Chapter 3

Isabella’s POV

The silence that follows Viktor's death is deafening. His blood spreads across the Persian rug, the metallic smell mingling with expensive cologne and leather.

He killed for me. But why?

The women who fled are somewhere in the mansion, probably calling their drivers or hiding in powder rooms. Smart of them. In Marco's world, witnesses rarely live long enough to testify.

Marco slides his pistol back into his shoulder holster with practiced ease. He straightens his tie, adjusts his cufflinks, and suddenly he's just a well-dressed businessman again.

This is who he really is. This is the monster I once thought I loved.

His eyes find mine across the room, and I see something flicker in their depths. Assessment. Calculation. He's studying me like I'm a puzzle he needs to solve.

Then he starts walking toward me.

Each step is measured, deliberate. His Italian leather shoes make soft sounds against the marble, a steady approach that sets my nerves on edge.

He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Tom Ford. The same one he wore three years ago when we were engaged.

When I was naive enough to think monsters could love.

His hand rises slowly, fingers extended. The Salvatore family ring catches the light—heavy gold with the family crest carved deep into its surface.

Those fingers slide beneath my chin. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, but I can feel the calluses on his fingertips. Evidence of violence.

He tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those deep brown eyes that once looked at me with love now hold something else entirely.

"Mia cara," he murmurs, his voice carrying that familiar Italian accent that used to make my heart flutter. "You're not the same naive little socialite I once knew, are you?"

His thumb traces along my jawline, and I can't suppress the shudder that runs through my body.

"Three years with Antonio's animals," he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me, dolcezza, did they break you completely? Or is there still some fight left in that beautiful body?"

He's touching me like he owns me. Like the last three years never happened.

"You're right," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'm not the same person."

"No?" His thumb moves to trace my lower lip, the touch sending unwanted shivers through me. "Then what are you now, piccola?"

"I'm not the same foolish girl who believed your lies," I continue, meeting his stare without flinching. "I'm not the same woman who thought you were capable of love instead of just ownership."

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Not warmth. Not amusement. Something predatory.

"And what are you now?" he asks, his other hand coming up to cup my face. "What did three years in Antonio's care teach you about the real world?"

Antonio's care. The euphemism makes me sick.

"It taught me exactly what you are," I tell him, letting every ounce of my disgust show. "You're still the same man you always were. A wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Bene. Good." The smile widens. "Then we understand each other."

Before I can react, his hand shoots out and tangles in my dark hair. His fingers twist through the strands, getting a firm grip near my scalp.

He yanks my head back sharply, and I can't bite back the small sound of pain that escapes my lips.

"Tell me something, bella," he says, his breath hot against my throat. "When you lay in that basement, did you think about me? Did you remember how it felt when I used to touch you?"

No. Not again. I won't be helpless again.

But his grip is iron-strong, and I'm still weak from my escape.

"Because I remember everything," he continues, his voice a dangerous purr. "I remember how you used to moan my name. How you used to arch that pretty back when I—"

"Stop," I whisper, but he doesn't listen.

"Did you tell them about us? About how you used to beg me to fuck you harder? Did Antonio's men enjoy hearing about what a little whore you were for me?"

"Puttana inutile," he snarls suddenly in Italian, his voice carrying across the room. "Credi di essere migliore di quello che sei? Sei solo una piccola cagna che ha dimenticato il suo posto."

The words hit like physical blows. Useless whore. You think you're better than what you are? You're just a little bitch who forgot her place.

My face burns with humiliation.

"The former Romano family princess," he announces, his grip in my hair tightening until tears spring to my eyes. "Now nothing more than a dock district whore who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut."

"I hate you," I spit, my voice rising with three years of buried rage. "I hate you for what you did to me!"

"Hate me?" Marco laughs, the sound cold and cruel. "Dolcezza, you can hate me all you want. But your body? Your body remembers who owns it."

His free hand slides down to grip my waist, pulling me against him. "I can feel you trembling. Is it fear? Or is it something else?"

"Let go of me!"

"You still react the same way," he murmurs, his lips barely brushing my ear. "Three years of hell, and you still melt at my touch."

"You're delusional!"

"Am I?" His hand moves lower, and I struggle against his grip. "Your pulse is racing. Your breathing has changed. Tell me, cara, are you wet for me right now?"

"You're sick! I hate you!" I spit the words at him. "I hate everything about you!"

"Basta!" Marco roars suddenly, his composure cracking. "Enough games! You think your hatred means anything to me?"

"It should! Because I trusted you, and you sold me like I was nothing!"

His face contorts with fury. "You were always nothing! A spoiled princess who thought she could play in my world!"

"And you're still the same monster you always were!"

"Puttana," he spits, his voice venomous. "You still haven't learned your place, have you?"

Before I can react, he grabs my arm and starts dragging me toward the door.

"Let go of me!" I struggle against his grip, but he's too strong.

"Three years with Antonio, and you still think you have choices," he says, pulling me into the hallway. "I know exactly how to fix that."

"Where are you taking me?"

Marco's smile is pure predator as he drags me down the marble corridor. "Somewhere special, cara mia. Somewhere where you'll remember exactly what happens to little girls who forget their manners."

"You're going to learn respect," he continues, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're going to learn your place. And you're going to learn that defiance is a luxury I'll never allow you again."

"By the time I'm done with you, piccola, you'll be begging me to put you back together. And when you do, you'll thank me for it."