Page 66 of Prince of Vice
"Even your father left?"
I nod, recalling how my father moved out and purchased a home outside of Cambridge before his arrest. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one still fighting for what this family once was," I admit, my voice tinged with melancholy. "Maybe I should let it go."
"No," she insists, gripping my hand more tightly. “Despite my frustrations with you in the beginning and even recently, I'm proud of the way you've handled this time. It cannot be easy to lead anyone from your situation. You've shown true strength in the face of difficult circumstances."
Her words wrap around me, offering solace I didn't realize I needed. "You're giving me too much credit," I murmur, my chest tightening.
"Your strength has helped give me my own," she continues, her gaze locked with mine. Her unspoken confession hangs heavy between us, and I can feel the thundering beat of my heart as she opens her mouth to speak again.
"Isabella," I interrupt before she can utter another word. I don't want any confessions now, not when the trial looms over us and uncertainty clouds our future. Instead, I silence her with a deep and passionate kiss, my lips meeting hers like the crashing of waves in a stormy sea.
As we pull apart, breathless and flushed, I know there's still so much left unsaid. But for now, we'll let the gardens hold our secrets, biding our time until the moment we can finally lay them bare.
* * *
We retire to the grand living room, the air infused with the tantalizing aroma of the takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. As I sink into the plush couch, Isabella flips through the collection of old movies, her eyes sparkling with delight at each title she recognizes. The sound of her laughter is like a symphony to my ears, filling me with an intoxicating blend of joy and longing.
"Let's watch this one!" she exclaims, holding up a worn DVD case. I nod, unable to resist the excitement in her voice or the way her cheeks flush when she smiles.
The movie begins, casting flickering shadows on the walls as its scenes unfold. I find myself more captivated by the woman beside me than the story on the screen. Her eyes are wide with wonder, her lips parting in soft gasps at the twists and turns of the plot. She laughs at the witty banter between the characters, her silver-toned giggles making my body respond.
“Isn't this scene just beautiful?" she murmurs, gesturing at the screen where two lovers embrace beneath a canopy of stars.
"Isabella," I reply softly, my gaze never leaving her face, "you outshine them all."
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, and she playfully swats my arm. "You're just saying that."
"Believe me, bella, I've never been more serious in my life."
For a fleeting moment, I allow my mind to wander, envisioning a life with her – free from the violence and danger that has defined my existence for so long. A life where we could grow old together, our love blossoming like the flowers in the garden, untainted by the shadows of my past. A life where my son could be a part of our world, without fear or hesitation.
But reality creeps back in, its cold tendrils wrapping around my heart. The trial looms before us, a storm on the horizon that threatens to tear us apart. I force myself to focus on the present, on the woman beside me who has brought light into my darkness.
"Isabella," I say as the movie ends and the room is bathed in soft, dim light, "come to bed with me."
“Are you sure?" She hesitates, her eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt.
"More than anything," I assure her, my hand reaching out to intertwine with hers.
We rise from the couch, our fingers locked together as we make our way to the bedroom. The crisp sheets welcome us, enveloping our bodies in their cool embrace. As I pull her closer, her warmth seeping into my very soul, I feel a sense of peace I haven't known in years.
"Thank you," I whisper into the night, my voice barely audible above the soft sound of our breathing.
"For what?" she murmurs, her head resting against my chest.
"For everything."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Isabella
The scent of Primo's cologne lingers in the air. His strong arms wrap around my waist, securing me to his side as we lay tangled in the sheets of his bed. The events of the last 24 hours replay in my mind like a movie reel, each scene intensifying the connection between us.
"Isabella," he whispers into my ear, and I can sense a shift in him. It's as if the weight of the world has been temporarily lifted from his shoulders. Primo seems calmer now, steadier, even with the trial looming ahead. His newfound serenity gives me strength and confidence, and I find myself wanting more.
"Primo," I murmur, turning to face him. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before I lean in and press my lips against his, tentatively at first, then with growing urgency. I know this could be our last night together, and I want to savor every second of it.
His response is immediate, his mouth molding against mine with a hunger that matches my own. We are locked in an electrifying dance, our tongues exploring and teasing, our breaths mingling as we grow more desperate for each other.