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.

Chapter Five

Isabella's POV

One month. That was all it took for my life to become unrecognizable.

One minute i was standing in my father's office and the next i was in a hotel room in a wedding dress.

I spent the last month packing up my life in Palermo Sicily.

The days blurred together, each one a countdown to the wedding that had been decided for me without my voice. My father walked taller, prouder, already basking in the glow of his alliance with Adrian Moretti. My mother tried to smile for me, her hands soft on mine, but I could see the sadness in her eyes every time she looked at me.

It was tradition, they said. In Italian weddings, the groom sent the dress.

Adrian didn't come himself, of course. Instead, his driver arrived one morning, carrying a garment bag like a soldier delivering orders. My mother and I unzipped it together, revealing ivory silk that shimmered like starlight. The lace was delicate, intricate, beautiful. Too beautiful for what it meant.

I touched the fabric, cold dread sinking into me. This was no gift-it was a declaration. You are mine. Even your wedding dress will bear my mark.

The morning of the wedding came too quickly.

Hence we are getting married in a church and not having an outdoor ceremony like i have always wanted.

I've always dreamed of getting married on s beach with my closest people around me surrounded with smiles and laughter.

But girls can't dream in a mafia life. I barely had a say in the wedding arrangements.

As my mother fastened the final buttons of the gown, she whispered, "You are strong, Isabella. Stronger than you know. Do not let him see your fear."

"I'm scared" I admitted it out loud for the first time since all of this started.

"I know and I'm sorry i couldn't stop it, it's going to be fine" She said as she took my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I tried to believe her, but when I caught my reflection in the mirror, all I saw was a girl dressed as a bride, walking into a cage.

The church was filled with faces I recognized from whispers, men with sharp suits and sharper eyes, women glittering with jewels. Mafia royalty, gathered to witness the merging of two empires.

With deep breath, i stepped up to the alter coming face to face with Adrain Moretti in all of his glory.

He wore black, of course-tailored to perfection, every line of him cut from arrogance and power. But it wasn't his clothes that stole the air from my lungs.

It was him.

The glossy sweep of black hair, neatly styled but rebelliously falling across his forehead. The lashes, so long they shadowed his piercing eyes. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, and lips-softly pink, too beautiful for a man who carried so much darkness inside him.

The church hushed as he looked at me. Not with warmth. Not with love. But with a gaze that lingered, burning, as though he was both irritated by me and fascinated at the same time.

When I stepped forward, my father's arm stiff beside mine, my heart pounded so hard I feared it might echo in the silence. Adrian's eyes never left mine.

In that moment, I hated him for his beauty. Because beauty was a trap, and Adrian Moretti was the deadliest snare of them all.

Adrain's mulky green eyes were cold and devoid of warmth. He looked at me as if I wasn't there.

Meanwhile my heart was pounding and palms sweating like crazy.

The priest was alongside us, ready to start the ceremony with a peppy smile on his face.

And i wasn't even paying attention to what he was saying.

How could i when i was avoiding looking directly at the person right across from me.

He was standing there handsomely without a smile on his face staring int my soul. Dressed in his fancy black suit and looking dangerously handsome.

The priest's words rang in my ears like a final verdict.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

Adrian slid the band onto my finger, his touch firm, unyielding. My hand trembled, but I forced my chin higher, refusing to let him see the fear pressing against my ribs.

Then it was my turn. My lips shaped the words, but they didn't feel like mine. They belonged to duty, to bloodlines, to the empire my father wanted to build.

When the priest finally declared us husband and wife, Adrian didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his hand cupping the side of my face and i automatically closed my eyes out of fear before i felt his soft, warm lips pressed on top of mine.

It wasn't gentle. But it was sweet.

It was possessive. Fierce. His lips claimed mine with a passion that stole my breath, a reminder that this was my first kiss-and he had taken it, branded it, made it his.

My knees weakened, and when his eyes locked onto mine afterward, I felt a shiver race through me. Dark, endless, unrelenting, his gaze held me captive. It was as though he wanted me to drown in it, to know with certainty that escape was impossible.

Applause erupted behind us, but I barely heard it. My world had narrowed to the pounding of my heart and the man whose lips still lingered on mine.

