Isabella couldn't sleep that night. Her father's words kept ringing in her head: "Isabella will marry Dante Moretti."

Staring at a cold cup of tea that she had not yet touched, she sat at her desk. Her chest felt heavy, but the house was quiet. She want to be able to accept that everything had been a mistake and that her father would retract his statements the next day.

Sofia knocked once and then walked in without waiting. Her hair was messed up from crying, and she looked tired.

"You should have let me handle it." Sofia whispered, sitting beside her,

She gave a headshake. "He would never have listened to you. He would have pushed you into Adrian's arms."

"You're going to be pushed into Dante's now." Sofia tried to remain firm by crossing her arms, but her voice broke. "How is that an improvement?"

"It isn't," Isabella whispered. She looked away, blinking furiously. "But I couldn't stand Adrian touching you."

Sofia sat on the bed. "I wish you had thought about yourself for once."

They were quiet. The clock ticked on the wall. Isabella shoved the chilled tea out of her way and massaged her forehead. "I just need some air," she said.

She got a sweater, and left the room. The halls were dark, servants already in bed for the night. She went out the side door for a breath of night air to cool her.

The street was too quiet. She knew she shouldn't, but Isabella smoked a cigarette. Resting against the wall, she expelled a puff of smoke. Her pocket started to vibrate and she reached for her phone, but footsteps on the path behind her stopped her.

She turned around. Two men wearing dark clothes were next to a black car parked down the street.

"Miss Romano," one of them said. His voice was rough. "Your old man's waiting for you."

Her chest tightened. "My father is in there," she argued.

They began walking toward her. She stepped back. "Stay away from me."

The taller man took hold of her arm. "Don't fight. Adrian wants to talk to you."

Her stomach dropped. "Let me go!" she screamed, struggling. She picked at his hand, but he did not recoil. The second man pulled open the car door. "Get her in."

Isabella fought and kicked, but the man had a firm hold on her. But from her cigarettes there still bobbed a couple of burning stubs. "Help!" she screamed, but the street was empty.

The man pushed her in the car. She hit her head on the door frame and felt woozy. "Stop! Please!" she cried, her voice shaking.

Then, a new voice broke the darkness.

"Let her go.

Both men quieted. Isabella looked up and there he was– Dante Moretti, just two feet away. His jaw was firm, his eyes hard. He no longer looked like a gala-goer. He looked dangerous.

This ain't none of your business, said the taller man. "Adrian wants her."

Dante's jaw tightened. "I said let her go."

The man holding Isabella laughed. "What if we don't?"

It was swift. Dante moved in, pinched the man's wrist, and gave a dreadful twist. There was a snap and the man was on the floor, screaming. Isabella stumbled back and fell out of his grasp.

blow The second man pulled a knife as he approached Dante. Isabella drew back against the wall and trembled. Dante was quick, deflecting the punch while ramming his elbow into the man's throat. The man gasped for breath, the knife falling from nerveless fingers.

Dante accepted it without question and plunged into his chest. The man fell, choking. Isabella brought a hand up to her lip, a sickening feeling swirling in her stomach. She had watched fights, but not like this. This wasn't defense-this was brutality.

The first man grappled to his feet, holding his broken wrist. Dante kicked him fiercely in the ribs, and he fell over once more. He dropped his boot to the man's throat.

"Let Adrian know that Isabella belongs to me, ' Dante said, in a cold, dank tone.

The man sputtered, but Dante squeezed him tighter, until his slumped.

The street was still. Isabella was panting, her hands shaking. She looked at the bodies and then at Dante, whose shirt was stained with blood now.

He faced her slowly. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head wildly. "No. I." She couldn't speak.

Dante moved closer. She tried to recoil, but no longer felt her legs. He was suffocating, more than the violence she had just witnessed.

He reached out, lifting her chin, making he look him in the eye. Despite being hot with blood, his hand was warm. "You should not have been by yourself," he told her.

I... I didn't realize they'd–" Her voice wavered, and she looked the other way.

