Flashback continues.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
They danced on the deck, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Their eyes never left each other's, the connection between them palpable.
"Thank you," Isabella murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "For all of you have done for me, Vincente. "
Vincent's gaze flicked to hers, his expression softening. "It's nothing," he said, his voice low and gruff. "You deserve the world."
The partygoers were a sea of masked faces, all eager to get a glimpse of the infamous Vincente Castellanos.
"Don Vincente, you've outdone yourself," said a portly man with a silver-trimmed mask, his voice jovial.
Vincent's grip tightened on Isabella's hand, but his smile remained fixed. "Thank you, Mr. Petrov," he replied, his tone smooth as silk. "Please, enjoy the festivities."
As the man retreated, a young man in a black mask, his gaze lingering on Isabella when some ladies approached her and started small talls and Vincente went to talk to some of the other important male guests and that man stared at Isabella with a hungry stare.
Vincent's eyes narrowed as he scanned the yacht while conversing, and he felt the familiar heat of rage coil in his gut.
Without a word, he strode across the deck, his movements swift and silent.
He grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him away from Isabella.
The man's mask fell to the ground, revealing the smug smile of a man who had clearly overstepped his bounds which turned into fearful face.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vincente's voice was a low growl, his eyes cold and deadly.
The man in the black mask, revealed to be a young man in his late twenties, stuttered a response, his eyes darting nervously to the group of ladies that had been surrounding Isabellanow looking at the scene in confusion. "I-I was just... looking.." he stuttered in fear.
Vincent's grip tightened, cutting off his words. "Looking at what?" he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You know who she is."
Everyone at the yacht gathered at scene looking scared and concerned.
They knew if the don gets someone in his sight, that person's fate is decided and it's not good at all.
"I... I didn't mean any disrespect," the young man stuttered, his eyes flicking between Isabella's horrified expression and the steel grip around his throat.
Vincent's smile grew colder, more menacing. "You know the rules," he hissed. "You don't look at what's not yours."
Isabella tried to interject, her hand on Vincente's arm. "Vincent, please," she pleaded, her eyes wide with fear.
The man's eyes grew wider with terror as he realized who he'd angered. "I'm sorry, Don Castellanos," he croaked, his voice barely audible above the music. "I didn't know she was your... I didn't mean..."
Vincent's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "My what?" he demanded, his voice a deadly whisper.
The man's eyes flicked to Isabella who looked scared and worried, who was now standing next to vincent, her hand on Vincent's forearm.
No one dared to say a word against Vincent. They all knew his temperament and his possessiveness.
Then he called his men to take him hostage he will deal with them very soon, the young man's eyes went wide with terror and he nodded frantically. " leave the yacht and take him in the cell, ," Vincente ordered, his voice loud and clear.
The man was dragged away, his protests fading into the background noise of the party.
Vincente looked at the leader of dragon gang Mr. Black, who was standing among his men but he looked down and apologised to Vincente the mafia leader due to his men's shameful behaviour.
"Don, I am sorry for the misconduct of my man," Mr. Black said, his voice laced with a hint of genuine regret.
"Your apology is noted, but insufficient," Vincente said, his tone icy. "This will be the last time anyone will ever look at whats mine. " warned everyone in this yacht.
Mr. Black nodded gravely. "Understood, Don Castellanos. It won't happen again."
Vincent's gaze swept over the gathered crowd, a silent message that his tolerance had limits.
He turned back to Isabella, his expression hard. "Let's leave. The party is over" he announced coldly taking her hand and leading her back to the limousine.
Isabella nodded, her heart racing as she followed him.
She knew the look in his eyes, the one that promised something very bad.
It was a look she'd seen before, during his business meetings and dealings. But it was never directed at her, and it sent a shiver of fear down her spine.
They got to their mansion.
Vincente draged Isabella inside their bedroom, his grip on her arm tight, his eyes blazing.
"Vincent, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling.
He didn't answer, just slammed the door shut with a finality that echoed through the room.
She could feel the anger radiating off him in waves, like the heat from a bonfire.
He threw her on the bed, the plush comforter doing little to cushion the impact of his aggression.
"Did I not tell you to not wear revealing dresses?" he barked, his eyes like ice.
Isabella stared up at him, her heart racing. She hadn't expected this. "Vincent, I-I didn't mean to upset you," she stammered, trying to sit up.
"You didn't mean to?" He repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You didn't mean to wear that dress that shows off every inch of your body? You didn't mean to let that pig look at you like you're some kind of whore?"
Isabella's eyes filled with tears, and she trembled under his furious gaze.
She had never seen him like this before, his eyes so cold, his voice so harsh. "Vincent, please," she whispered.
But he was beyond listening. He stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door so hard the chandelier above the bed swayed precariously.
She heard his footsteps echo down the hallway, the sound of his anger resonating through the marble floors.
Vincent's rage was a living, breathing entity, a creature that fed on his darkest thoughts and desires.
He didn't bother to look back at Isabella, his mind too consumed by the anger that roiled within him.
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