Enzo's voice sounds far away, distant.
I'm back there. In that basement. Smelling the mold and rust. Hearing Declan's voice, cold and calculating.
Do whatever you want but don’t permanently damage the merchandise.
"Isabella. Look at me."
Hands on my shoulders. Firm. Grounding.
I look up. Enzo's face is close, concerned.
His eyes drop to the phone in my hands and I watch his expression change, watch the concern turn to fury. He takes the phone from me and reads the message, his jaw going tight, his knuckles white where he's gripping the device.
"When did you get this?"
"Just now." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Just this second."
He's already moving, checking the doors, the windows, his gun in hand.
"They know we're in hiding."
"Declan..." I stop, pressing my lips together. "He doesn't make empty threats. If he sent this, he knows exactly where I am."
He removes the sim card and throws it into the fireplace, which he had lit earlier on. The he drops the phone on the floor and starts stomping on until it is reduced to smithereens.
“Enzo––“
“I’m sorry, Princess, this had to go. It is for your safety.” He sweeps them up and throws them into the fireplace too. "Now, tell me about the basement, Isabella."
I freeze. “W-What?"
“I want to know exactly what happened in that basement.”
No, no, no, no.
My throat closes around the answer before I can form one. I can't. I look at him, open my mouth and nothing comes out.
God, please, I cannot do this, not here, not with him, not out loud.
"Isabella. I need to know."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand what we're dealing with."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Why?" I find myself snapping. "Why does it matter to you? You've made it very clear for four years that I don't matter toyou. So explain to me why you suddenly care what happened to me nine years ago."
He flinches. Just slightly, just a small tightening around his eyes, but I see it because I've been watching his face long enough to know every tiny thing it does.
"Ok… it’s fine. You don't have to tell me," he says quietly.
I don’t know if I feel relieved or if I feel disappointed. I don’t know what I expected, heck, I don’t even know what I want,
"I'm going out," he says, when the silence has stretched long enough.
