Page 23 of Isabella

ISABELLA

The song changes, and Nicco lightens his grip on me, so I take advantage and tear myself from his embrace. Whipping around, I stomp off the dance floor in the opposite direction of my table. I can only imagine what my brothers would think if they witnessed this exchange.

Not knowing where I’m going, I wander down a hallway where event workers seem to be coming in and out of, needing a minute to myself to gather my composure before going back to my table.

I slide into a room that looks to be an office. It’s empty. Just what I need so I can process what the hell Nicco said to me.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about me? He has no right to tell me that. He’s notallowedto think about me. Not after the way he treated me and the part his dad played in the death of my parents.

Not even a minute goes by before I hear the door shut behind me, and I know immediately by the hairs standing up on the back of my neck that Nicco has followed me into the office.

Bracing one hand on my hip, I bring my other up to the bridge of my nose, squeezing it to dull the sudden throbbing pain in my head.

“Isabella—”

“Stop!” I yell. I don’t want to hear anything else he has to say. Ican’thear anything else he has to say.

“Please, just?—”

I whip around and hold my finger up to him.

“I said stop,please!”

After a brief hesitation, he closes his mouth, finally giving me the silence I’ve been needing.

Whether I like it or not, I take this moment to truly look at Nicco. It’s the first time I’ve really been able to since he’s been back.

He looks the same but different. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit with a crisp white button-up and a black tie. His dark hair is longer than how he used to have it but effortlessly swooped back out of his face. And he’s bigger than I remember. Broader shoulders giving him the illusion of a slim waist and stacked legs. Before, he used to rock a clean-shaven face, but now he’s grown out some facial hair. Not too much but just enough to give him a more rugged look.

How in the hell is he more handsome now than he was before?

That brief feeling of desire diminishes when a bucket of cold water gets thrown on top of it when I remember why I hate this man.

“I really don’t want to hear whatever else you have to say, Niccolò.” My tone is soft. Tired.

The emotions this man brings to me are too much to handle.

I don’twantto handle them.

I bring my gaze up to his, and I swear sadness takes over his dark eyes.

Eyes I used to get lost in.

Eyes I once fell in love with.

Sadness I don’t understand since he’s the one who did this to me.

To us.

“Please, Isabella…” His scratchy tone conveys the solemn look in his eyes, and I hate that it squeezes at my heart. It’s like his pain is mine.

Holding up my hands to Nicco, I tell him once more, “Stop. I’mbeggingyou. Please, just stop.”

I don’t want to hear the excuses he has for abandoning me. Acting like he was in love with me one moment and then like I was nothing but the dirt on the bottom of his shoes the next and leaving me to be with another woman. It’s not fair what he’s doing to me.

Emotions course through me like the waves hitting each other in the ocean during a hurricane, and I don’t know what to do about them.

I know I hate this man, but the way he’s affecting me is like I haven’t moved on. Is it closure I need from the way he ended things with me? Will that help me leave what we had in the past?

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