Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

ISABELLA It’s too late for me to be outside. It’s bordering ten.

I might have lost my mind with this idea of mine but since Tristan seems to be avoiding me again, I felt compelled to try and see him.

Maybe it’s the worse idea ever, and I should just roll with what’s happening and be avoided.

However, that thing that draws me to him enticed me out of my bed and beckoned me to head out here.

I don’t know where his room is, and I haven’t asked. I’m not going to because I’m sure my permission to walk around doesn’t extend to it suddenly being okay to be with me.

I’m still the enemy’s daughter and I doubt it was okay to sleep with me so I’m keeping my mouth shut in that respect.

Where I’m going is the greenhouse.

I caught a glimpse of him inside there earlier when I joined Candace for dinner. She said sometimes he’s out here for hours.

This is me hoping he’s still out here.

When I get down the steps that lead to the greenhouse, I see him.

It’s dark in the majority of the house except for where he is.

Quietly, I make my way closer but hang back behind a fan palm tree where I can watch him and decide whether or not I should disturb him.

He’s shirtless again and looks focused as he rolls his arms in and out in graceful movements. He surprises me. He looks so controlled and disciplined.

I’ve seen my father’s men train, but they don’t look like Tristan. They’re more into boxing.

Whatever Tristan is doing looks like a martial art form that has a beauty to it. A beauty he owns and combines his strength to make it look exceptional.

It’s fascinating to watch. But so is he. The other day when I saw him shirtless, I had to resist the urge to stare. I did a good job although he wasn’t shirtless for long.

I’m seeing the masterpiece of him again. Now I have the chance to look, I allow myself to think of him as a man. The instant I do my damn mouth waters and I remember how ruthlessly he took me up against the wall last week.

My gaze runs over his wide, powerful shoulders, the sharp definition of muscles lining his arms and the ridges of muscles running down his abs. It’s perfection. What adds to the perfection is the tasteful Celtic swirls and Arabic characters inked into the ridges.

One of the tattoos disappears beyond the waistband of his pants. It looks like a pair of daggers.

It’s the only object he has on him. That’s possibly the only one I would have seen when we had sex, but he had his clothes on and I never even got a glimpse.

Not that I would have been taking any time to look at him that day. I was so terrified.

He stops moving and straightens. With his back turned to me, he glances over his shoulder.

“It’s a little late to be sightseeing, don’t you think?” he says and my nerves scatter.

I didn’t realize he could sense my presence. I didn’t think he’d even know I was here.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly as he turns to face me. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. And yes, it is late for sightseeing.” I’m sure he knows I’m not sightseeing in the conventional sense.

The flush in my cheeks also gives me away, ratting me out that I’m not just thrown off kilter for watching him, but also for outrightly ogling his body.

He rivets his gaze to mine and looks me over slowly like he’s trying to assess my motives for being here. He’s also looking at me the way I was with him. He’s just not trying to hide the fact that he’s openly looking at my body.

“What are you doing out here so late?” he asks tilting his head to the side.

I bite the inside of my lip. There is no reason for me to be out here, and inside this greenhouse other than to see him. This isn’t a man you lie to, or trick. He’ll see straight through the shit. So, I decide to come clean just like I did at the club. This feels like that, but we’ve come a long way since.

“I just came out here to see… you.” Nerves fill me. I can’t help it. He makes me nervous and I’m still scared. He’s unpredictable and I don’t know him enough to try and guess what he might be thinking after hearing my answer.

“Really?” Curiosity fills his blue gaze.

“Yeah.”

He walks up to me and my heart stills. He gets close and I’m not sure what he’s going to do to me.

Purposely, he leans a breath away from my lips, and heat streaks through my body.

He’s going to kiss me, or… at least that’s what he wants to make me think because he doesn’t.

Tristan sees my reaction and reaches past me to grab a hand towel that was draped over a stand.

I didn’t see it there before and the cocky smirk on his face suggests he’s aware of the effect he has on me.

He moves away but we’re still close. Running the towel through his hair he dabs at the sweat that dampens his locks, but keeps his gaze trained on me.

“What did you want to see me for Isabella?” he asks. The deep baritone of his voice is smooth and as enthralling as his stare.

“I wanted to say thanks for allowing me to speak to Sacha.” I might have originally wanted to do that yesterday, but it feels weird saying it now even if he is protecting Sacha. Sacha wouldn’t need protecting if not for him.

I know there’s more to it than that though. I also know what kind of man I’m talking to. He’s not the kind who shows mercy easily.

“You didn’t have to thank me for that.”

“It was good to hear his voice.”

“I thought it might be.” Again, he looks me over.

This is the part where I should leave. I’ve said thanks and seen him. If I stay here another second, it’s going to become evident that I wanted to do more than say thanks.

It’s going to be clear that I want to see him, even after everything that’s happened, and outside of the fact that he’s still my captor.

The second passes and I experience that need to hold on for a little longer. That pull of attraction and raw chemistry that enticed me to continue with something, anything to prolong this meeting.

The magnetism I feel now is so strong I’m sure he must feel it too. I don’t know how he couldn’t.

“What were you doing?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.

“Tai Chi. Calms the soul and helps me to direct my energy so I can focus,” he explains.

Since I know the only thing he was focused on before was a plan to kill my father I’m assuming it’s the same focus he’s seeking.

“You do it well.”

The corners of his lips arch into a sensual smile. “Thank you. It’s something I’ve done for years.”

“Does it work? I mean to help you focus.”

“Yeah. It’s either that or music. Music is a little hit and miss though. You have to find the right mood and time to play it.”

I actually can’t imagine him listening to music. When I try to think of what he might like nothing comes to mind. I realize that’s because he’s a closed book. One I’m not supposed to open but I’m curious about.