And just like that Isabella Romano became Isabella Moretti.

~~~~~~~~

The reception that followed was grand, dazzling, filled with toasts and laughter that didn't reach my ears. I smiled when required, accepted congratulations, danced when pushed to-but I felt like a doll in a glass case, watched and judged.

Adrian stayed close, his hand always at the small of my back, his presence both protective and suffocating. He didn't drink much, didn't laugh, didn't indulge in pleasantries. He was simply there, radiating control, every guest bowing to him with respect tinged with fear.

Halfway through the evening, he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. "We're leaving."

It wasn't a request.

My breath hitched. "The reception isn't over."

His gaze burned into mine, and he smirked faintly. "It is for us."

I swallowed hard, glancing toward the head table where my parents sat. My father's eyes glittered with satisfaction, but my mother's gaze found mine-soft, wet with unspoken words.

"I need to say goodbye," I whispered.

Adrian gave a curt nod, though his hand never left me as he led me toward them.

My father kissed my cheek, his words sharp and prideful. "Remember who you are, Isabella. You are a Romano. Don't shame us."

My throat tightened, but I managed a nod.

My mother embraced me next, holding me tighter than she ever had before. "You'll be all right," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You are stronger than you know. And no matter what, my heart goes with you."

I clung to her for a moment, fighting back the tears threatening to fall, before Adrian's hand closed over mine, tugging me gently but firmly away.

When we stepped out into the night, his car waiting with its dark promise, I knew there was no going back.

I was his now.

Completely.

Chapter Six

Adrian's POV

The car ride back to my estate should have been uneventful. Instead, my thoughts betrayed me.

Her lips.

I could still feel them against mine, softer than silk, warm and trembling. The sweetness of her kiss lingered like the taste of forbidden fruit. Fresh, untainted. She had smelled of roses and something lighter, softer-like vanilla warmed by the sun.

It irritated me.

I had kissed women before-dozens, countless-but none of them had imprinted themselves in my head like she had with just one touch. Isabella Romano. Now Isabella Moretti. My wife. My possession.

I clenched my jaw, staring out the tinted glass as the driver took the winding road up to my mansion. I would not think of her lips. I would not think of her eyes-those wide, defiant green eyes that had stared back at me even when she trembled.

The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine. She sat beside me, hands folded tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the window. But I could sense her thoughts-the stiffness in her shoulders, the shallow rhythm of her breath. Fear. Confusion. And something else she probably couldn't name.

The tension was thick enough to choke on. I told myself it was better that way.

When the car pulled to a stop at the base of the steps, I didn't move at first. The headlights carved pale lines across the stone façade of my home-three stories of cold black marble and steel. It was everything I was. Unyielding. Merciless. Safe.

I stepped out, inhaling the sharp night air, but the peace it usually brought me was nowhere to be found.

She hesitated inside, gathering the folds of her gown as if bracing for whatever waited beyond the door. Her reflection in the car window was ghostlike-beautiful, fragile, and terribly out of place.

I opened her door, not out of courtesy, but because I couldn't stand watching her fumble another second. When her fingers brushed mine, that same flicker of unwanted electricity surged again-sharp enough to make me pull away a fraction too quickly.

She stepped out, her eyes lifting to the mansion. "It's..." Her voice faltered. "Enormous and different from what I imagined."

"Different?" I asked, my tone sharper than intended.

She nodded once. "Cold."

I didn't respond. I didn't need to. She was right.

Inside, the air was still. The chandeliers glowed, but the light didn't reach the corners. My footsteps echoed, hers followed softly, hesitant but steady. She looked around, absorbing every detail-the marble, the glass, the portraits whose eyes seemed to follow.

I could almost hear her thoughts again. This isn't home. This is a cage.

And maybe she was right about that too.

We reached the top of the stairs, the corridor stretching endlessly ahead. I stopped before the double doors of my room.

She froze when she saw where I was leading her. "This is-"

"Our room," I finished.

Her eyes darted to mine, a spark of disbelief and defiance flickering through the fear. "What are you talking about? We can't share a room. This isn't-this isn't real. We aren't even together."

"It's real enough, and we don't even need to be together." I said, stepping closer. Her back hit the door. "You wear my name. That's all the world needs to know."

Her lips parted as though she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words. I could see it in her eyes-the turmoil, the questions she wouldn't dare voice.

"Do you think I want this?" she whispered.

"No," I said truthfully. "But you'll learn to live with it."

She swallowed hard and looked away, her jaw tightening. For a moment, the silence between us was unbearable. I hated the way she looked then-small, yes, but proud. Still fighting.

When I finally turned the handle and let her in, she walked slowly, her fingers grazing the edge of the bedpost, the fabric of the curtains, the polished surface of the vanity-as if trying to anchor herself in a place that didn't belong to her.

I began unbuttoning my cuffs, removing my jacket.

"Why do we have to share a room and a bed? This is very inappropriate . I've never slept with anyone before" she said before clearing her throat when she realised that came out wrong

" What I mean is that I have never shared a bed with someone before so where are you sleeping?.

I looked at her with a bored expression

"Say whatever you want, this is my room, so I'm staying in it."

I could feel her stare on my back, searching for something in me I refused to give.

I started unbuckling my pants and she immediately turned away "You'll sleep here."

Her voice wavered. "Where will you-"

"Here."

She didn't move, just watched me. For a heartbeat, something flickered across her face-fear, or pity, or both.

When she finally nodded, it was almost imperceptible. "As you wish."

The defiance was gone from her tone, replaced by a quiet strength that unsettled me more than her protests ever could.

I left her standing there and stepped into the bathroom. The hot water thundered against my skin, but it couldn't wash away the image of her-standing in my room, fragile yet unbroken, her green eyes haunted but proud.

When I returned, towel in hand, she was still at the edge of the bed. Her hands were clasped tightly, her knuckles pale. She looked up, startled, when she noticed me watching her.

I didn't speak. I just walked past her, pulled back the sheets, and lay down.

She hesitated before retreating to the bathroom. Minutes later, I heard the faint sound of water, then the quiet rustle of fabric. When she returned, I pretended to be asleep. She stood there as if contemplating whether to sleep in the same bed with me but ultimately decided to stay.

She just slipped into the bed's far edge, facing away.

The silence stretched, heavy and endless. I could hear her breathing-soft, uneven-and the faint tremor she tried to hide.

Her scent drifted toward me again. Roses. Vanilla. Warmth I didn't deserve.

I told myself I didn't care. That she meant nothing.

But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was her-small and breakable in my world of glass and stone, yet strong enough to keep breathing in it.

And I hated that part of me wanted her to stay.

Sleep came slowly, cruelly. The last thing I felt was her presence beside me-too close, too soft, too human.

And i hated that i wanted more.