Chapter 3: The Club of Fear

The Russo Mansion was quiet now, but Isabella's heart wouldn't stop beating fast. She sat on the very cold, hard floor of the dark room. Her white dress was dirty and torn, sticking to her skin from the rain and her dad's blood. Her arm hurt bad where Dante had grabbed her, her bruises kept increasing. Her stomach made sounds, so empty it made her dizzy. She hadn't eaten all day, and her throat was dry caused she cried alot. The tiny light above her kept shaking. She hugged herself, shivering, so cold her fingers felt like it was dead. She was hungry, hurt, and scared and locked away.

The door banged open, so loud, making her jump. Dante stood there, big and mean, his gray eyes sharp like knives. His black suit was still wet, his scar ugly in the dim light. "Get up," he said, his voice hard. "We're going somewhere."

Isabella shook her head, scooting back. "No! Please, let me go!" she begged, tears starting again. Her voice was small, shaky, breaking apart.

He didn't listen. He stomped in, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up fast. She yelped, pain shooting through her bruise, her feet slipping on the floor. "I said move!" he yelled, yanking her out the door. She fell, crying loud, her bare feet cold on the floor. He dragged her up the stairs, so rough she fell and banged her knee. "Ow!" she cried, but he kept going, like she was nothing.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but it was still drizzling a little. Dante pushed her into his big black car and shut the door sounding so loud. She fell across the seat, her hands shaking. Marco was already inside, grinning like it was funny. "Looking rough, princess," he said, starting the car. Isabella curled up, sobbing quiet now, too tired to fight. Her stomach hurt worse, her head aching. She just wanted food, warmth, anything—but all she got was more fear.

The car sped off, zooming through New Verona's dark streets. Lights flashed by, bright making her eyes hurt. Dante sat in front, looking ahead of him, his gun on his lap and his hands holding it. "Where are we going?" she whispered, so soft he didn't hear. Or maybe he didn't care.

They stopped at a big building with a loud sign—Club Inferno. Music playing loudly. People laughed and shouted outside, dressed fancy, not seeing her tears. Dante got out, forced her door open, and pulled her out fast. She fell, falling to her knees on the hard ground, scraping them bloody. "Up!" he commanded, grabbing her hair this time. She screamed loud, as he pulled her to her feet. Her scalp burned, tears falling from her eyes.

Inside, the club was noisy, full of people dancing and drinking. Lights flashed red and blue, making her feel so dizzy. The air smelled like sweat and sweet drinks, loud music shaking the floor. Dante dragged her through the crowd, his hand tight on her arm. People stared, some laughing, pointing at her dirty dress and bloody knees. "Look at her!" a woman giggled loudly. Isabella's face went red, her tummy twisting with shame. She wanted to hide, but Dante wouldn't let her.

He pushed her to a big round table in the back, where his men sat—tough guys with guns and scary faces. "Sit," he said, forcing her into a chair. She hit it hard, her back aching, and her body shaking. The men laughed. "Cute toy, boss," one said, showing yellow teeth. Isabella cried quiet, tears dripping on her lap. She felt like a mouse in a cage of cats.

Dante stood over her, tall and dark. "You're here to learn," he said, loud over the music. "Your dad's gone. You're mine now. Everyone sees it." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up. His fingers dug in, hurting her jaw, and she was too scared to pull away.

Then he pulled her up again, fast. "Dance," he said, dragging her to the dance floor. She shook her head, crying, "No, please!" but he didn't care. He dragged her close, his hands hard on her waist, making her dance with him. The music was loud, fast, and she fell, her feet felt unsteady. People watched, laughing more, clapping like it was a show. Her legs shook, her stomach so empty she felt sick. His grip hurt, bruising her sides, and she cried loud, tears mixing with sweat. "Stop!" she begged, but he spun her harder, his face cold.

A man pushed through the crowd—tall, with black hair and sneaky eyes. He wore a red suit. "Dante," he said, smiling fake. "Nice catch." His name was Enzo, a bad guy who worked with other gangs. Dante stopped dancing, glaring at him. "What do you want?" he asked him immediately, still holding Isabella tight.

Enzo leaned close, whispering so only she heard, "Your dad didn't do it alone, kid. Someone else pulled strings." Her eyes got big—what? Before she could think, he slipped away, gone in the crowd. Her heart banged fast—who was he? Was it true?

Dante didn't notice. He dragged her back to the table, throwing her into the chair again. She hit it hard, her elbow hitting hard on the edge, and cried out, holding her arm. "Stay there," he shouted, turning to talk to his men. She sat, shaking, her head spinning with Enzo's words. Her dad tricked? By who? She was so hungry, so sore, every part of her hurt.

Then—bang! A loud noise, like a gun. People screamed, running fast. Dante spun, pulling his gun out, yelling, "What's that?" Another bang—closer now—glass breaking somewhere. The lights shook, the music stopping immediately. Isabella bent under the table, crying loud, her hands over her ears. "No, no, no!" she sobbed, so scared she couldn't breathe. Bullets flew—hitting walls, making sparks. Dante grabbed her arm, dragging her up hard. "Move!" he shouted, pulling her through the chaos.

People ran everywhere, screaming and falling. A man dropped near her, blood on his shirt, and she screamed louder. Dante dragged her to the door, his grip bruising her again. Her knees bled more, her feet rubbing against the wet floor. Outside, the cold air hit her, and she saw the car. Marco was waving and yelling, "Hurry!" Then they heard loud gunshots, very close, hitting the ground.

Dante threw her into the car, slamming the door. She fell hard, hitting her head on the seat, and cried out, she felt dizzy and scared at the same time. Marco sped off, as bullets hit the car—Isabella bent her body, sobbing, her whole body shaking. Her dress was a mess, her skin bruised and filled with blood, her stomach making sounds that showed she was very hungry. She was a wreck.