With a sudden gesture he drew her to him, his arm tight about her. She stiffened, his heart steady against her flesh.

"You owe me now," Dante said. His breath touched her ear. "Everything."

She swallowed. "I didn't ask you to-"

"You don't have to ask," he cut her off. "You're mine now.".

Her chest tightened. She wished she could argue with him, to scream at him, but the words eluded her. His grip on her, his tone, the blood on his hands - all served to make it so obviously she didn't have a choice.

He let her go, but his eyes remained on her. "Go inside. Do not leave the house without me again."

Isabella slowly nodded, her tense body. She walked towards the door, her steps unsteady. When she reached the door, she turned around once.

Dante was still there, calm as if nothing had happened, the two bodies lying behind him.

Her hands shook as she opened the door. She knew the truth as her heart pounded-she wasn't trapped by her father's decision anymore. She was trapped by Dante.

On the night after the attack, Isabella slept in her room. Her eye sockets were so filled with blood she could not even shut her eyes. Every time she blinked Dante's face somehow surfaced in front of her-his fierce eyes staring into hers, his hand on her, his voice in her face insisting that she was his.

She tried to tell herself it was shock. That by morning it would all be far behind us. Except when she woke, Dante was there.

He was in the living room, wearing black. His men spread throughout the hall, silent and observing. Isabella paused on the second step of the stairs, her heart skipping.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Dante looked up. "Making sure you are safe."

"Two men died at your hand last night. More shrilling than she had intended it to be.

"They came to get you for Adrian. He took a step forward. "Do you want to be forced to get into Adrian's car instead?"

Isabella looked down, unable to respond.

Marco came in then, took a glass of whiskey despite the hour. "Dante is right," he said. ″Dante is here to stay. This family can not afford to make mistakes."

"Can't afford? "Isabella muttered her voice bitter. "I'm not some business asset."

Marco ignored her and addressed Dante. "The engagement is all set. We make the announcement tonight."

Isabella's body tensed. "Tonight?"

"Yes." Marco's tone allowed no argument.

Dante's eyes stayed on hers. "It's best this way. Quick. Clean."

She balled her fists, but didn't say a word.

The day moved slowly. Isabella aimlessly roamed the house to settle down. Sofia unbolted the door and followed her to the kitchen.

"Don't go, don't do it," said Sofia, in a whisper. "Please, Isabella. There must be another way."

"There isn't." Isabella went to the refrigerator, even though she didn't want anything to eat. "You want to marry Adrian? Because that's the only other choice."

Sofia's lips trembled. "I'd rather run away."

"And then what?" Isabella screwed on a cap of a water bottle too hard. "Father would find you. He always finds us."

Sofia sat at the table hiding her face in her hands. "I wish you didn't have to do this for me.

Isabella sighed and seated herself on the other side of her. "Stop crying. It's done."

They were so for a while. The cook entered, with a saucepan full of soup, appearing not to hear them, as they exchanged whispers.

Then Elena arrived. She wrapped her arms around Isabella's shoulders, then drew back to see her face. "You're pale," she said. "You don't want this, do you? "

"No," Isabella conceded in a low tone.

"Then fight it," Elena cried. "Don't marry him. You can't handle Dante He's a man. Now that you're his, you'll never be free.

Isabella's throat tightened. She wished she could trust Elena, that there was a choice. But at the core, she knew it was futile.

"Father won't let me decline," Isabella said.

Elena's eyes filled with pity. "He's making a mistake. And you are the one paying for it."

Isabella turned her face, as though to adjust her hair so that Elena would not see her tears.

-

The preparations were up and running fully by afternoon. There were people doing work and hanging lights and flowers all through the house. Fiddlers entered, tuning their instruments. Footmen ran in and out bearing trays of food and wine.

Isabella perched on her bed and looked at the dress that had been set out for her. It was white and clean and beautiful. Too pure for what she felt deep inside.

Sofia knocked once more, and she had a small box in hand. "Here. Wear these earrings. They were Mama's."

Isabella lifted the lid of the box, and glanced at the pearls. She recalled their mother donning them for every family event. Her heart was sore.

