Adrian POV

The man knelt before me, trembling, his forehead slick with sweat despite the chill of the warehouse. Gasoline fumes mixed with the coppery tang of blood, clinging to the air like a curse.

I stared down at him, my gun heavy but steady in my hand. He couldn't even look at me-his eyes darted to the ground, to the shadows, anywhere but at the man who held his life in his hands.

"You thought you could steal from me," I said, my voice low, smooth. No anger, no heat. Anger was for men who lacked control. "From me."

He babbled something, words tripping over each other. Excuses. Pleas. Lies.

I didn't let him finish.

The shot cracked like thunder, echoing off the metal walls. His body collapsed sideways, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the concrete. My men didn't flinch. They never did. This was routine.

I handed the gun to Marco without looking at him. My consigliere wiped it clean, efficient as always.

"Clean it up," I said. My tone was calm, but final. "And let it be known-betrayal earns only one reward."

Two men dragged the body away. The rest scattered to handle the mess. I buttoned my coat and stepped into the night air, the cold biting my skin. Out here, beneath the shadowed sky, power didn't just feel like mine-it was mine.

Still, it wasn't enough. Power never was.

The black car waited, engine purring softly. I slid into the back seat, the leather cool against my palms. Marco was already there, a file resting on his lap. He passed it to me.

"Romano made an offer," he said.

I arched a brow, flipping the folder open. Giovanni Romano. The man who fancied himself untouchable. Inside were the expected details-numbers, contracts, promises. And at the center of it all, a photograph.

A young woman.

Giovanni's daughter.

The picture was a candid shot. She was leaving a university building, books in her arms, her hair tumbling over her shoulder. She wasn't looking at the camera. Her expression was soft, unaware.

I studied her for exactly three seconds before closing the file with a snap.

"And what does he want in return?" I asked.

"Marriage," Marco said. His voice was steady, but I caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He wants you to take his daughter as your wife."

I leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the closed folder. Marriage. A chain disguised as an alliance.

I wasn't a man who believed in love. Love was weakness. Attachment. A liability. My mother's death had taught me that much. Affection only gave people weapons to use against you.

But marriage as business? That was different.

"What do we gain?" I asked.

"Romano's shipping ports. Political favors. Consolidated control of the East Side. The alliance would make you untouchable."

I considered it in silence. Giovanni thought he was playing a clever game, offering his daughter like a pawn. What he didn't realize was that pawns, once moved, never left the board.

"I don't care who she is," I said at last. "If taking her gets me what I want, then it's done."

Marco nodded once, satisfied.

I reached for the glass of bourbon waiting beside me, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the city lights. I swirled it once, watching the way it clung to the glass before slipping back down.

"She'll be mine," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. Not with warmth. Not with desire. With possession. With inevitability.

And through her, so would everything her father thought belonged to him.

I took a slow sip of the bourbon, the burn sharp on my tongue, and allowed myself the smallest curve of a smile.

Power. That was all that mattered.

And this marriage was the next step to owning it all.

Chapter 3

Isabella's POV

My father's voice carried down the hallway, sharp and commanding, even before I reached the dining room. He had been on edge all day, barking orders at the staff, ensuring every corner of the house gleamed like a shrine.

When he finally summoned me, his expression was carved from stone.

"Tonight is important, Isabella," he said, his dark eyes drilling into mine. "Adrian Moretti is coming. We will be discussing business. You will be present. You will be silent. And you will look the part."

My stomach tightened. The name alone was enough to steal my breath. Adrian Moretti. The Don whispered about in the same tone as death itself.

I opened my mouth, but my father cut me off with a glare. "No arguments. Go. Dress appropriately. Elegant. Refined. You'll make a good impression."

I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing my voice into a steady tone. "Why does it matter what I wear?"

"Because he is an important man," my father snapped. "And important men expect respect."

Important. That word was just another mask for dangerous.

When I turned away, my mother was waiting at the base of the stairs, her hands wringing the silk of her robe. Her eyes softened when she saw me, and she reached out as if she could take some of the weight from my shoulders.

"Come," she said gently. "I'll help you get ready."

