Chapter 4

Cue headache.

Add in one additional throbbing pussy.

They harmonized together, creating the perfect duet of a very miserable female. It took all of Isabella's strength to not curse out all beings named Cyllen and perk herself up Sunday afternoon for Mama's monotonous family dinner. They had been holding these feasts for as long as she could remember. It didn't matter what you were doing, where you were at, what excuse you had- if it was the Lord's day, you had better suck it up and take a seat at the formal dining room table.

So that's where she found herself at two o'clock sharp.

While Mama, or Renee De Luca as the public knew her, ran around the extravagant marble furnished kitchen cooking Osso Buco with red wine, Isabella listened to the indistinct ramblings of her father. Stephan De Luca was best known for being the biggest con artist of their generation. He had managed to allegedly swindle approximately seven hundred million dollars from the U.S. government. It couldn't be proven of course, hence the fact that he was currently seated across from her, but the former politician had been embezzling money from his Senate position by blackmailing other officials, mainly the treasurer. He was a rigid Italian man, from his dark eyes and hair to his stiff posture; basically, he was the type of person you didn't fuck with. But he had one soft spot, and that of course, was reserved for his beloved children.

After meeting her college drop-out mother in a bar late one night, he had claimed her as his own and they married within six months. Not even a year later, came the birth of her eldest sister, Kristiana. Shortly after, her brother Roberto entered the world; he was just a year and three months younger than she was. Isabella, however, was what one would call the accidental baby, conceived six years later following a trivial argument and a bottle of whiskey.

Isabella was the golden child, not pursuing Roberto's career choice as an attorney, or trailing behind Kristiana's profession as a chef in the White House, to our Commander in Chief. No, instead she had inherited her father's ruthless tenacity and had worked her up to become the top hustler this side of the east coast. The name De Luca got her places, and held her there for fear of her father alone. She knew how a few residents in the community perceived her; she was basically a pimp, whoring out the innocent citizens of Washington. What they failed to understand was that she could not be successful without buyers. She gave them ass, and like a flock shadowing their shepherd, they pulled out their credit cards in rapid fashion, not giving a damn.

So at the end of the day, Isabella believed she held a clear conscience.

I don't give a damn, either.

As her family gathered around the table to say grace, Papa looked at his youngest with concern.

"Bella," he began, in his somehow false, but rich Italian accent. "What's wrong?"

She grimaced, knowing her father was the only one she would ever allow to call her Bella. Or the fact that he liked to throw his faint knowledge of Italian language into her face.

No, Papa, our great-great-great-great ancestors are from Italy.

You, and the wrinkly old hag otherwise known as grandmother, are not.

Nonni was currently sleeping upstairs, probably succumbed to the elements of narcotic drugs and hard liquor. Isabella tried not to bother her when possible. Unlike her parents, she didn't exactly approve of her livelihood. Quite the hypocrite if you were ask her, considering she didn't mind living in her parent's illegally obtained multimillion dollar mansion. Isabella had to constantly remind herself not to stuff those designer pillows up grandmother's ass.

"No, Papa," she answered smoothly. "I'm fine. Work is draining, you know."

"Ahhh, Bella," he said, running his fingers through her hair like he did when she was a child. "You work too much. You need to take some time off."

Mama settled into her chair, looking ever so proper, making sure every detail of the meal and decorum was perfect. Roberto nodded in agreement as Kristiana snickered.

Jealous bitch.

Isabella loved her siblings dearly, but resembled neither one of them. They both took after her mother, dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, thicker figures, while Isabella was her father's child. Her long dark hair and thin features were reflections of his own. Roberto was the charming big brother she had always looked up to, but Kristiana, while Isabella knew she loved her, was always on her ass for something.

She needs a good fucking, Isabella thought darkly.

"Thanks for your concern, Kristiana," she answered bitterly, remarking at her laughter.

"No problem, little sis," Kristiana mock smiled, her expression imitating a cat in heat. "Must be hard having other people fuck to make you money."

"Must be hard being a fat ass that no one wants," Isabella retorted, hitting her sibling where it hurt the most. She knew her demanding job kept her so busy that she was didn't have the time to date, much less find a husband, but Kristiana thought it was because of her curvier body. Isabella preyed on her weakness whenever she could.

"Enough!" Mama said sternly, but calmly. "Let's say grace and eat."

Kristiana appeared to be on the verge of tears, Roberto looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here, and Papa winked at Isabella while patting her hand.

Once a favorite, always a favorite.

The family all grasped hands at the far right end of the long, oval shaped table, and bowed their heads. Papa prayed, and in spite of who he was and all the wicked he had done in his lifetime, he constantly believed that his sins would be pardoned because he attended church every Sunday. Isabella didn't exactly hold the same thoughts, but she wasn't one to judge. She needed all the prayer she could get.

"Amen!" they all ended in unison and passed the dishes of food around. The room was filled with the sounds of chewing wine glasses clinking.

Papa made sure Isabella's business was still on the up-and-up, asking her if she needed any financial assistance. As usual, Isabella turned him down. While her company was, er, questionable, Papa never belittled her choices. In fact, he was delighted when she began her venture into the corporate domain. At the end of the day, De Luca was renowned, and that's all that mattered.

"In life you will be mocked and ridiculed, Bella," he always told her. "But in death, you will triumph as a legend."

Isabella never truly grasped the concept of his lectures, usually nodding as if she comprehended his delusions. She wasn't sure if that's how she wanted to die, her tombstone reading the quotes of lies she had never lived. However, Isabella promised she would accomplish anything that made her family proud. Honor, on the other hand, was a whole different story.