"Thank you," Isabella whispered. She hugged her sister tightly. "Stay close to me tonight."

Sofia nodded, wiping her eyes.

-

Night descended. The guests thronged the salon, and their laughter or talk was blended with the notes of the music. Isabella was at the top of the stairs with her stomach churning. She could feel eyes on her - suspicious, judgmental, salivating for scandal.

She saw Elena in the audience, shaking her head a little. She saw her father, smiling as if everything was fine. And then she spotted Dante.

He was tall and 6u.F one stood in the front, calm. His eyes found hers as soon as she was visible. She felt herself freeze under his gaze as she held her breath.

Sofia's hand squeezed hers. "You can always change your mind," she whispered.

"No," Isabella whispered in return. "It's too late."

They descended the stairs slowly. Guests clapped politely, cameras flashed. Isabella attempted to maintain a neutral expression, her spine held rigid.

When she came to a stop at the bottom, Dante had stepped out in front. He took her hand uninvited. He held on tight and didn't let go, no option other than to tow his lead.

They stood before everyone. Marco raised his glass. "Tonight, we are here to celebrate the joining of two great houses. Isabella, my daughter, will marry Dante Moretti.

The crowd applauded again. Isabella's throat constricted. She glanced at Sofia, who was crying quietly.

In a corner, Elena uttered something-Don't do it.

But Isabella didn't move. She couldn't.

Dante fished in his pocket and brought out a small box. He took the box and opened it, inside was a silver ring. Isabella's quivered as he slipped the ring onto her finger. Her flesh felt the chill of the metal.

He leaned in, his voice soft, and just for her. "You belong to me now.

Isabella lifted her eyes to his dark gaze. All that was around her dissolved. She knew in that instant there was no escape.

She was no longer her father's pawn. She was Dante's wife.

The house was quiet after the end of the engagement party. The guests had left, music had stopped, and there remained only a few servants patrolling the halls to clean. Isabella sat on the edge of her bed, looking down at the ring that rested on the finger of her left hand. It was weighty, even though it was not big.

The door groaned open without a knock, and Sofia came in. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks streaked from crying.

"You don't have to do this," Sofia gasped, crossing the space towards her.

"Yes, I do," Isabella answered quietly. She didn't lift her head.

Sofia's head shook rapidly. "He scares me, Isabella. Dante isn't normal. He's not like other guys. He's deadly."

Isabella gasped for breath. "I know." She made her eyes lock with her sister's. "But I can handle him. What I can't handle is to see you thrown into Adrian's clutches. That would kill you. So please, don't fight me on this."

Sofia advanced and hugged her arms about her, hiding her face in Isabella's shoulder. "Then at least call me. Every day. I don't wish to feel like you've disappeared from my existence."

"I'll call," Isabella promised. "But you must take care too. If Father ever finds out about your taboo love, it will be the end."

Sofia hastily nodded. "I'll be silent. I swear."

The next day broke too soon. Isabella closed her bags deliberately, folding each one of her dresses carefully, though her hands trembled. While the servants were removing her trunks downstairs, Elena slipped into her room.

"Are you sure you are doing this?" Elena asked, holding her arms clasped around her body.

"Do I have a choice?" Isabella retorted bitterly, not looking up from her trunk.

"You can still escape," Elena breathed. "I'd help you."

Isabella closed the bag. "Run where? Father would track me down. Dante would track me down. There is no escape." The best she could hope for was to endure it.

Elena slumped. Her face was filled with sorrow. "Then I will wait for your call. Each night. Promise you won't close me out."

"I promise," said Isabella, embracing her.

When she finally came down the stairs, her mother was waiting at the front door. Lucia Romano enveloped Isabella in her arms at once, holding her just a fraction of a second longer than usual.

"Listen to me," her mother whispered. "I know Dante's reputation. But I think... I think he might actually love you, in his own way."

Isabella stood frozen at those words. She didn't speak. She just kissed her mother's cheek and backed away.

