“Pull every fucking feed we have. Patrol reports, access logs, footage from months ago,” I demand, my voice growing low. “Find me the man who was always around but never had a reason to be.Trova quel bastardo(Find that bastard), Matteo.”
“Sì,Capo.” He nods and wobbles out the door.
Almost instantly, I turn to the table and launch a kick at its leg. It doesn’t budge, and that angers me even more.
“Fucking hell!” I hurl another kick at its leg, my breath pulling out in slow, ragged pants. That damn bastard was right under our noses and we fucking missed it!
My fingers quake, itching to spill blood as I bring the cigarette to my lips and take a greedy drag. When that bastard is found, I swear he’ll wish he had never been born.
Hours grind by as I wait, different thoughts sprawling through my head. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out, glancing at the lit screen.
It’s Matteo updating me, although he has nothing solid yet. As I’m about to shove the phone back in my pocket, I see a message I missed earlier from Grimaldi.
I assume you’ve seen the video and have an explanation?
I make a mental note to enlighten him once I get to the bottom of the charade. My thumb fiddles against the screen, opening and navigating to X when I see a large number of silenced notifications.
Fuck. The video Marcello sent me is spreading faster than a virus, and there are a lot of hate comments under one of my posts, even though comments have been limited. None of it gets to me as I read through them. They’re all gullible fools with nothing better to do than swarm around compromising headlines like fucking maggots.
But one hateful comment about Bella makes my jaw tick. Then I start to see more until I fling the phone against the wall. Fuck!
Instantly, I shoot up and head to her room. She doesn’t use social media, but there’s no fucking doubt that information has somehow reached her and she’s seen the many comments about her physical appearance.
When I get to her door, I pause, and my heart rate increases ever so slightly. I’ve faced gunfire without flinching, murdered men in the most cynical ways, but this…something about all of this makes my chest heavy.
I release a grunt of irritation and knock once. No answer. I try again, and I’m met with silence. My patience shatters, and I twist the knob open.
The sound of her sobs is the first thing I hear before I see her, kneeling and hunched over her bed, her hair spilling around her like drenched curtains.
For the longest moment, I hold my breath and stand there, feeling needles prick my chest at the sight of her trembling shoulders. I’ve never been in a situation where my silence is mistaken for anything other than anger. But even when I try to force the words out, all I can say is her name.
“Bella...”
As if she just registered my presence, she freezes and whirls her head toward me. Fuck. I clench my fists at her expression. Red, swollen eyes that stare at me with a mix of contempt and anger I didn’t know she had in her.
In a split second, she surges to her feet, closes the distance between us, and strikes her palm across my cheek. Hard.
“Fuck you,” she spits with fire in her gaze.
Chapter twenty-five
Isabella
Anger rages in my belly as I stare at Dominic, who looks like he’s just seen a ghost. I’ve cried many times…been hurt by people who should have been my anchors. I’ve been called many names over the years, but none of them hurt this much.
None felt like my insides were getting shredded apart. None stripped me bare before millions of people who blamed me for my husband’s misdeeds.
“You bastard,” I growl, raising my other hand to slap him, but he quickly grabs my wrist in a firm grip.
“Bella, it’s—” he starts to say, but I interject harshly.
“Don’t you dare.”
He releases a hard breath as I wrench free from his grip, taking a step back. I let my eyes search his face, and disappointingly, I find nothing. No remorse, no guilt, just a hardened mask of expression that speaks louder than anything he could ever say. My heart shatters.
“I trusted you.” My voice cracks and the tears pour hotter. “I dared to think that you were different, but you proved me wrong.”
Like everyone else, he proved to me what I was—unlovable, and I hate myself for thinking otherwise. I hate myself for having hoped.
