(Isabella POV)
The locket had vanished somewhere between Leonardo Torrino's entrance and this moment of reckoning. My father's hands clawed at empty air, searching for salvation that was no longer there.
Leonardo's gaze pinned him like a specimen to a board. Cold, methodical, the kind of attention that peeled away lies and left truth bleeding. My father withered under it, shrinking into the couch cushions as if he could disappear entirely.
"Return it." The words came out soft, conversational. More terrifying than any shout.
My father's throat worked around words that wouldn't come. His eyes darted to me, away, back to Leonardo like he was watching his own execution. "I... I don't have it anymore."
The silence that followed had teeth.
I knew he was lying. The locket was hidden somewhere in this apartment—probably stuffed under his mattress or shoved behind the loose baseboard where he kept his emergency cash. But watching Leonardo's face go statue-still, I realized the truth didn't matter anymore.
Only survival did.
"You what?" Leonardo's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. Quiet ruin. The kind of tone that preceded disappearances.
"I sold it." My father's voice cracked like thin ice. "The money—it was for treatments. My wife is dying, and the insurance—"
I wanted to slap him. Here he was, lying to save his own skin while throwing our family into the fire. But beneath my rage, I understood. Love made cowards of us all. Love made us do unforgivable things.
Leonardo took one step closer, and the temperature in the room plummeted. His presence was winter given form—beautiful, deadly, absolute. "You sold what belonged to me."
"I had no choice." My father's words came out in gasps.
"There's always a choice." Leonardo's eyes caught the light like black glass. "You simply chose wrong."
My father crumpled, muttering prayers in rapid Italian that tumbled over each other. I watched him dissolve and felt something harden in my chest. His choices had lit this fuse. His desperation had signed our death warrants.
But I could still save what mattered.
I stood, knees trembling but voice steady. "Take me instead."
Both men froze. My father in horror, Leonardo in something I couldn't read—surprise, perhaps, or calculation.
The words hung in the air like smoke from a fired gun. "My father can't repay you. My mother is dying. Kill him, and you kill her too." I lifted my chin, met Leonardo's gaze without flinching. "So take me as collateral. Keep me until the debt is settled."
"Isabella, no—" My father lunged forward, hands reaching.
I cut him off with a look sharp enough to draw blood. "You created this mess, Papà. Let me fix it before we all drown."
Leonardo studied me like I was a chess piece he'd never seen before. His gaze moved over me slowly, deliberately—not lustful exactly, but invasive. Intimate. As if he was already imagining how I'd look wearing his chains.
The air grew thick, electric. I could taste danger on my tongue, feel it crawling under my skin. This was madness disguised as logic. Survival wrapped in sacrifice.
He moved closer. Too close. The scent of him—expensive cologne layered over something darker—invaded my lungs. His hand rose with deliberate slowness, and I forced myself not to flinch as his thumb traced the line of my jaw.
The touch wasn't gentle. It was ownership.
Heat bloomed where his skin met mine, a brand I felt down to my bones. My pulse hammered against his fingers, and I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart was racing. How terrified I was. How alive I felt under his attention.
"Collateral." He spoke the word like he was tasting wine, rolling it around to savor the flavor. His eyes never left mine. "Interesting."
The smile that curved his lips was winter morning—cold, sharp, beautiful in its cruelty. It promised things I didn't have words for, dangers I'd never imagined.
And I knew, with the certainty of a woman stepping off a cliff, that he was going to accept.