Isabella

 

I couldn’t stop crying. No matter what I did, the tears kept falling more quickly than I could wipe them away. My face was a mess of snot and tears and I knew I probably looked horrible, but I didn’t know what to do. Zane had just dropped the biggest lie on me of all time: my father was in the mob, and I was some kind of heiress. I shook my head. I hated Zane. I wished I’d never laid eyes on Zane Ricci, that I’d never met him. I wished I’d spent the rest of my life as a spinster, missing Kyle, my one true love.

 

The fact that I’d had a nightmare about Kyle trying to rape me earlier had completely escaped my mind. Right now, I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. I hated myself for falling into Zane’s trap and for not listening to my gut. I never should have gone home with him; hell, I never should have let him buy me a drink! This was all horrible, and it was all my fault. I hated myself more than I’d ever hated myself before. And I hated this baby in my belly, because it reminded me of him and what I’d done. It reminded me I’d actively taken steps to ruin my own life.

 

I couldn’t believe he’d lied to me. I couldn’t believe he’d told me my father had been involved in organized crime! My father! Gianni Bianchi, the family man, the man who had charmed my mother into falling in love with him. The man who had been so protective of me as a baby that Mom had said he’d kept the window shades pulled tight, just because he didn’t want anyone to even seen me.

 

I couldn’t believe it.

 

“Zane,” I called loudly. “Come in here.” My tears had stopped for a moment and I wiped my nose on my sleeve, leaving a wet, iridescent streak.

 

“What?” Zane came in, leaning against the frame of the door. He looked just as sexy as ever: muscular torso exposed in a tank top, dark hair slicked back, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. I had to look away or else I knew I would start to get aroused. Damn pregnancy. Turning me into a goddamn broodmare.

 

“I want you to sit down,” I said calmly. “And explain to me why you lied. Why did you tell me my father was involved in organized crime? And where the hell did you get that locket?” I tried hard to keep my voice quiet but it was difficult.

 

Zane frowned. “I wasn’t lying to you,” Zane said slowly. I glared at him and he lowered his ass down into a chair. “I was telling the truth, Isabella.”

 

“Bullshit,” I said softly, shaking my head. “You were lying, and I know you were. Why did you tell me that shit? Are you trying to make me feel bad for you? Or are you trying to get me used to a lifetime of crime?” I frowned at him. “I don’t want our baby involved in this shit,” I said defensively. “I never want our baby involved in anything illegal, you hear me?”

 

Zane laughed, a full-throated sound that came from his belly and bubbled up through his throat. “I ain’t lyin’,” he said again, shaking his head at me. “You’re really something else, Isabella. Why do you think I’m trying to fool you?”

 

I glared. “This is serious. My father was a good man. He loved his family, he loved his wife, and he loved me. He never would have done anything to put us in danger, you hear me? My father was a good man.” My voice was shaking and I couldn’t figure out why.

 

Zane raised his eyebrows. “Well, honey, I didn’t say he was a monster,” he replied. “I didn’t say shit about him being a good man or not. All I said was he was my father’s second-in-command.”

 

“And what happened to him?” I narrowed my eyes. “If you know so fuckin’ much about my family, what happened to him? How did he die? How did he live?”

 

Zane clasped his hand over his heart and made a sentimental face at me. “Oh, how did he live?” Zane threw a hand to his forehead and threw his head back. “How did he live? Are you fucking kidding me, Isabella? This isn’t a goddamned soap opera!”

 

“I know,” I said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I want you to stop lying to me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him, trying to look as evil as I could manage. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

 

Zane grinned. “Oh, so you want the truth now?” He nodded at me. “You really want the truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

 

“Yes!” I cried, feeling exasperated. “Yes, I want to hear the fucking truth!”

 

Zane raised his eyebrows at me. “So, she wants the truth now, huh?” He looked around the room like he was faced with an audience. “She wants the truth?”

 

“Yes!” I practically yelled. “Yes, I want the fucking truth!”

 

“Good,” Zane said. He grinned and leaned over conspiratorially. “Okay, Isabella. The truth is…your father was in the mob! He was second-in-command to Lionel Ricci, of the famous Ricci family. He killed people! He did drugs! He was in the fucking mafia! How many other fucking times do I have to fucking tell you?” Zane was raging and loud and he made a fist with his hand and slammed it down on the tabletop. “He was in the fucking mob!”

 

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

 

Zane laughed bitterly. “Then you’re a fucking idiot,” he said. “Here, wait here.”

 

I was about to protest when Zane stood up and trotted out of the kitchen. I heard him rustling around in the other room but I didn’t ask to know what he was doing. I didn’t want to know what he was doing. I was sick of Zane. Sick of his lies, sick of his arrogance, sick of his asshole ways. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get involved with someone who was so obviously toxic and dangerous.

 

“Here,” Zane grunted. He came back into the kitchen carrying an old photo album. “Look through this. See your fuckin’ precious daddy. Then tell me you don’t believe me.” He dropped the album on the table in front of me.

 

A cloud of dust rose, irritating my senses and making me sneeze a couple of times in quick succession. I looked at him with wary eyes before taking the cover between my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to see any sick shit,” I said carefully. “This better not be a snuff album.”

