The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Isla sat by the window, her eyes red and swollen from crying. A sliver of sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains, falling on the empty crib where Amara should have been. She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. The thought of Dante holding her daughter, acting as if he had the right after all he’d done, filled her with a mixture of rage and despair.
She couldn’t stay here. Not like this. Not with Dante dictating every moment of her life.
—
A Quiet Determination
That evening, Marco entered the room with a tray of food. He placed it on the small table, his usual stoic demeanor softening as he glanced at Isla.
“You should eat,” he said.
Isla didn’t respond. She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze.
Marco sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “He’s not a monster, you know.”
Her head snapped toward him, anger flaring in her eyes. “Not a monster? He kidnapped me. He stole my daughter.”
Marco hesitated. “He’s trying to make amends.”
Isla laughed bitterly. “You call this making amends? Locking me in here, keeping me away from my child?”
“He’s scared,” Marco said quietly. “Of losing both of you.”
Her voice broke. “He already lost me, Marco. The moment he chose his ego over his family.”
Marco didn’t argue. He turned and left, locking the door behind him.
—
Isla’s Plan
Isla paced the room, her mind racing. She had no allies here, no resources. But she had her determination. She knew she couldn’t stay locked up forever. Dante’s arrogance would be his downfall. He thought he could control her, but he underestimated her resolve.
She sat on the bed, her fingers tracing the edge of the sheet as an idea began to form. Marco wasn’t entirely loyal to Dante, at least not emotionally. She had seen the conflict in his eyes, the way he hesitated before following orders. If she could get through to him, she might have a chance.
“I won’t let him win,” she whispered to herself.
—
Dante’s Struggle
In his study, Dante stared at a glass of whiskey, untouched, on the desk in front of him. The sound of Amara’s soft coos from the baby monitor filled the room. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
Marco entered, his expression unreadable.
“She’s not eating,” Marco reported.
Dante’s jaw clenched. “She’s stubborn.”
“She’s a mother,” Marco corrected.
Dante shot him a sharp look. “Don’t forget your place.”
Marco crossed his arms. “You might want to think about yours, Dante. Locking her up isn’t going to fix this.”
Dante’s voice softened, though his frustration was clear. “What would you have me do? Let her leave? Take Amara and disappear again?”
Marco didn’t answer, and that silence spoke volumes.
—
A Mother’s Sacrifice
The next morning, Isla was sitting by the window when Marco entered again. He placed another tray of food on the table, but this time, he lingered.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he admitted.
Isla looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “Then don’t.”
Marco sighed. “You don’t understand how dangerous it is out there. Dante isn’t just protecting Amara from you. He’s protecting her from the world.”
Her voice was sharp. “The only person Amara needs protection from is him.”
Marco hesitated before speaking again. “He’s not going to let you go.”
Isla stood, her hands trembling but her voice steady. “Then I’ll make him.”
Marco frowned. “What are you planning?”
She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes was enough to make him uneasy.
—
Dante’s Confrontation
Later that evening, Dante entered Isla’s room. He carried Amara in his arms, her tiny fingers gripping his shirt as she babbled happily.
Isla’s heart ached at the sight. She stood, her hands clenched into fists.
“You have no right,” she said, her voice low but full of venom.
Dante placed Amara in the crib before turning to face her. “I’m her father, Isla. I have every right.”
“A father who abandoned her before she was even born?” she shot back. “You don’t deserve her.”
His face hardened. “And you think running away was the right choice? Hiding her from me?”
Isla stepped closer, her voice trembling with rage. “I was protecting her from a man who couldn’t even be bothered to care about us.”
Dante’s voice rose. “I care more than you realize. Everything I’ve done has been for her.”
She laughed bitterly. “Locking me up? Keeping me from my own child? That’s not love, Dante. That’s control.”
He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “You don’t understand the dangers out there, Isla. I’m trying to keep her safe.”
“From what?” she demanded. “From the world? Or from you?”
—
A Silent Standoff
The tension in the room was palpable. Amara stirred in her crib, her soft cries breaking the silence. Isla moved to pick her up, but Dante blocked her path.
“Move,” she said through gritted teeth.
He didn’t budge. “You’re not taking her.”
Her voice broke. “She’s all I have, Dante. Don’t do this to me.”
For a moment, his expression softened. But then he stepped back, his resolve hardening once more.
“You can hate me all you want,” he said quietly. “But I won’t let you take her away again.”
Isla’s heart shattered. She turned away, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “You’ve already taken everything from me.”
—
The Resolve Deepens
That night, Isla sat by the window, watching the stars. She could hear Amara’s soft breathing from the crib, a sound that both comforted and tormented her.
She wiped her tears, her resolve solidifying. She wouldn’t let Dante win. She would find a way to escape, to protect her daughter from the man who claimed to love her but only brought pain.
“I’ll get us out of here,” she whispered to the sleeping baby. “I promise.”
And as the night stretched on, so did her determination. Dante may have thought he’d won, but Isla wasn’t done fighting. Not by a long shot.