Page 3 of Mine Again
I speed up the footage, watching for anything unusual.
The first couple of weeks, nothing changes. But she’s on her phone more. Why?
She got that phone when her younger sister, Mari, was set to get married so they could stay in touch. It was a clever move since their father forbade them from having phones.
But Mari and Mateo, the last De Marco Don, are supposedly dead, their yacht blown apart in an explosion Niccolo Romero, the new Don, claimed as his work. No bodies were ever found.
Isa and Mari were close, but Isa only mourns her sister in public. Behind closed doors, everything seems like it always was.
Is she talking to Mari in the footage?
It’s a burner phone, and even I need a lead to track something that deep in the system. I’ll get there eventually. But right now, I need to find my butterfly.
Two weeks ago, her texting habits changed. She started making calls. Long calls.
I lean closer to the monitor, my breath shallow, eyes narrowing. The glow from the screen reflects off my face as I zoom in.
I know every detail of her, every freckle across her nose, five of them in a perfect little cluster. I’ve memorized them all, traced them with my mind a thousand times.
But right now, I wish I could reach through the screen and touch them. Touch her. Feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers, the softness of her breath against me.
No. Don’t get distracted.
She’s laughing. I can’t hear it because there’s no audio, but the memory of her laughter bursts through my mind like a melody I can’t shake.
That sound. Her giggle. It’s too bright, too free. Too happy.
It’s not for me.
And it’s definitely not for Mari.
Fuck.
It can’t be that asshole Andrea. I took care of him.
Dread tightens my gut, spreading like poison through my veins asI watch.
The room shrinks in on me, the air too thick.
It’s like she’s slipping through my fingers.
Not happening!
Isabella Accardi is mine.
MINE.
I’ve been obsessed with her ever since she hit puberty and grew into herself. Our families were close friends.
We practically grew up together, and our fathers always intended for us to marry. That was fine by me. More than fine. And she was happy about it too.
Until my father had to ruin it all.Bastardo.
I return to the footage. A week ago, her calls stretched into the night.
Who the fuck is she talking to?
My gaze shifts back to the screens, and I check her emails. Unlike with Andrea, there’s nothing there.