After dinner, and a rejection from Mama to help clean up the dishes, Isabella made her way through the house to sit outside on the patio area. Their estate was on an incredible one hundred and fifty acres, spread across the elite properties that lay unknown to most in the city. It hosted eleven bedrooms, nine bedrooms, high vaulted ceilings, and enough furniture that cost more than what third world countries produced.

The accommodation of a small hangar lay outside the left, which had a mile long runway, most needed for her father's shady business travels, and he wouldn't have to deal with the public airports and security. Their entire property lay surrounded by iron gates, etched with the family name, at the entrance to protect the people within. The outside decorum was influenced by a formal Chateau feature, designed to bring a sense of vacation aura to the Metropolitan area in which we lived. The front held extensive hand carved pillars and when walking towards the back, was bordered by several swimming pools, and recreation courts next to a French Victorian courtyard.

All in all, it was lavishly excessive.

But her father made no apologies for his lifestyle, the way he wiped his ass with hundred dollar bills. If it wasn't for her mother having breasts, Isabella would swear he would have married money. It drove him to be the merciless man that he was today. He excluded power from just the way he stood; the words that left his mouth just confirmed his no-bullshit attitude.

Isabella lay under the gazebo with a glass of wine in her hand, its content rebelling against her migraine headache. As soon as she felt the lips kiss her forehead, she knew it was her brother joining her as the sky welcomed the night in the distance.

The cool summer temperatures caused her to shudder, and Roberto covered her with his expensive suit jacket.

"A penny for your thoughts, sorella," he said slyly, a grin twitching on the edge of his mouth.

Isabella kept her eyes closed, and chuckled inwardly at his use of Italian for the word, sister. Even though he was the highest paid attorney in the area, he had quite the jokester personality to him, and Isabella knew she could always count on him to make her laugh.

"Ahh, it will cost you much more than that," she countered back.

"Too rich for my blood," he snickered, giving way to defeat. "What's wrong with you tonight? You seem…distracted."

She dismissed his claims and shook her head. Isabella was about to reply when her cellular phone rang on the glass table beside her.

She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.

"Who is that?" Roberto asked, his eyes scrunching in concern. While he would never care to know the details of his sister's life, he was always watching out for her wellbeing.

"One of my whores," she answered indifferently.

"It's not nice to call Emmett that," he jested. "You know we consider him one of the family."

Her gaze settled on the sprawling grass surrounding them, taking in the botanical gardens. "No, it's not Emmett. It's the newbie I mentioned earlier."

Roberto continued to pierce her with his eyes until she continued. "His name is Edward Cyllen. Fucker can't take a hint."

Her brother gave her a look that resembled disgust.

"Cyllen?" he asked, the sound seeming to saturate his tongue with revulsion.

"You know him?" Isabella sat up straighter; surprised that he may be acquainted with the man who was the source of her migraine.

"You sure do know how to pick 'em," Roberto responded cryptically. "His family is trash, Isabella. His father is Carlisle Cyllen. The Carlisle Cyllen."

Isabella kept the puzzled expression on her face until he explained. "Dammit, do you ever hear anything that doesn't have to do with you?"

She curled back, surprised at her sibling's unusual harsh tone. He immediately began his apologies. "Sorry. Isabella, listen. You can't just let any ragdoll off the street into your business. Carlisle is the asshole that turned Papa in. Remember? We were standing on the steps outside the courthouse and the police are dragging out the guy with blonde hair with green eyes? Never mind, you were too young to remember what was going on…"

Isabella tried unsuccessfully to bring that image back into her subconscious. Unfortunately, she was just twelve years old when the trial for her father began. All she could recall was that her Papa was facing a possible life sentence in prison. The details themselves were too fuzzy.

"Mr. Cyllen, former assistant to the treasurer, wanted in, to be a part of Papa's embezzlement scheme. Of course, you know that wasn't going to fly. Papa turned him down, and in return, Carlisle turned him into the police. But that asshat had stolen a small portion of cash for himself. He hadn't covered up his tracks, so he was found guilty when our father wasn't. He hadn't pocketed too much, just a few hundred thousand dollars, but it was enough that he served time in prison. I believe he got out recently, within the past year or two. I hear his family lost everything, and they are living on the shitty side of town. Uggh," he finished, with a sickening tremor running through his body.

Isabella let the information soak in, not seeing what his son had to do with his father's failings. Roberto noticed her hesitance and answered for her.

"Isabella, you run a fucking illegal business and you employed a person whose relatives betrayed our own. Like father, like son. Once a rat, always a rat. When Papa finds out you're mingling with those lowlifes, don't come crying to me when he hands you your ass on a silver platter."

Isabella took a sip of wine and set it feebly back onto the glass setting. "Cyllen wouldn't do that. He's my whore, he's the one doing more criminal activity than I am."

Roberto clicked his tongue, and rose up to leave. "It's your choice, Isabella. I think it's a stupid one, but it's yours nonetheless. His father was a foolish, greedy man. Just don't give that Edward kid a reason to fuck you over. Everyone always has a motive, whether its money, sex, power, revenge…something. He's scum, just like his family. It's one thing to be a con, like Papa. He didn't just get that shit overnight. He paid his dues to society. It's another to be a vampire, sucking the life out of others. Cyllen is a leech. Plain and simple. "

As Roberto left the gazebo, Isabella thought about the funds that were now emptied out of her bank account to pay Edward.

Just don't give that Edward kid a reason to fuck you over.

Too late, she reminisced.

I already did.