Part 21:

A moment later, Tony came out carrying a cake in both hands, a knife balanced on top. Boss, can we finally have a slice of this thing? He set it down in the middle of the table. Across the top, in gold script, it read, “Happy 25th birthday, Isabella.” For a second, nobody moved. Everybody just looked at it. OS reached into the box Tony had left and came up with a candle.

They sent this along with it. Might as well do it right. He pushed the candle into the frosting and lit it. Isabella looked at him, uncertain, caught somewhere she hadn’t expected to be. Os looked back at her and didn’t look away. Isabella made herself break the look. It’d be a nice thing to send the cake over to Miss Ky tonight.

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. I think it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be. They held each other’s eyes across the candle, and there it was, the thing Isabella had been afraid of all night. He knew she was almost certain of it. He had figured out she was Isabella, and he was letting her sit here, not knowing how much he’d seen, or he was testing her, and the cake was the bait, and one wrong flicker on her face would hand him the rest.

She couldn’t tell which, and that was worse than either. Her heart was going so hard she was sure he could read it in her throat. Tony cleared his throat, breaking into the longest look either of them had held all night. So, are we waiting on the birthday girl, or can somebody cut this? Isabella made herself shrug.

I’ve never liked blowing out candles. OS didn’t look away from her. Then don’t. He reached over and pinched the flame out between two fingers, slow like he had all the time in the world. Then he picked up the knife and held it out to her, handle first. Isabella took it, cut into the cake, and started lifting slices onto plates.

The whole time she could feel OS’s eyes on her, steady, never quite leaving. He took a bite of his cream and strawberry. I’ve never had anything gluten-free before. He sounded almost surprised. It’s not half bad. Tony was already on his second slice. Boss, I’m telling you, we should make this cake thing a regular event. Isabella smiled at that.

But her fork was only pushing the cake around her plate. If Aeros Svino had worked out who she really was, then she had a much bigger problem than a birthday she couldn’t claim, and she needed to decide what to do about it. Every time his eyes found hers across the table, she looked back out at the sea because it was easier than holding them.

Then his phone lit up with a video call. Aeros looked at the screen and the smile that crossed his face had nothing warm in it. There he is, the guest we’ve been waiting for, he answered, and Veto Kanti’s face filled the screen, his voice loud enough to carry across the whole terrace. Aeros, it cracked against the stone. I want to see my daughter.

Veto’s face stayed on the screen, the jaw tight under the gray. I’m ready to give you what you asked for. There’s a ship leaving the Bahamas for the New York docks in your name, but I want to see my daughter first. OS smiled. Not what I asked for, Veto. What you stole from me? He let it sit there. And if you want to see your daughter, his eyes drifted off the screen and settled on Isabella.

She was fighting a dozen things at once. Whether to let her father hear her voice, whether to sit still and watch what OS did next, she kept quiet because quiet was the only move she trusted. His gaze came back to the phone. I’ll show you right now. He tapped the screen and spoke to whoever picked up. Put Miss Conte on.

Anita’s face came up on the call. Isabella held her breath and listened. There. OS leaned back. Father and daughter, you’ve got 20 seconds. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Anita found her voice. I’m fine, Papa. Don’t worry about me. Veto leaned in close to his own camera, and the words came careful, measured, the way a man sets a glass down where it won’t tip.

Are they treating you both well? Has anyone hurt either of you? Anita’s answer caught for half a second. No, I’m in an apartment, but Anita isn’t. Eris cut the line. He turned back to Veto. You saw her. She’s fine. But if that ship isn’t in the harbor in 3 days, or you so much as think about sending men onto this island, your daughter dies. Isabella’s blood ran cold.

He couldn’t actually do that, could he? When Veto spoke again, it was the voice of a man pressing down on something with both hands. OS, this is between you and me. You don’t drag women into it. That’s beneath a man. Aos took a sip of his wine. You’re right. He set the glass down without a sound. Which is why Isabella is going to be mine.

On paper, she’ll die for you. In every way that counts. She’ll be my wife, and you will never see her again. His thumb moved once over the rim of the glass. Good night, Veto. Eeros, wait. Something moved under the older man’s voice. Wait, where’s the girl who works for her? The assistant. Oos tipped his head a fraction.

Since when do you keep such a close count of the help? Veto. Across the table. Isabella had gone white. Os looked straight at her then, and he kept looking at her while he spoke. Anita is with me. She serves in my house. Isabella’s chin came up. Whatever she felt, the fire of it reached her eyes before she could stop it, and the sight of it pulled a slow smile out of him.

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