“What kind of music?”

He chuckles and narrows his eyes. “You sure you want to know that Bellezza?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Old music. Classic jazz. Anything from the forties or earlier.”

I’m actually quite surprised to hear that. “That’s what you like?”

“Yes, and don’t you dare start criticizing.”

“No. I wouldn’t. I like that kind of music too. I watch old films. Classic films. I love anything with Ingrid Berman, and everything with Vivien Leigh.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. My mom got me into it.”

My daily routine when things are okay usually involves closing off the day with a film. When I was little though my mother always watched a couple a day and she liked the music too. The older the better.

“My parents got me into music too. They were always dancing. My Pa and his doll.”

That makes me smile. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. There was a time when my family went through a real bad spell and we lost everything, but there were certain things they kept going to show us that the most important things we had were each other. My father loved my mother fiercely and he made sure his boys knew you always put your woman first no matter what’s going on. So, Friday night was date night. That’s when they danced.

Music was always in my home though.”

That’s such a different life to what I’m used to and we both come from the same world. I guess not so much the same though. My family, mother and father alike, existed outside everything. What can I expect if my father is the leader of a notorious group of assassins? No matter how much love he professed to have for my mother, it counted for nothing when he killed her.

“It’s nice to live in a home like that, with parents like that. Music is always uplifting.” I think of something I could share he might recognize and an old jazz song my mother loved comes to mind. “My mother had this song she played practically every day. It was an old forties song from the end of the war. She liked it because it reminded her of her father. He served in the army.”

“What was it called?”

“It was called “It’s been a long, long time”,” I reply and his eyes sparkles. “I always imagined it would be a nice song to dance to.”

I watch him as he moves over to the corner of the room and picks up his phone. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he presses a few buttons and suddenly the room comes alive when the song starts to play.

It melts my heart to hear it again. It’s been awhile since I have. Sometimes I can handle things that remind me of my mother. Most times I can’t.

Tonight, is one where I can, and it has a different feel to it because Tristan is here.

I can’t help but smile as the smooth jazz melody pours through my soul and I watch him gazing over at me.

“This song?” he asks, and I nod slowly.

It’s nice to hear the song, but my focus is completely on him as he makes his way back to me.

“This is the part where we should be dancing,” he says, and I stare back at him in disbelief.

“Dancing?”

“Dancing, you said it was a nice song to dance to. It is. Dance with me.” He puts out his hand for me to take and I do.

I smile as I step into his arms. One strong arm goes around my waist, while he keeps hold of my hand. I press my free hand to his shoulder feeling the heat and strength of his bare skin beneath my fingers.

We stare into each other’s eyes and allow the music to move us. It’s not hard to get lost in him all over again and forget everything that’s happened outside this moment we’re having.

We dance as if we’ve always danced to this song and as I look at him, I recognize the instant he becomes the man from the park, but now I see more than that. I look a little deeper and see the real him again. The place compassion came from allowing him to look back at me too and not see me as Mortimer Viggo’s daughter. Not his enemy’s daughter, but just me, Isabella.

I’m looking at him, the music is playing, and I can tell all of that from one look. He blinks and I’m almost scared the moment will leave like it has done previously, but it’s still there.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

I gaze up at him and see the real Tristan. It seems he realizes too that he’s showing me himself.

The man beyond the grief and despair.

We stop dancing, stop moving, but he continues to hold me. Maybe it’s the intensity of his stare, or the pull of attraction. I’m not sure what it is that breaks down my inner walls and I know as he’s looking back at me, he can see the real me too.

He can see the girl inside me screaming for help. She’s been locked inside me a long time.

Locked away in the abyss of hopelessness. In the darkest corners of all that desolation searching for the light.

My father put her there, put me there. I’ve been there for the last twelve years, right from the night he killed my mother. I’ve been there waiting for someone to save me because I know I can’t save myself.

I look away when a tear slides down my cheek. It’s too much and I can’t acknowledge that part of me yet. That’s why I haven’t thought much past what’s happening from one day to the next. It’s because I don’t know what to do.

With all the connections my father has, I don’t know if Tristan and his people are strong enough to get to him and if they fail, my father will find me. I know he will. Then I’ll be trapped in the dark for the rest of my life.

I should go. This isn’t right. I can’t be out here in the arms of this man with the conflict of emotions swirling within me. And another tear has just tracked down my cheek.

I must look like a crazy person.

I move to step out of his arms, but he stops me and catches my face.

“What makes you happy?” he asks quickly. The question throws me.

As I search for the answer, I realize why he’s asking. He can see straight through me. I can tell.

“Nothing…”

“What makes you wake in the morning? What is that I see fighting inside you to break free? It made you fight me, and if I weren’t for who I was, you would have fought till the end to get off this island. What is it Isabella?”

“Hope…” I’m almost afraid to say the word in case what little hope I have left inside me shatters and breaks. “Hope that there will be light one day.”

My pulse quickens when he runs his finger over my cheek. Blood surges from my head to my toes and my heart flutters when he lowers to my lips and presses his mouth to mine for a kiss.

Fire ripples through me, a delicious sensation that heats up my blood as the kiss sings through my veins.

The velvet warmth of him expands as spirals of ecstasy flow through my body, touching every part of me, every fiber of my being awake.

I drink in the sweetness, the tenderness, the luxuriating sensation.

But then the moment dispels when the music suddenly cuts and his phone starts ringing against the table.

We jump apart and he looks over to his phone.

I take that moment to leave before anything more can be said.

That was too much. That kiss reached too deep. I already know it would be a big mistake to start falling for my captor.

I mustn’t do it. I can’t.

Doing so would make things worse.

I just have a habit of doing exactly that and making things worse for myself.

Even when I know it will be to my detriment.