Page 57 of The Scars We Keep
But another thought surfaces.What if my father knows something?
He has his own network.If Alessandro De Luca is back in the country and if there is movement in the remnants of the De Luca empire, it is possible my father knows something about it.And if I can get information from him that could help Lorenzo, then this conversation is worth having.Maybe I can turn my father’s attempt to manipulate me into something useful.
The idea takes root and grows.
I pick up the phone again and stare at the message.My hands are steadier now, and my breathing is more controlled.
“I can do this,” I tell myself.
I dial the number.
He answers on the second ring.
“Isabella.”His voice is smooth.The kind of smooth that comes from years of practice at manipulating people into doing exactly what he wants.“I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”
“What do you want?”I keep my voice steady.I will not give him the satisfaction of hearing fear in it.
“Information.”He says it simply, matter-of-factly, as if he is asking me about the weather instead of demanding that I betray my husband.“I need to know what your husband is planning.”
“I told you before I don’t know anything.”I lean back in the chair, forcing myself to breathe, to sound bored instead of terrified.“Why?Have you heard something?”
There is a pause.My father does not like being questioned or having his tactics turned back on him.
“Do not play games with me, Isabella,” he says, his voice edged.“You are in that house.You sleep in his bed.You have access to his conversations.Do not insult my intelligence by pretending you know nothing.”
“I am his wife.He barely talks to me as it is.”I inject just enough petulance into my tone to sell it—the spoiled daughter who married into power but has no real understanding of how it works.
“Then make him talk to you.”My father’s voice hardens.“You are a beautiful woman, my daughter.Use that.Men are weak when it comes to beautiful women, especially in bed.Get him to tell you what he is working on, what moves he is making and who he is targeting.”
Disgust rolls through me.This is what I am to him.A tool.A weapon.Something to be used and then discarded when I am no longer useful.
“You know more than you are saying.You have always been a terrible liar, even as a child.So let me make this clear.I need something solid.Names.Locations.Plans.Whatever your husband is working on, I need to know about it.If you do not give it to me, there will be consequences.”
There it is.The same old threat.The reminder that he still holds power over me if I do not fall in line.
But something inside me hardens, because I am so fucking tired of his bullshit.
“Consequences for who?”I ask, and my voice has an edge now.“Because I am telling you the truth.I am just the wife he was forced to marry.I sit in this house all day and stay out of his way.That is it.So unless you want me to start making things up, I don’t know what you expect me to give you.”
“Do not test me, Isabella.”His voice drops, goes cold in a way that used to make my skin crawl.“You think you are safe now because you married into the De Luca name?Do you believe that Lorenzo gives a fuck about you beyond what you can offer him?You are naive.You have always been naive.And if you do not start being useful to me, I will remind you exactly how much power I still have over your life.Because I am not asking, Isabella.I am telling you.You will get me information, or you will deal with the fallout.”
“And what exactly is the fallout?”The fear is still there, coiled in my chest, but the anger is just as strong.
“You really want to find out?”His voice is ice.“You want to test whether I am bluffing?I promise you, I am not.You know what I am capable of.I do not make empty threats so I suggest you start taking this seriously.”
He hangs up.
The phone slips from my fingers and clatters onto Lorenzo’s desk.My entire body is shaking and my heart pounds against my ribs so hard I think it might break through.I sink into Lorenzo’s chair and press my hands against my face, trying to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts.
God, I hate him.
I hate him for the fear that still lives in my chest, for the way my hands still shake.Even now, married to one of the most dangerous men in this world, I am still not safe from him.
I hate him for making me feel trapped and powerless.
But most of all, I hate him for being right, because he still has control over me, whether I want to believe it or not.My father’s control is something I can’t escape by changing my last name or moving into a different house.
His control is woven into every part of my life.And until I find a way to cut those threads, until I find a way to remove his ability to do so, I will never truly be free.
