confess. "The necklace I gave you... it was more than just a token of my affection. It was a protective charm."
"Protective charm?" Isabella asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.
I sigh deeply. "The pendant has a tracking chip in it."
Suddenly, Isabella stiffens, pushing herself out of my embrace with fiery anger that catches me off guard. "How dare you put a GPS device on me like I'm a dog!" she exclaims, her eyes blazing with betrayal. "You should have told me! You lied to me about something this important. I thought we were supposed to have a deep connection built on trust. This doesn't make me want to trust you, Primo."
As she stands before me, her chest heaving with indignation, I feel a pang of guilt mixed with frustration. In my world, trust and safety were often at odds, but I hadn't expected Isabella to react so strongly to this. I struggle to find the right words to explain my actions while still respecting her feelings.
"Isabella, I don't understand why you're so upset," I say, my voice laced with confusion. "I monitor the movements of all my men. They're involved in dangerous business, and this is my standard of care. You mean more to me than anyone else working for me."
"Is that it then?" she asks bitterly, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "Am I just someone who works for you?"
The hurt in her eyes stings me, but I can't look away. I stumble over my words, trying to find a way to convey what she means to me without admitting the depths of my feelings. "No, that's not it at all," I say, frustration mounting as I struggle to express myself. "I can't explain what you mean to me, Isabella. But please, don't think that I don't care for you."
Her face falls, and I realize too late that she's misinterpreted my words as a rejection. The pain in her eyes is more than I can bear, but I know that I need to make things right between us.
"Isabella," I begin, my voice cracking with my emotions. But before I can continue, she tries to interject.
“No, Primo!”
A wave of anger surges through me, and I find myself yelling for silence. The sound echoes through the mansion, reverberating off the walls. She looks at me, stunned.
"Listen to me," I say, my voice now calm but firm. "I am not sorry for giving you a GPS device; I did it to protect you. I'm glad I did so because it may have very well saved your life. But I do apologize for not telling you about it." My heart aches as I add, "I care for you more than I care for my men, Isabella, and I don't want you to twist my words."
Just as I gather the courage to finally reveal the depth of my feelings for her, the doctor appears, his presence an unwelcome interruption. With a heavy heart, I reluctantly shift my focus from Isabella to the physician, knowing that the conversation we were having is far from over.
I lead the doctor and Isabella into the guest room where she'll be examined. The air in the room is thick with tension, a palpable reminder of the unresolved issues between us.
"Please, take care of her," I say softly to the doctor, my voice betraying both my concern and the vulnerability I've been trying so hard to hide. He nods solemnly and closes the door, leaving me alone in the hallway with my thoughts.
I pace back and forth, feeling like a caged animal. My mind races with worry for Isabella and anger at myself for allowing her to get caught up in my dangerous world. Minutes stretch into an eternity until finally, the door opens again and the doctor emerges.
"Mr. Maldonado, Isabella is okay," he says, his words a balm to my frayed nerves. "There's evidence she was chloroformed, but I see no signs she was violated in any way."
"Thank you, Doctor," I reply, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. "What does she need now?"
"Rest and reassurance," he answers, his gaze steady. "She's been through a lot, and her emotional state will need time to recover as well."
"Understood. Thank you, Doctor," I say, watching him leave before turning my attention back to the guest room. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step inside.
Isabella lies in bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with each steady breath. The sight of her, fragile yet defiant, stirs something powerful within me. I can't help but be drawn to her.
"Hey," I whisper as I slip into the bed beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. "I'm sorry for putting you in this position."
Her voice is barely audible as she replies, "Don't apologize, Primo. I knew who you were when I agreed to take your case."
"Then why?" I ask, my voice laced with confusion. "Why take on my case when you're trying to distance yourself from your father's legacy?"
She sighs, and I can feel the weight of her words before they even leave her lips. "At first, it was about the money, if I'm being honest. I needed the work to try and get out from the loan sharks. But as I got to know you and hear your side of the story, I couldn't ignore the injustice that had been done to you. Yes, you've done evil things, but you deserve a fair trial. You shouldn't be held accountable for things you didn't do."
Our intertwined bodies seem to breathe as one, our hearts beating in sync, as we lie together in the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight casts a warm glow over Isabella's face, her vulnerability laid bare for me to see, and I realize just how much I need her by my side.
"Thank you, Isabella," I say, my voice soft and sincere. "You're one of the few people I can actually trust these days."
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine, as if trying to see past the darkness that has consumed my life for so long. "I want to trust you too, Primo," she says hesitantly. "But that GPS collar... it's upsetting."
"I understand." My fingers brush against her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "But I need to know you're safe. I can't afford to lose you."
Her brow furrows, and she asks, "What do you mean by that?"
My heart races, my breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I think I might finally reveal the truth of my feelings for her. But then, I stop myself. It would be cruel to burden her with this knowledge, especially when my future hangs in the balance.
"Let's talk about it after the trial," I tell her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "For now, let's just rest."
We drift off into an easy sleep together, my arms wrapped protectively around her, my body shielding hers from the demons that haunt us both.
Chapter Thirty-One
Primo
The first light of dawn seeps through the curtains, and I find myself awake before her. Isabella lies next to me, her breathing slow and steady in the depths of sleep. She is vulnerable, soft, a far cry from the fierce woman who fights for me in the courtroom. My heart aches with guilt, knowing it's my actions that have put her in danger.
Her red hair spills across the pillow, each strand a reminder of how connected our lives have become. As I watch her chest rise and fall, the decision crystallizes in my mind. When she wakes, I will tell her that I'm finding another lawyer. It's absurd, with the trial only a day away, but I can't risk her safety any longer.
"Primo?" Her voice is still thick with slumber as she turns her head to look at me, those bright green eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"
"Isabella," I begin, trying to keep my voice steady. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she answers, rubbing her eyes. "Just nervous about what's ahead."
"About that..." I hesitate for a moment, gathering my courage. "I've been thinking...After everything that's happened, I can't allow you to be my lawyer anymore."
Her eyes widen, shock flitting across her face before being replaced with indignation. "What did you just say?"
