Of volume lineage

XXVII

Isabella

The car came to a stop, and I woke up suddenly. My face was flushed against the cool window, my cheeks sticky from crying. Aches and pains resonated all over my limbs, and I gave a big stretch.

“Why did we stop?” I asked groggily.

Gustavo had gone very still in the driver’s seat.

“Gust–”

“GET DOWN!”

I threw myself down onto the leather seats, heart leaping in my throat. Gunshots sounded all around me, and the back window shattered, glass blowing over me.

I let out a scream.

There was no way I was dying here.

I dragged my legs up, tucking myself under the door. Voices shouted and boomed, my bodyguards in the mix. The gunshots sounded like hail against the bo

Gustavo lunged out the car and–

My bodyguard hit the side of the car, blood spurting over his window. A scream clawed its way up my throat. God, not Gustavo. Please not Gustavo–

Silence.

It felt so quiet so quickly I thought I had lost my hearing. But then the soft murmur of masculine voices grew louder and louder.

I crawled over the backseat, shoving open the door. With little grace, I fell onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. Gravel dug into my exposed knees and palms, but I shoved down the discomfort. I had no idea where I was but I knew I didn’t want to head in the direction of the bullets–

“Ah, principessa.”

A hand grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me to my feet. I let out a howl, scratching and clawing.

“Not falling for that this time,” laughed the man. “Now, take a deep breath for me.”

“Go fuck yourself–!”

He shoved a cloth over my mouth, the smell of nail polish remover overwhelming my senses. I clawed and struggled–

Darkness took me fast, dropping into me like a brick.

The zip ties dug into my wrists.

My soft skin didn’t share my sentiments of being created and forged from iron. No, beneath the pressure, my skin split like a soft peach, summoning blood and pain to the surface.

But that was the least of my worries.

They had trapped me in the back of a truck, which was rotten with dried blood and moulding in each corner. I couldn’t see very well but the smells told me all I needed to know–this was transport.

And I was being delivered to my death.

I struggled against the restraints, but each movement summoned a new feeling of pain. My arms ached, my ribs were bruised, my stomach hollow. Stinging and throbbing sensations seemed to cling to me with the same pressure as my dress and shoes, settling on me like another outfit.

With a heave, I resigned and leaned against the wall behind me. The vibrations of the car driving rumbled through my bones, chattering my teeth.

I chanted my identity to myself, a vain attempt to stop myself from going crazy.

Second daughter.

I was Isabella Geltrude Vigliano, born Lombardi. I was the daughter of Vitale and Maria Lombardi. I was the younger sister of Vitale Junior and…and Isabella Lombardi. My sister died when she was seven; I am her replacement.

Second mother.

I was the stepmother to Marzia Ines Vigliano. I took her to the museum and listened to her talk dreamily about history.

Second wife.

I was the wife of Giova

I…loved him very much.

I love him very much.

Even if he wanted me dead.

The truck rolled to a stop. Voices boomed outside, and they grew closer and closer. The lock shook as it was opened, and a stream of sunlight came soaring into the once dark space.

“It’s time.” One of my captors said.

It’s time.

I was pulled out of the van and dragged to my feet. I shoved at my captors, still groggy and slow from the chloroform. “Fucking assholes,” I hissed.

“That’s enough, Isabella.”

I snapped my head to the side. Mother and Father were waiting for me, arms wrapped around each other. They looked like a charming old married couple waving to their children from the driveaway as they drove away.

I thought I had no more tears to cry but I was wrong. Another sob welled up in my chest.

Mother stepped forward, reaching out. I let her wrap an arm around my shoulders, her touch almost making me nauseous. She pressed a delicate kiss on my cheek.

“We’re proud of you, Isabella,” Father said.

I stared at him. “You’re…?”

“We’re proud of you,” Mother repeated. “It was a lot to ask of you and you did better than any of our other spies.”

“I…” The world was spi

Father squeezed my shoulder. It was the most affection he had ever shown me.

The child who lived inside of me preened at the attention. No longer was I waiting by the playground for my mother to show up, but now I was being hugged and complimented by the people I had once loved the most.

Maybe I had died, I thought, and now I am in some strange dream before my soul entered Heaven.

Maybe this was Heaven.

It can’t be, I told myself. Giova