Chapter 30

LEVI'S POV

My plan had been straightforward: get there and kill him. Anything to keep him away from her. Why was Isabella smiling so widely at him? What were they even talking about, and who was he to her? And where had they even met?

"Good afternoon, boss," Franco greeted me as I got to the counter. It took all my strength to maintain composure. Isabella stood right beside him, her gaze fixed on me with those wide, captivating eyes.

"Good afternoon, Sir," Isabella greeted, her voice steady and composed. Did she have any clue how I felt? How did seeing her with another guy drive me crazy? Could she detect the turmoil beneath my calm exterior, the jealousy simmering just below the surface?

No, probably not. She appeared completely unfazed by my presence, her manner cool and professional. It seemed like I was the only one fighting with these intense emotions, while she glided through the Cafe with an infectious carefreeness.

She started to insert her card again into the machine, but I couldn't resist. I reached out and gently caught her hand. The moment our skin touched, a jolt shot through me, as if an electric current had passed between us. "I'll handle it," I told her quietly.

Isabella blinked in surprise, her expression softening with a hint of confusion. Franco shifted awkwardly beside her, sensing the tension but unsure of its source.

I released Isabella's hand reluctantly, my mind racing with a thousand unspoken questions. Franco was a colleague, yes, but his interactions with Isabella from what I’ve watched were too friendly and I needed it to stop.

They seemed too comfortable with each other, too familiar. It bothered me more than I cared to admit. I could barely breathe.

"Is there something you need, Sir?" Isabella asked, her voice gentle but tinged with concern.

I shook my head, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "No, nothing. Just making sure everything's on track for the upcoming event." I replied, taking back my card after the transaction went through.

"Thank you, Sir, for the coffee," Isabella said, her voice soft yet carrying an undertone of something I couldn't quite place. I watched her lips move, mesmerized despite myself.

"Thank you, Sir," Franco echoed, his tone slightly more formal. I nodded to both of them, acknowledging their gratitude, and reached for the coffee waiting for me.

Without hesitating, I turned away, my eyes deliberately not lingering too long on Isabella. I couldn't afford to lose my composure, not now, not when the sight of her smiling at Franco threatened to make me mad.

Clutching the steaming cup tightly, I made my way towards the hotel lobby. The Espresso Blend in my hand was scalding, and as I tightened my grip, hot liquid seeped through the cup's lid, scorching my wrist. But I couldn’t stop clutching it in anger!

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, more frustrated than I cared to admit. Why did seeing them together affect me like this? What did Franco have that I didn't? And why was Isabella's demeanor around him so different? So carefree?

She’s always scared when she’s with me. Unable to breathe. Is it because of her sexual fantasies? Does she still fantasize about me after that night? Had I been too rough on her?

Fuck!

As I entered the hotel, the pain in my wrist dulled, replaced by a deeper ache in my chest. It wasn't just jealousy; it was a gnawing fear that I was losing something precious.

The evening sun filtered through the lobby's windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor as I entered the elevator, heading straight to my room. When I finally reached it, I sank into a plush armchair by the bed, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Images of Isabella and Franco together flashed in my mind, stirring a mix of emotions I struggled to untangle.

I couldn't help but replay their interactions. The way she looked at him with a warmth that felt like a dagger twisting in my gut. The easy banter between them hinted at a familiarity I hadn't noticed before. Questions swirled in my mind like a storm, demanding answers I wasn't sure I was ready to hear.

Did they just meet?

Or have they been dating and I didn’t know?

Does she call him master too? No no! That would break me.

Was Isabella already prepared to move on from me? From Mr. L and Levi?

Was she trying to make me jealous?

Or was she setting boundaries for us?

I had to ensure Isabella didn't interact with anyone else on this trip.

Taking a sip of the now lukewarm coffee, I closed my eyes briefly, trying to steady my racing heart. Whatever was happening between Isabella and Franco, I needed to end it.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Mark's number. "What room number is Isabella in?" I asked tersely.

"Sir, Room 4022," Mark replied promptly.

"Alright." I hung up without another word. No one could know how I truly felt about her.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What was my next move?

A text from Elena interrupted my thoughts.

Elena: Hey handsome, call me when you see this.

I had been avoiding Elena's calls, hoping she'd take the hint, but right now, with my mind consumed by Isabella, it seemed inconsequential.

I tossed the phone aside and closed my eyes, trying to formulate a plan. The hotel room felt stifling, the air thick with unanswered questions and unspoken emotions.

Pulling myself up, I reached for my laptop. Perhaps a distraction would help clear my mind. But every attempt to focus on work led my thoughts back to Isabella, her presence overshadowing everything else.

Frustration gnawed at me. I couldn't afford to let this affect my performance, not when so much was at stake. Yet, every time I closed my eyes, I saw Isabella's face, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she talked to Franco.

It left me teetering on the edge of rash action. A surge of jealousy, potent and unchecked, threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't afford to lose control, but the thought of Isabella with another man ignited a dangerous fire within me. A jealous and powerful man is to be feared and it is what I am now.

I called Mark, my voice tight with urgency. "What floor is Isabella on?"

"8th floor, sir," Mark responded promptly.

"Who's with her?" I demanded, my heart pounding with anxiety.

"Members of the pit crew, including Franco, Mr…," Mark answered cautiously.

Franco. The mere mention of his name sent a wave of possessiveness and fury through me. "Clear the floor," I instructed sharply.

"Sir, that would disrupt our operations," Mark protested, his voice hesitant. “There have been plans…”

"I don't care. Make it happen," I insisted, my tone leaving no room for argument.

I ended the call abruptly, my mind swirling with dark thoughts. If I caught Franco—or anyone else—near Isabella, there would be consequences. Mark had better make it happen or he would be the first I’ll ruin.