Chapter 6 - The Escape

Bella’s POV

I stood at my bedroom window for what felt like hours, watching the dark driveway like a prisoner waiting for parole.

I’d chosen the most modest thing I could find: a long red silk dress that covered everything, I twisted my hair into a sleek bun, and the diamonds in my ears screamed “Mendoza heiress.”

I looked safe, respectable. The version of me my father wanted the world to see.

My phone buzzed on my bed.

Lucia: “Headlights off, back gate. NOW.”

I grabbed a dark coat, slipped out of my heels, and ran barefoot down the stairs like the way I used to when I was a teenager. The lights were dim and I could barely see anything.

I was two steps from the door when a voice froze me solid.

“Isabella.”

I turned slowly.

My father stood in the shadows of the hallway, cigar glowing in the dark.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going out,” I said, chin high. “I can still go out, can’t I, Dad?”

He took a slow drag, studying me. “That depends. People do stupid things when they’re unhappy.”

I laughed, sharp and bitter. “And what do you think I’ll do now—run away?”

“You already tried that once, remember? Look where it got you, it’ll be stupid of you to do it again.” He growled.

I said nothing, I simply shook my head.

He stepped closer. “I know you’re angry about the wedding—”

“You’re damn right, I’m angry,” I yelled. “I come back and I get nothing from you. No welcome. No how are you? Nothing. Instead, I’m slammed into a marriage with someone I don’t love.”

“You brought it on yourself.” He fired at me.

“No, you brought it on me Dad.” I fired back. “Who’s Romano?” I asked finally, voice shaking with everything I’d overheard. “That name keeps floating around this house like a ghost. You’re terrified of him. What did you do?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re selling me to cover your fuck ups!” I snapped. “I’m the one paying for whatever you did, so tell me!”

“Watch your mouth when you speak to me, Isabella,” he growled.

“I used to,” I fired back. “When you still deserved my respect. Now I just loathe you.”

His hand tightened around the cigar. “That’s enough. Go to your room.”

“No,” I whispered, stepping toward the door. “You don’t get to lock me up ten days before you hand me to Matteo Moretti. Tonight I deserve to breathe.”

“You will not step one foot outside this house.” My father’s voice turned dark.

“Watch me.”

I yanked the door open and ran.

Bare feet on cold marble, then wet grass, past the fountain, past the pool lights shimmering like spilt gold. I didn’t stop until I hit the service gate and flung myself into Lucia’s waiting arms.

She squealed, squeezing me so hard my ribs protested. “It’s really you!”

“Go, go, go—My Dad could have the guards on us any second!”

“Then get in.” She yelled.

We both hopped in the car. She turned on the ignition, tyres spitting gravel as we shot into the night.

Five minutes of silence, then she glanced over, eyes widening.

“What the hell are you wearing, honey?”

“You said cute!”

“I meant carelessly sexy! What do you think this….a Mendoza gala? Girl please.” She waved her hand.

“Then what is it?”

Lucia grinned like a devil. “It’s the night you stop existing for everyone else.”

She pulled up to her house and minutes later we were in her bedroom—same fairy lights, same chaos of clothes and perfume—and she was tearing through her closet like a woman on a mission.

“We’re gonna dress you in something hot tonight.” She giggled. “Something….slutty.”

She picked out the first dress. “Too long.”

Then a second. “Too modest.” She scowled.

“Too sweet.”

And then pulled out a scrap of fabric that looked like there was barely anything to it. It was short, black and covered in glittery stones.

“This,” she declared, holding it up like a trophy. “Open front, backless, hem barely legal. Every eye in the room will be on you.”

I raised a brow. “I’ll freeze.”

“You’ll burn,” she corrected, smirking as she tossed it at me. “We’re finding you a man tonight. Micah was trash. I’m sorry you went through that.” She pouted, genuinely.

I let out a breath I’d been holding for months. “That sounds…nice. But my dad already found a man for me.”

Her head snapped toward me so fast her bun nearly collapsed. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, slipping my legs into the dress. “He got himself into some shit, and now I’m paying for it. I’m marrying Matteo fucking Moretti.”

Lucia blinked—slow, like her brain was buffering. “Matteo? Oh.” The disappointment in her voice was small but sharp. “That’s surprising.”

I paused, heels in my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. But that must suck for you.”

“It does. I’m so frustrated, Lu. How could my father even do that to me? Matteo Moretti of all people. I’d rather die.”

“Maybe he’s not that bad,” she offered, but there was no real conviction behind it.

“He’s awful,” I snapped. “He treats women like shit. I’d rather suck off a stranger than lose my virginity to that prick.”

She grinned like I’d just handed her the night’s challenge. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do.”

I stared. “…what?”

“We’ll find you a stranger to suck off.” She said, like it was some casual thing.

She stepped close, fixing the strap of the dress on my shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief and fierce loyalty. Then she loosened my bun and let her hands wander in my hair. It fell across my face in waves.

“Tonight you’re not Isabella Mendoza. Tonight you’re just a girl who gets to be reckless, horny, and alive one last time. I know exactly where we’re going.” She grinned.

**********

Lucia’s Mercedes screeched to a stop in front of an old palazzo by the canal.

No sign. No name. Just a single red lantern hanging over a black door, swaying in the wind.

To most people, it looked like another abandoned building in Venice.

But the people who knew….knew this was La Volpe Rossa —the most secret, most expensive casino-club in the whole city.

Valets in dark red jackets rushed toward the cars.

Then a low rumble filled the street.

A line of black SUVs pulled up behind us like something out of a crime movie.

One by one, the doors opened at the same time.

Men stepped out—black suits, earpieces, sharp eyes.

They moved in perfect sync, calm in that dangerous way that told you they’d killed before.

And they wouldn’t blink if they had to do it again.

But one man didn’t match the rest.

He got out last—black slacks, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, and a fitted black waistcoat. No tie. No jacket. But somehow he still looked like the one in charge.

I leaned forward a little. “Who are those people?”

Lucia followed my gaze. “Them? Mafia. That crew basically owns half of Venice now,” she said under her breath. “And the one in the white shirt? He’s the boss. His name is Zayden.”

She cut the engine. “Dangerously hot, right?”

I couldn’t answer.

Because the second she said his name, his gaze snapped back, sharp enough to cut glass—I couldn’t tell what he was looking at but it wasn’t me.

The air left my lungs either way.

Lucia laughed softly. “Yeah. That’s the effect he has.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the car. “Come on. The tables open in ten, and tonight the only thing you’re gambling is your cookie.”

“Do you come here a lot?” I asked, trying to sound normal while my skin still burned from that one look.

She hesitated—just a heartbeat. “Yeah. That’s actually how I met—“ she paused.

“How you met who?”

“Never mind,” she said quickly, tugging me toward the entrance.

The bouncer unclipped the velvet rope without a word. And we all swooped in like soldiers ready for battle.

Lucia leaned in as we stepped through the archway. “Tonight you don’t have a last name, remember? You’re just trouble in diamonds.”

I walked inside, pulse roaring in my ears.

Red velvet walls, gold chandeliers, the low thrum of jazz and the clink of glasses. Money, perfume, and danger thick enough to taste.

I only knew one thing, whatever happened next — I wasn’t leaving La Volpe Rossa the same girl who walked in.