Page 47 of Stolen By the Don

His prolonged silence to my statement only infuriates me further. I cross and uncross my arms, glaring at him. “You might as well put a tracker on me,” I say, “or a communication device under my skin so you can record every single conversation I have with anyone who isn’t you. I’m sure it’ll help find my father since I’ve had no luck getting through to him.”

I realize my slip a little too late, and panic floods me, but I bite my tongue, hiding it away.

Roman lifts his head slowly, his spoon dangling from his fingers.I can barely tell what he’s thinking.“I didn’t assign Sergei as your driver to spy on you,” he says calmly. “It was to keep you safe. As for Marco Ricci, I’m aware you have no idea where your father is. If you did…” His mouth twitches with a ghost smile. “I’d have found out already.”

“How?” I ask. “You’ve only asked, what, once? And I never said I didn’t know where he was. You assumed that because you think of me as weak and incapable.”

He looks down at his spoon as silence passes between us. Then he lifts his head again, and his eyes are different. It’s almost inexplicable, but they dig into mine, unwavering, as if peeling back every layer I’ve spent years perfecting.

It’s the same way he knew how to touch me the right way. It’s how he had me crumbling in his arms when I should’ve been fighting against his touch.

“I don’t think of you as weak,” he says, his voice quiet but dense with intensity. “Not once. Not even for a second.”

The words make my breath catch. There’s no arrogance in his tone. No smirk. Just raw, searing honesty.

“You’re the one underestimating yourself, Isabella,” he adds, his voice roughening slightly. “And if you think I don’t see every damn crack in that armor you wear, you’re wrong.”

I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn’t move. I should say something—fight back, push him away, deflect—but the way he’s looking at me has every word dying on my tongue.

“I know you have no idea where your father is because if you knew, you wouldn’t have run to some farm. You’d have gone to him. And…” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I know he’s a terrible father. He was willing to give you away for the sake of an alliance, and when it didn’t work, he wasn’t rushing to save you from my hands. Know this, printsessa—any other man would burn down my house to free you.”

It’s cruel.

It’s so cruel that he manages to praise me and then make me feel horrible in a span of seconds. He didn’t have to talk about my father. He didn’t have to remind me how much I’ve been betrayed by the man I gave everything to.

And god, I hate him for it.

“You know nothing about my father.”

Roman chuckles under his breath, the sound full of disdain. “You think you do? Tell me, Isabella Volkov?—”

“Don’t call me that.” I grit my teeth as my eyes flash with anger. “Don’t you dare call me that. I didn’t agree to take your last name. You forced it on me.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” he continues smoothly. “You’re mine. I can call you whatever I want. But tell me, do you know that we took him in after he fled from Italy?”

He leans forward, and the black in his eyes turns to slits. My breath slows, the air turns heavy, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“He ran to us for help, pledging his life alliance. If you say you know your father better than I do, you should know about these things. Then you also know that the price for breaking a blood oath is death.”

I didn’t.

I had no idea my father sought refuge from the Volkovs and swore his life to them. It explains why he never agreed when I asked, as a child, if we could return to Italy.

Even for a summer.

His response was a stiffno,and that was the end of it.

“There are rules, Bella,” Roman adds quietly as he settles down, “and he broke them. If you think he doesn’t deserve to face the consequences, then you’re as much a hypocrite as your father is.”

His words cut me to the quick, and the urge to defend myself crawls through my chest.

But I remain silent. I don’t know if I can trust the words that come out of my mouth, because everything I know no longer holds true.

How much more did my father hide from me?How many times did I believe his words, unaware that he was feeding me lies?

My stomach churns, and the food makes my stomach sick. I push my chair back noisily and stand up.

“Isabella.”

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