In my room, she chose a dress from my wardrobe-a deep emerald green that clung to my figure without being indecent. The fabric shimmered under the light, elegant but strong. She smoothed the shoulders with delicate fingers, her touch lingering longer than necessary.

"You look beautiful," she whispered. "Remember, strength is in how you carry yourself. Do not let him see fear."

Her words echoed the same warning she'd given me my whole life, but tonight they felt heavier.

By the time the sound of engines rumbled outside, my heart was beating hard against my ribs. I entered Papa's office with my father at my side, my mother trailing behind us.

Twenty minutes, and he is still not here.

So here we are sitting in Papa's office waiting for the old man who obviously couldn't tell time to meet me.

"Papa...." i was cut off by a guard.

" Don Moretti is coming"

Papa instantly got up to fix himself which i scoff to.

I closed my eyes until i heard the door open.

Adrian Moretti stepped inside, the air shifting with him. He was taller than I expected, his presence filling the space like a storm. His suit was black, tailored to perfection, his dark hair slicked back. His eyes-sharp, piercing-swept the room before landing on me.

He was deadly handsome and sexy, i'd give you that, which was not what i expected.

His sculpted body allowed me to see his muscles bulging from that undershirt.

I gulped without realising it.

His facial expression serious. Not even a slight smile.

For one long, unbearable moment, he stared. Not like a man admiring a woman, but like a predator measuring prey. Cold. Possessive. Certain.

My breath caught, though I forced my chin up, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze.

Then, just as quickly, his attention flicked away, dismissing me entirely as he greeted my father.

"Giovanni," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "Let's not waste time."

I stood silently, just as ordered, but every nerve in my body burned.

This was the man I was meant to marry.

And he hadn't even looked at me as if I were human.

The dining room had never felt so suffocating. The chandelier's light gleamed off the polished mahogany table, turning every crystal glass into a prism of sharp, glittering edges. My father took his place at the head, Adrian to his right. I was instructed to sit silently beside my mother, a decorative piece rather than a participant.

Dinner was served, though no one seemed interested in food. My father launched straight into business, his tone clipped, rehearsed.

"The docks are expanding," he said. "New shipments from Palermo. I'll need protection, smooth passage. In exchange, your cut will double."

Adrian leaned back in his chair, knife and fork untouched. His gaze was fixed on my father, sharp and unyielding.

"Double," he repeated softly, as though tasting the word. "That depends. You've had problems with loyalty before."

My father stiffened, his jaw tightening.

Adrian's voice dropped lower, colder. "Men who betray deserve one punishment. You know my way of handling such... inconveniences."

I tried not to shiver. Everyone in the room knew what his "way" meant. Blood. Finality.

My father chuckled awkwardly, raising his glass. "That is precisely why I need you, Moretti. You inspire fear. You command respect. With you beside me, there will be no disloyalty."

Adrian's eyes flicked to me then, briefly, as if to remind me that I, too, was part of this transaction. His stare was searing, yet empty, and I felt pinned beneath it until he turned away again.

"And in return?" Adrian asked smoothly.

My father hesitated, then set his glass down. The sound of crystal meeting wood was deafening in the silence.

"In return," he said slowly, "you'll have access to my docks. My men. My influence. And..." His eyes slid toward me, hard as stone. "My daughter."

The word landed like a blade.

Adrian didn't so much as blink. His expression remained unreadable, but I saw the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth-a wolf satisfied with his meal.

"A marriage," he murmured, as if the idea were nothing more than a ledger entry. "Efficient. Practical. Beneficial for both families."

My pulse roared in my ears. A marriage? Spoken as if I were a coin tossed into a deal?

Adrian turned to my father fully now. "I agree. But understand this-if I take her, she becomes mine. No interference. No hesitation. She will belong to me in every sense of the word."

I gasped softly, my fingers tightening around the edge of the tablecloth. His voice was calm, almost indifferent, yet the weight of his claim pressed down on me like chains.

My father only nodded, pride gleaming in his eyes. "Of course. She'll make you a fine wife."

Adrian's gaze drifted to me one last time, lingering just long enough to send a chill down my spine. There was no warmth, no affection-only calculation, as though he were already deciding how best to use me.

He looked at me once again before sighing " i will take her"

Rage overtook me.

