Isabella POV

The ride back from the judge was a suffocating blur. The moment the door to my penthouse clicked shut, the dam broke. The humiliation of Julian's betrayal, the suffocating reality of the ink drying on my marriage certificate-it all erupted.

I grabbed the silver-framed photo of Julian and me from the console and hurled it against the marble floor. Glass shattered, scattering like my pathetic illusions. Next went the crystal decanter he had gifted me. Tears of pure, venomous rage spilled down my cheeks as I destroyed every trace of him.

Damien stood by the door, a silent, lethal shadow watching my breakdown. When I finally slumped against the wall, gasping for air, he moved. In two strides, he pinned me against the wall, his massive frame caging me in. He didn't wipe my tears; he lowered his head and captured them with his lips, the kiss tasting of salt and brutal punishment.

"This is the last time you shed a tear for a Falcone," he commanded, his voice a dark, absolute rumble. "From now on, your tears belong to me."

I shoved at his chest, my voice cracking. "I will never love you!"

"Love is irrelevant, principessa(princess)," he murmured, his grip tightening on my waist. "The man who possesses your body and soul is me."

My Blanchard pride flared. I screamed, driving my heel toward his shin. He didn't even flinch. With humiliating ease, he caught my leg, his large hand gripping my thigh, and hoisted me over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour.

I thrashed, pounding my fists against his solid back. "Put me down, you savage monster!" I shrieked.

He dumped me onto the velvet sofa. Before I could scramble away, he leaned over me, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with dark intent. "A monster you woke up, tesoro(treasure)," he whispered, the threat wrapping around me like a physical weight. "Now, you have to learn how to feed it."

He didn't give me time to recover. Minutes later, I was dragged out of my sanctuary and shoved into the passenger seat of his armored G-Wagon, heading toward Moretti Tower.

The silence in the cabin was deafening. Desperate to claw back some power, I grabbed a sleek black box I had snatched from the entryway table-a custom silk shirt meant for Julian. I threw it onto Damien's lap.

Damien opened the box. A cold, terrifying smirk touched his lips. He didn't try it on. Instead, his large, calloused hands gripped the collar, and with a sickening rip, he tore the expensive fabric completely in half.

"You will learn my sizes, Isabella," he ordered, tossing the shreds aside. "From my shirts down to my briefs. Because you are Mrs. Moretti now."

I flushed hotly but lifted my chin, using the only weapon I had left. "What good are perfect sizes with such rotten skills?"

The air in the cabin instantly froze. The veins on the back of his hands bulged as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw ticking with lethal restraint.

The tension held until the G-Wagon descended into the cavernous, brightly lit underground garage of Moretti Tower. As he parked the beast of a car and opened his door to step out, I realized this was my last chance. I couldn't walk into his domain as a prisoner.

I clutched the marriage document in my lap and forced a sultry, yielding smile. I leaned across the console, my lips brushing his ear. I felt his muscles tense, a momentary lapse in his iron control.

Without hesitation, I drove my knee upward, hard, right into his groin.

Damien let out a harsh grunt, doubling over. In a flash, I snatched the keys from his loose grip, shoved his heavy frame the rest of the way out the open door, and scrambled into the driver's seat. I slammed the door and locked it, the engine roaring to life.

I rolled down the bulletproof window just enough to meet his furious, pain-laced gaze.

"This contract makes me Mrs. Moretti, but don't you forget... I am still Isabella Blanchard," I declared, my heart pounding against my ribs. "You may be my husband, but you are still my Soldier. Know your place!"

I slammed my foot on the gas, the tires screeching against the concrete as I tore out of his garage, leaving my new master in the rearview mirror.

Isabella POV

The adrenaline from stealing Damien's G-Wagon carried me straight to Elysium, the only neutral ground left in New York. The VIP lounge was dimly lit, smelling of expensive cigars, aged bourbon, and secrets.

I paced the Persian rug, spilling the chaotic nightmare of the past twenty-four hours to my best friend, Brianna Hayes.

"You kneed him?" Brianna asked, her eyes wide as she handed me a glass of neat bourbon. "Bella, he's a Falcone Soldier. Are you insane?"

Before I could answer, the heavy mahogany doors swung open. Chloe Abbott stood there, looking sickeningly fragile in a plain white sundress.

Brianna stepped forward, her voice like ice. "Who let you in?"

Chloe ignored her. She walked straight toward me and dropped to her knees on the expensive rug. "Isabella, I had to come," she whimpered, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Julian didn't want me to leave the hospital, but I had to apologize. We never meant to hurt you. He just... he cares about me so much, and we couldn't fight our feelings."

It was a masterclass in manipulation. An apology wrapped in a gloating smirk, designed to twist the knife deeper.

"Get off my floor, you pathetic snake," I sneered, looking down at her. "I hope you and Julian choke on your perfect love."

"Isabella!"

The furious roar echoed through the lounge. Julian Falcone stormed in, his eyes blazing. He took in the scene instantly-his fragile mistress trembling on the floor, and me standing over her like a tyrant.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" he snapped, rushing to pull Chloe up into his arms. "She came here to apologize, and you treat her like trash? You are acting like a spoiled brat!"

The sheer injustice of it-the man who had humiliated me, defending the woman he cheated with-snapped the last thread of my restraint. I hurled my crystal bourbon glass at the wall behind them.

It shattered with a violent crash, amber liquid and glass raining down. Chloe let out a theatrical shriek and collapsed into Julian's chest, perfectly fainting.

