Page 21 of Stolen By the Don

It’s left to me now. To find a way out.

Exhaling, I veer away from the kitchen and deeper into the house. The silence grows heavier the farther I walk, and I make turns into rooms—the drawing room, the one that smells of cigars, all of them with large windows.

The windows taunt me with their view, reminding me that I haven’t stepped out of the house since my supposed wedding day. I haven’t felt the sun on my face or what it feels like to be free.

The urge to find something heavy and break the glass is tempting, but Roman’s words do not leave my head. I might’ve thought he was pulling an empty threat before, but after hispresence in my room last night, I’d rather plan carefully than take the risk of a bullet between my eyes.

I grit my teeth as I step out of the room, slamming the door hard enough that it rattles.

Find something, Isabella.There has to be something in this house. Something I can use.

My search leads me to a door that’s a different color from the others. I hesitate in front of it as if something is holding me back before I push it open.

I’m instantly bathed in stale air, the kind that hasn’t moved in years. The drapes are drawn tight, and dust clings to every surface like a second skin. Sheets are draped over the furniture, like ghostly silhouettes of couches and chairs frozen in time. Even the light fixtures on the walls are broken.

But it’s not just the dust or the quiet that grips me.

It’s the familiarity—the way the drapes block the light as if keeping everything and everyone out.

Her bedroom.

My mother’s bedroom. After she died—when I was nine—my father forbade me from going into her room. He didn’t move anything out, not the sheets on her bed or the dress on her chair. It was as if he didn’t want to move on…or at least that’s what I thought.

At eleven, I learned never to mention her when he took me to the shooting range and left me there for hours. He never said why, but I knew it was my punishment. So instead of disobeying him, I snuck into the room now and then, sitting in the middle of the dust and smell, desperately clinging to her fading memory.

Then I left home. And when I came back, everything was gone. Not a trace of anything remained. It was almost as if she never existed.

A sob clings to the back of my throat as the childhood memories rush through my head, so vivid I can almost touch them. Almost smell her. My shoulders shudder as I press my fingers to my face, struggling to keep them from breaking me down.

“Miss Ricci?”

I quickly wipe away a stray tear before turning to face Polina.

“Were you looking for something?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I got lost.” The flicker from my face to the room and back tells me she doesn’t believe my lie. “Lunch was great,” I say, hurrying to cover it with another. “Thank you.”

She remains silent, but I step around her, leaving the room before sadness envelops me again. My fingers dig into my shorts as I walk away, and frustration replaces the loneliness in my chest.

I never forgave him. I never forgave my father for erasing my mother like she wasn’t mine to mourn too. And I’ll never forgive Roman either.

Until the day he’s gone.

My tour around the house ends abruptly after Polina finds me, so I head back to my room. Somehow, I end up taking a nap for hours, then waking up to a terrible headache and the sound of a thousand drums beating at once in my head.

My head too heavy to sit on my shoulders, pounding in my ears, and my hair a mess, I stagger out of the room, heading downstairs to find Polina.

I need painkillers.

My first stop is the kitchen, but it’s empty. There’s no Polina. I try the living room—a familiar place—but she’s not there either.

I should head up and sleep some more.Maybe it’ll help. But the thought of climbing the stairs while my neck feels like a frayed thread holding my head up makes me want to puke. So I drag my feet further into the house, whispering her name in a hoarse voice.

I pass by a door—no recollection of how I got this far—and hear a voice that sounds like hers.

“Bingo!” I thrust my hand out so excitedly that it only makes the aftermath feel even worse. I’ll feel better. I just need some painkillers, and then one night without thinking about Roman. Or my father. Or my fucked-up situation.

Pushing the door open, I walk in with my request at the tip of my tongue.

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