Page 409 of Rosetti Family New York
Instead, all I can think about is Isabella's face when she thanked me for her phone. The hope in her eyes. The way she said it meant everything.
I walk through the front door and find her in the kitchen making tea, honey-blonde hair catching the overhead light. She looks up when I enter, and all that hope dies instantly.
"Jesus." Her teacup rattles against marble as she sets it down. "What happened to you?"
I look down at myself. Blood under my nails, across my shirt, probably streaked on my jaw. The evidence of necessary violence written in crimson.
"Had to take care of something." I move to the sink, running cold water over split knuckles. Pink swirls down the drain like watercolor paint.
"Take care of what?" Her voice sharpens, demanding answers the way it does when she's analyzing a painting. "Who did you hurt?"
I reach for the dish towel, dabbing at the worst of it. The scent of her perfume mingles with the copper taste of blood in my mouth. "Someone who tried to contact you today."
Silence stretches between us, thick as the storm clouds gathering outside. When I turn, Isabella is staring at me with growing fury that makes my cock twitch despite everything.
"Someone tried to contact me," she repeats slowly. "When? I've been checking my phone all afternoon. No new messages."
The accusation in her voice slices clean through me. "Because I stopped it from reaching you."
"You..." She blinks, processing. Wind howls outside the windows as understanding dawns. "But you gave me my phone back."
"I gave you the device back, bella. Didn't remove the security protocols."
I watch the exact moment she gets it. The way betrayal blooms across her face like spilled wine, staining everything beautiful about this moment.
"You've been monitoring everything." Each word is surgical precision. "Even after giving it back."
"The dangerous contacts, yes."
"Who decides what's dangerous?" She moves closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the gold flecks in those furious green eyes. "You?"
I flip my coin, metal slick with blood. "I decide what threatens your safety."
"My safety." She laughs, but it's sharp as broken glass. "Or your control?"
The truth sits between us like a loaded gun. Because she's right, and we both fucking know it.
"It's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" Now she's close enough to touch, close enough that I can see her pulse hammering in her throat. My hands itch to grab her, to pin her against the counter and make her understand with my mouth, my body, the desperate way I need to keep her safe. "You don't get to monitor my communications without telling me. You don't get to filter my world like I'm some helpless child."
"Someone was trying to lure you out. To use your mind against you."
"Then you tell me that!" Her voice cracks with fury, and the sound goes straight to my groin. Even angry, even betrayed, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. "You don't make the choice for me and then pretend to give me freedom!"
I reach for her, needing skin contact, needing to feel her warmth. She jerks back so fast she almost stumbles.
"Don't." The word comes out broken, and it stops my heart. "Don't touch me right now."
The rejection cuts deeper than any blade Torres could have wielded. "Isabella, I was protecting you."
"You were controlling me." Tears gather in her eyes, and I want to lick them away, want to taste her pain and make it mine. "Just like he did. Making decisions about my life, giving me illusions of choice while pulling strings behind the scenes."
Thunder crashes outside, rattling the windows. The storm is here now, wild and violent as the chaos in my chest.
"I'm not him," I say desperately.
"No?" She backs toward the doorway, silk blouse whispering against her skin. "Then why do I feel like a hostage again?"