Julian scooped her up, his jaw tight. He looked at me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. "You're bitter and cruel, Bella. We're done."

He carried her out without looking back. As the heavy doors clicked shut, the ten years I had spent loving him simply evaporated. There was no heartbreak left. Only a freezing, absolute void.

It was past ten when I finally unlocked the door to my penthouse overlooking Central Park. The apartment was pitch black, the only light coming from the silver moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I kicked off my heels, the silence wrapping around my exhausted body. I thought I had won a night of peace. I thought I was safe in my own sanctuary.

Then, a red ember flared in the darkest corner of the living room.

The sharp scent of dark tobacco and an aggressive, masculine musk hit my senses a second before a deep, gravelly voice shattered the silence.

"Did you enjoy your little joyride, moglie mia(my wife)?"

Damien Moretti stepped out of the shadows, swallowing the moonlight. He wore only dark dress pants. His bare, heavily muscled chest was a canvas of lethal scars, gleaming in the dim light. He looked like an apex predator who had patiently waited for the prey to lock itself inside his cage.

I froze, my pulse roaring in my ears. "How did you get in here?" I demanded, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

Damien slowly crushed his cigarette into a crystal tray. He closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps, his dark eyes pinning me in place with an authority that felt far too heavy for a mere subordinate.

"Tonight, principessa(princess), is our wedding night."

Isabella POV

"Tonight, principessa(princess), is our wedding night."

His words hung in the silver moonlight, heavy and suffocating. The sheer audacity of it snapped the last thread of my sanity. I was Isabella Blanchard. I had just lost ten years of my life to a cheating coward, and I refused to be claimed as a consolation prize by a mere Soldier.

"Get out of my apartment," I hissed, my voice shaking with pure venom.

Damien didn't blink. He took another slow, deliberate step toward the bedroom hallway.

"I said get out!" I grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it at his head.

He didn't even flinch. His large hand shot out, catching the heavy crystal mid-air with terrifying ease. Before I could grab anything else, he closed the distance. I lunged at him, my nails clawing at his chest, my teeth bared. "You're nothing but my father's dog!" I screamed, thrashing wildly.

Damien didn't strike back. He simply caught my wrists in one massive hand and used his body weight to press me down onto the velvet sofa. He was an immovable mountain of muscle and heat, pinning me completely.

I gasped for air, my chest heaving against his.

He reached up, his rough thumb brushing the corner of my eye. "You cried for that Falcone at Elysium," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I saw it. That was the last time. From tonight on, your tears belong only to me."

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. I turned my face away, expecting a cheap ring, but when the lid snapped open, the breath left my lungs.

Resting on the dark velvet was the "Eternal Love" pink diamond necklace. It had vanished from a Sotheby's auction months ago-the exact necklace Julian had tried to bid on for me before backing out because the price was astronomical.

"How..." I stammered, staring at the flawless stones. "Is this blood money? Did you kill a rival Don for this?"

Damien didn't answer. He pulled me up slightly, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he fastened the cold diamonds around my neck. It felt like a beautiful, heavy shackle. Before I could demand an answer, his hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back.

His mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn't a kiss; it was a punishment, a brand of absolute ownership that tasted of dark tobacco and danger. When he finally pulled away, I was dizzy, my lips swollen.

"Do you want to fulfill your duties as Mrs. Moretti tonight?" he whispered hoarsely against my mouth.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the fight draining out of me. He stood up, leaving me trembling on the sofa, the diamonds burning against my skin.

The next morning, the bright sunlight did nothing to chase away the chill in my bones. I woke up in my bed, alone, but the moment I opened my eyes, I saw him.

Damien was sitting on the armchair in the corner of my bedroom, fully dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks, watching me.

"Get out," I snapped, throwing off the silk covers. I marched toward the bathroom, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor.

In a flash, he was out of the chair. He scooped me up into his arms before I could protest and dropped me back onto the mattress. "You run cold. Don't walk barefoot."

"Don't touch me!" I yelled, scrambling back against the headboard. "What else do you know, my personal Soldier?"

His dark eyes darkened further. "I know you never dry your hair after a shower. I know you're hot-tempered but soft-hearted. I know you eat junk food at two in the morning because your sleep schedule is a mess." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I know you like to hide under the covers in the dead of night, holding your mother's old photo, crying silently."

A cold wave of terror washed over me. He had stripped away every layer of my privacy. He wasn't just a bodyguard; he was a ghost who had been haunting my every move. Unable to bear his piercing gaze, I shoved past him and fled the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, I sat rigidly on the living room sofa, glaring at the dining table. A steaming bowl of my favorite seafood porridge sat there, the aroma filling the room.

"Eat," Damien commanded from the kitchen counter.

"I'm not hungry," I lied, crossing my arms.

Damien stared at me with deadpan calm. "Fine. I'll have my men throw it all away."

Just as he stepped forward, my stomach let out a loud, treacherous growl. My cheeks burned with humiliation. Damien stopped. Without a word, he walked over, picked me up like a misbehaving child, and deposited me firmly into the dining chair.

I grabbed the silver spoon, my pride demanding a final stand. "I'm only eating because you begged me!"

Damien held my gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his deep, Sicilian eyes. "Yes, principessa(princess)," he murmured smoothly, taking the seat opposite mine. "I begged you."

The clinking of my spoon against the porcelain was the only sound in the penthouse, wrapping us in a suffocating, tense silence.