 

Zane practically exploded. “Jesus, Isabella, do you think we’re fuckin’ monsters? Of course, this isn’t a fucking snuff album! It’s a fucking family album! Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “You’re about the most troublesome woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You live in a fuckin’ bubble of privilege, you know that?”

 

I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the album and starting thumbing through the photos. A lot of them were black and white photos of little kids, it looked like they were taken in the 1950s and the 1960s. “Who are these people?”

 

Zane reached over and pointed to one of the cherubic-looking little boys. “That’s my pops, Lionel,” he said. “This is all his childhood.” Zane let me flip through a few more pages before he grabbed most of the pages with one hand and turned to the end of the album. I was startled to see a color photo of a man who looked like an older, paunchier Zane with his arm around a tall, tanned blond man…who looked like me.

 

“That’s my father,” I whispered. I even saw the locket around his throat. Suddenly, my stomach went cold and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

 

“Yep,” Zane said. He smirked at me. “Believe me now?”

 

I shook my head vehemently. “Just because they were in a photo together doesn’t mean my father was in the mob, Zane.”

 

Zane rolled his eyes. “Fine, Isabella.” He grabbed the album off the table and threw it at the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. “Fine! Don’t fuckin’ believe me! Spend the rest of your life in ignorance about who you are! I guess if I told you that you stood to inherit millions that wouldn’t change anything! Would it? Would it!” He leaned in my face and screamed at me. “I guess that wouldn’t fucking matter!”

 

I blinked. “Millions?”

 

Zane laughed bitterly. “You fucking women,” he said in disgust. “All you care is about money.”

 

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” I said quietly. “I can’t believe you pretend to care about me and then you’d keep the identity of my father from me, my inheritance from me! You don’t care about me at all,” I sniped. “You don’t give a fuck about me. You wanted to lie to me and keep me in the dark the whole goddamn time. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted my fortune all for yourself!”

 

“Because I’m so obviously hurting for money,” Zane retorted. “Yeah, I know, I live in a hovel, right?”

 

I’d had enough. I stood up from the table and stalked upstairs, picking my way delicately around the album and chunks of drywall that had fallen on the floor. Zane stood up and chased after me, but I was faster and I made it to the bedroom and slammed the door before he could catch up.

 

“Isabella!” Zane yelled as he banged on the bedroom door. “Don’t you fuckin’ go anywhere! Don’t you leave, Isabella!”

 

“I’ll do what I want,” I said in a shaky voice. “I don’t need you anymore! I have my father’s money!” I looked around the room for my belongings, getting dressed in a pair of jeans and my own remaining shirt. I threw the scarf around my neck and threw Zane’s shirt on the floor. After a second, I walked back over to the shirt and stomped on it, tearing it up with my heels.

 

“Isabella, come on,” Zane said. He pounded on the door with a fist. “Come out, we’ll talk. Everything will be okay.”

 

I laughed. “Nothing will ever be okay,” I snapped. “Because of you! You lied to me, Zane! You tried to keep my own history hidden and secret from me!”

 

Zane laughed humorlessly on the other side of the door. “You didn’t believe me!” he said in an incredulous voice. “You didn’t believe me when I tried to tell you! You had this perfect image of your perfect daddy and when I ruined that, you didn’t want to believe me! You didn’t believe shit until I showed you that photo and told you about the money he left you! But now I guess that’s all okay!” His tone was vicious and sarcastic and I cowered behind the locked door.

 

“Fuck you,” I spat. “I’m leaving.”

 

Bracing myself, I opened the bedroom door and tried to push past him. Even after our little fight downstairs, I thought I could shock him into letting me go.

 

But he grabbed my wrists and dragged me back inside, taking the bundle of clothes out of my arms and tossing it to the ground. Zane threw me on the bed and glared at me, his eyes blazing. “You’re not leaving,” Zane said in a deadly calm tone. “You’re not allowed to leave. It’s too fucking dangerous, Isabella. I’m not letting you get in trouble.”

 

Struggling, I sat up on the bed and tried to hurtle out of the room. I thought I could duck underneath Zane’s arm, but he was quicker and he grabbed me, wrapping his arms around mine and hugging me tightly to his body. I couldn’t move. I could only kick my legs and scream as he wrestled me over to the bed.

 

“Fuck you!” I spat. I kicked and scratched and clawed at the air but none of my attacks made their mark. Zane was stronger, and he threw me down on the soft mattress. I bounced limply, like a rag doll, and glared up at him.

 

“You ain’t leaving.” He walked quickly over to the door and pulled it closed behind him.

 

I heard something small, like a metallic click, and realized he’d locked me in. “No!” I screamed. I leapt off the bed and ran to the door, trying to pull it open with both of my hands. But the knob was locked, and it barely turned in the frame. “Zane! Let me the fuck out of here!”

 

From the other side of the door, I heard his voice. But he wasn’t speaking to me. “Hi, Jake. I got a situation over here. You’re gonna have to come over and help me guard this chick. She’s got a case of escape-itis.”

 

“No!” I screamed again. “Let me go!”

 

But there was only silence in reply.