Was I something in the store he could just take.

Dinner ended with toasts and shallow laughter, but I couldn't taste a single thing. By the time I returned to my room, my heart felt hollow.

I had been traded away.

And Adrian Moretti had accepted without hesitation

Chapter Four

Isabella's POV

The deal had been struck, sealed with wine and handshakes. To my father, the night was a triumph. To me, it was a cage snapping shut.

When Adrian finally rose from the table, all dark lines and quiet menace, my father's hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Isabella," he said firmly, as though I might resist. "Escort your future husband to his car. It is only proper."

Future husband. The words soured on my tongue. Still, I nodded, because defiance in front of him was unthinkable.

Adrian waited near the door, his expression unreadable, as if he already knew I would obey. Without a word, he gestured for me to lead. The weight of his presence trailed after me, heavy, suffocating.

The night air outside was cool, the scent of rain clinging to the stone walkway. His sleek black car waited at the edge of the drive, flanked by two men in suits whose eyes never wavered.

I turned to face him, chin lifted despite the thundering of my heart. "Do you always agree to marriages like business contracts?"

His brows arched slightly, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his features. "You don't approve?" His voice was smooth, deep, carrying an edge that mocked me for even questioning him.

"I don't belong to anyone," I said quietly, though my voice trembled.

He stepped closer, invading my space with calculated ease. I could feel the heat of him, the subtle spice of his cologne. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and consuming.

"You already do," he murmured, so low I thought I imagined it. "You just don't realize it yet."

My breath caught, anger and fear tangling in my chest. "You're wrong."

Something flickered in his gaze-challenge, maybe

even intrigue-but just as quickly, the mask returned. He leaned back, his lips curving into the faintest, cruelest smile.

"You'll learn," he said simply.

Before I could retort, one of his men opened the car door. Adrian slid inside without a glance back, leaving me standing alone in the night, my fists clenched at my sides.

For the first time, I understood exactly what it meant to be prey.

Adrain POV

The ride home was silent, the hum of the engine filling the space while the city lights bled past the tinted windows. I leaned back against the leather seat, loosening my tie, letting the events of the night replay with mechanical precision.

The deal was solid. Giovanni would provide me with access to his docks, his network, and his silence. In return, I gave him what he craved-protection, fear, the weight of my name.

And his daughter.

I almost laughed at the thought. Isabella had looked at me as if I'd stolen the ground from beneath her feet. Fire in her eyes, trembling in her voice. She was naïve, raised in silk and shadows, but there was steel under the surface. I saw it when she dared to speak back to me, when she tried to claim she belonged to no one.

That defiance would break. They all broke eventually.

"Home," I said flatly, my voice cutting through the stillness.

"Yes, sir," Marco replied from the driver's seat.

When the car pulled up the long drive to my mansion, the iron gates closed behind us with a metallic groan. The house loomed in the night-sharp lines, dark windows, a fortress carved from wealth and fear.

Marco stepped out quickly, hurrying to open my door. "I'll stay with the men, make sure everything is secure."

I nodded once. "Good. Take the night when you're done."

"Yes, sir."

Inside, the silence was different. Not the tense quiet of negotiations, but the hollow kind that clung to empty halls. I shrugged off my jacket, handed it to the maid without a glance, and climbed the staircase.

The master suite was dark until I flicked on the light. I stripped away the armor of the day-tie, shirt, cufflinks-before stepping into the shower. Hot water pounded against my skin, streaking down the scars I never bothered to hide. Scars earned, scars that reminded me of why softness had no place in my world.

Marriage. The word tasted strange. It wasn't about loyalty, or love. It was strategy. Control. Giovanni's daughter was nothing more than another asset-beautiful, yes, but still a pawn.

And yet... her eyes lingered in my mind. Green fire behind the fear. The way she stood her ground, even when I claimed her.

I shut off the water abruptly, irritated by the thought. She meant nothing.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I crossed the room to the balcony. The city stretched below me, restless and alive. From here, I owned it. Every deal, every debt, every life taken in my name.

Still, as I lit a cigarette, I caught myself wondering how long it would take before Isabella realized the truth.

She wasn't entering a marriage.

She was stepping into a cage.

And I held the key.