Outside, already waiting for her by the black car was Dante. He was looming over it, speaking to one of his men. His eyes swept over her once he saw her, as if taking inventory of something he already owned.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded once without looking at him.

The drive to the De Luca mansion was quiet. Dante sat beside her in the back seat, his presence heavy. Two of his men were in the front, and another car followed close behind. Isabella kept her eyes on the window, watching the city pass by.

After a while, Dante finally spoke. "You'll be safe in my house. No one touches what's mine."

She did not speak. Her hands gripped tightly together in her lap, nails biting into her skin.

When the car came to a stop, Isabella looked up at the massive gates. Behind them lay a house bigger than she had ever known. Walls of stone, wide balconies, and guards carrying weapons at every turn.

The gates creaked open, and as the car proceeded, two women stepped forward to greet them.

The first was elegant, elegant, and had a subtle strength in her movement. She was in her forties, at least. Dante kissed both cheeks before introducing her.

"This is my mother, Bianca," he declared.

Bianca's smile softened when she turned to face Isabella. She grasped Isabella's hands carefully. "Welcome, dear. You must be tired from all that. Come in, you'll be home here."

The other woman was around Isabella's age, with bright eyes and a shy smile.

"Her name is Giulia," Dante said. "She is my sister."

"You are so pretty," Giulia said, smiling, and stepped closer. "Don't be afraid. I'll make you feel home. We will have tea in the afternoons. I will present you to people."

Their friendliness caught Isabella unawares. She nodded politely, remaining a stranger.

Dante touched her lightly on the back of her neck, leading her toward the doors. Inside, the mansion was no less formidable. High ceilings with chandeliers, gleaming floors, pricey furniture, and paintings adorning the walls. It seemed perfect, but it didn't quite feel like home.

The first days went slowly. The staff was respectful to her. Bianca often asked her about her favourite dishes and sometimes stayed with her for short talks. Giulia visited her room often, inviting her to go for a walk in the garden or play some cards. She tried to make Isabella smile, and for a few minutes, Isabella forgot she was somewhere else.

But Dante's shadow never went away. At dinner, he always sat next to her. In the garden, he loitered in the background. At night, his footfalls sounded outside her door.

One evening, Isabella finally grumbled at dinner. "You don't have to monitor me every moment," she said.

Dante cut into his food, refusing to look at her. "I do." His tone was flat, authoritative. "You are mine, Isabella. If you walk away alone again, Adrian will try to take you. And the next time, you mayn't come back."

Isabella gripped her fork hard in her fingers. His warning terrified her because she knew he was correct.

Later that evening, Giulia came into the sitting room with a deck of cards. They played for more than an hour, Isabella laughing when she lost round after round. For a short time, it felt like nothing was wrong, like she wasn't a prisoner.

But when Dante walked into the room, the fantasy ended. Giulia retreated immediately, leaving them by themselves.

Dante sat across from Isabella, his eyes fixed on her. "You appear to be adjusting," he said.

"Do I have an option?" she flung at him flatly.

"No," Dante relinquished, slouching back in his chair. "But you're alive. That's something more than Adrian would offer you."

His words sat between them with heavy silence.

The days blurred together-dinner, supervised walks, quiet nights. Isabella began to notice small things about Dante. The way he commanded his men with a calm tone. The way his eyes lingered on her as if he was memorizing everything. And once in a while, when he didn't realize she was paying attention, there was something soft in his expression.

However, the cage feeling never went away from her. No matter how sweet Bianca was, no matter how sweet Giulia tried to be, Isabella knew she wasn't free.

Evening five, she walked by Dante's office when she heard feet shuffling in a hurry. One of his men walked in.

"Adrian has struck back," the man spat in a hurry.

Isabella froze in the hallway, her stomach knotting.

"What happened?" Dante snapped sharply.

The man lowered his voice, but Isabella still managed to hear the words. "It's Sofia. She's been taken."

Isabella gasped, her hand flying to her lips. She darted into the room without a thought. "What did you just say?"

Dante spun toward her, his jaw tight, his eyes shaded.

The truth was clear. Sofia was gone.