Chapter Nineteen: Beneath the Surface

The days following the signing of the marriage contract blurred together for Isabella. Each one seemed to bleed into the next, a routine of forced smiles, carefully calculated words, and an ever-present weight of tension hanging in the air.

Antonio made sure she understood one thing: she was now his. A wife by name, a mother by obligation, and an extension of his power. He expected her to fall into line, to play the part of the dutiful wife, without question.

But Isabella wasn’t so easily broken.

She had learned early on to mask the storm swirling inside of her—no matter how much it tore at her, no matter how badly she wanted to scream, to run. She couldn’t afford that. Not when Luca, with his bright, innocent smile, was depending on her.

Luca had no idea what was happening, of course. He saw Isabella as a new friend, someone to care for him, to laugh with him, to show him the love and attention his mother never had. Isabella knew it wasn’t right to let him be swept up in the lies. But she also knew that the little boy was a product of his environment—a world that was far too dangerous for a child to understand. He deserved better than this—he deserved a mother who could love him freely, without being shackled by the cruelty of his father’s world.

So, Isabella took it upon herself to protect him from that truth. She tucked away her own pain, her own anger, for his sake.

Every time Luca looked at her with those innocent eyes, she could feel the crack in her heart deepen. It wasn’t just the situation she was in that hurt—it was the knowledge that she had been swept into a web of manipulation and control, and that this little boy would inevitably be dragged into it as well.

---

One evening, as the sun set over the distant hills, Isabella found herself sitting on the plush sofa in the living room, Luca curled up beside her, his small fingers wrapped around a toy car. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, trying to focus on the simple joy of his presence rather than the heavy reality of her life.

"Isabella?" Luca’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her gaze toward him, forcing a soft smile onto her lips.

"Yes, Luca?" she responded, her tone gentle, careful.

"When can we go to the park again?" Luca asked, his face lighting up with excitement at the thought of playing outside.

Isabella’s heart twisted in her chest. The last time they’d gone to the park had been before everything had changed—before Antonio had forced her into this marriage.

"I’m sure we can go soon," she replied, though her words felt hollow. "We’ll see, alright?"

Luca didn’t seem to notice the uncertainty in her voice. He simply nodded enthusiastically, a bright smile spreading across his face. "Okay!"

As the child continued to play, Isabella’s mind wandered back to Antonio. She had seen him less frequently over the past few days, but each time he did appear, it was to assert his dominance. He had a way of commanding the space, of turning every room into one where his presence demanded submission.

She had learned quickly that resistance was futile. Any defiance was met with cold, unyielding punishment—whether in the form of a dismissive glare, a sarcastic remark, or a cruel gesture. She was to cater to his every need, to be everything he demanded her to be.

---

Later that evening, as Isabella was preparing dinner in the spacious kitchen, Antonio walked in, his boots clicking sharply on the marble floor. His presence was like a shadow that loomed over her, thick with authority and a quiet threat. He moved behind her, his fingers brushing against the back of her neck, sending a jolt of discomfort through her.

“Il cibo è pronto, no?” (The food is ready, isn’t it?) he murmured in Italian, his voice low and commanding. “I’m hungry.”

Isabella swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat, trying not to let the tension in her body show. She had learned to ignore the way he made her feel small, how his dominance seemed to seep into every corner of their home. She was a wife now, and it was her job to serve him—whether she wanted to or not.

“Almost, Antonio,” she replied, keeping her voice steady as she placed the last dish on the table.

Antonio didn’t respond immediately. He watched her, his eyes calculating, as if assessing her every move. Then, he finally spoke again, his voice sharp.

"Faster, Isabella. I don’t have all night."

She nodded, her hands shaking slightly as she set the table.

With a quick glance at him, she noticed the way his presence seemed to demand everything from her. She was nothing more than a tool in his grand design, a means to an end. He wasn’t interested in her as a person. He only wanted to control her—bend her to his will.

She knew that. But still, something inside her rebelled at the idea of being reduced to this.

"I’m sorry," she whispered under her breath, more to herself than to him. She had no choice but to apologize, to please him, to make him believe that she had accepted her role.

---

Later that evening, as the family settled into their routine for the night, Isabella found herself alone in the hallway, Luca tucked into bed, fast asleep.

She was supposed to return to her room, where Antonio had made it clear she would be waiting for him. That was the way things worked now. She was his wife. She had to cater to him, attend to his needs in every way. It didn’t matter if she had her own feelings, her own desires. None of that mattered.

Her feet dragged as she moved down the hallway, her heart heavy in her chest.

When she entered the bedroom, Antonio was already sitting at the edge of the bed, his back turned toward her. He hadn’t said anything, but his presence filled the room with an intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

“Sit,” he ordered sharply, his voice carrying across the room. He didn’t even look at her as he spoke.

Isabella obeyed, sitting down beside him, her heart racing. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to defy him for just once. But she couldn’t. She had to remain silent, calm, composed.

He turned his gaze toward her, his eyes narrowing with something like amusement. “You’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his voice a mixture of curiosity and danger.

“I’m just tired,” she replied softly, though the truth was far more complicated than that.

Antonio’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Tired? Or are you plotting something, Isabella?” His voice had an edge to it, and she could feel his scrutiny burning into her skin.

“No,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly. “I’m not plotting anything.”

He leaned forward, his face mere inches from hers. His gaze was intense, unwavering, as if daring her to lie.

“I don’t trust you, Isabella,” he murmured. “And I never will.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, but she forced herself to remain calm. She had no choice but to comply. She was nothing to him beyond a tool, a possession, a means to an end.

But in the quiet, hidden corners of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder: how long could she keep pretending? How long before the pain of being trapped in this world—his world—became too much to bear?

---

As the days passed, Isabella continued to play the part of the perfect wife, hiding her true feelings behind a mask of obedience.

But no matter how hard she tried to bury her emotions, they always resurfaced. And the more she interacted with Luca, the more she longed to protect him from the darkness that loomed over their lives.

She had no idea how she would escape this nightmare. But she knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t let Luca fall into the same traps she had. Not if she could help it.

Every day, as she played the role of the dutiful wife to Antonio, she plotted—quietly, in the recesses of her mind—how she would eventually find a way out.