The limousine slowed, tires crunching over gravel. I hadn't realized how far we'd driven until the city lights vanished, replaced by the hush of waves and the smell of salt on the air.

The villa appeared like something out of a fever dream, white stone walls, glass windows soaring toward the night sky, firelight flickering inside. Remote. Isolated. The kind of place no one would hear me scream.

Dante stepped out first, offering his hand. I ignored it, sliding from the car on my own. My gown still clung to me, heavy from the endless day, but my spine stayed straight.

He didn't look offended. If anything, his faint smirk said he enjoyed the fight.

Inside, the villa was worse, no, more dangerous than I'd imagined. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath low golden light. A fire roared in the massive stone hearth, its glow spilling across velvet couches and decanters of wine. A staircase curved upward, promising rooms draped in silk and shadows.

It was decadent. It was a cage.

Dante loosened his tie as he followed me inside, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. He moved like a man shedding armor, revealing the raw, relentless heat beneath.

"Like it?" he asked, voice low.

I turned on him, my heart hammering. "This isn't a honeymoon. It's a prison."

His gaze darkened. In two strides, he was in front of me, his hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face toward his. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, slow, deliberate.

"You call it a prison." His voice was a whisper of smoke and fire. "I call it the beginning."

I should have shoved him away. I should have slapped him, screamed, anything. Instead, a shiver ran through me, betraying me, making his eyes gleam with triumph.

Then his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was nothing like the one in the church. That had been a performance. This was a possession.

His lips crashed against mine, hungry, relentless. His hand slid into my hair, holding me still as his tongue swept past my lips, claiming every breath. I gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss until the world tilted.

Heat roared through me, fury and desire colliding in a storm I couldn't control. My hands pressed against his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, I didn't know. The hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt burned beneath my palms, making my knees weak.

Dante groaned softly against my mouth, the sound low and devastating. His other hand traced the line of my spine, pulling me flush against him, erasing every inch of space. The firelight painted his skin in gold and shadow, making him look like a man carved from danger itself.

When he finally tore his mouth from mine, I was trembling, breathless, lips swollen from the force of him.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against mine. His breath was hot, ragged. "Say the word, Isabella, and I'll walk away."

I wanted to. God help me, I wanted to. But my voice caught in my throat, trapped between defiance and the undeniable truth that I didn't want him to stop.

Dante's slow, satisfied smile told me he already knew and he didn't give me time to recover. His lips claimed mine again, slower this time, a deep, deliberate exploration that made my stomach twist and my knees threaten to buckle.

I shoved at his chest, desperate for space, but his hand caught my wrist, guiding it back to his heart. His pulse thundered beneath my palm, matching the wild rhythm of my own.

"You feel that?" he whispered against my lips. "That's what you do to me."

Before I could answer, his mouth descended again, hot and demanding. My protests melted into a gasp as his tongue tangled with mine, each stroke pulling me deeper into the fire.

His hands moved with purpose, one fisting gently in my hair, the other sliding down, skimming the curve of my waist, then lower, tracing the silk of my gown as though memorizing every inch. When his palm spread over my hip, possessive, my breath hitched.

"Dante..." I began, but the word broke into a moan when his teeth caught my lower lip, tugging gently before releasing it.

"Say my name like that again," he murmured, voice roughened with hunger.

I shook my head, furious with myself, with him, with the way my body betrayed me. But he didn't let me retreat. He guided me backward until my spine met the cool marble of a column, caging me in with his body. His heat pressed against me, solid and unyielding, the fire at his back casting us both in molten gold.

His mouth left mine only to trail lower, along my jaw, down my throat. Each kiss was slow, lingering, designed to unravel me. My hands clawed at his shoulders, unsure if I wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

When his lips brushed the hollow of my throat, I gasped, my head tipping back against the stone. His smile curved against my skin, wicked and knowing.

"You're trembling," he murmured. "Not from fear."

My pulse stuttered, my denial tangled on my tongue. He didn't wait for it. His hands found the delicate row of buttons down the back of my gown, fingers working with deliberate slowness.

"Don't you dare..." I hissed, but the sound turned into another gasp as the silk loosened, slipping against my skin.

"Oh, I dare," Dante said softly, his lips returning to mine in a bruising kiss. The gown slid lower, baring the tops of my shoulders to his touch. His fingers grazed the newly exposed skin, reverent and possessive all at once.

The fire roared in the hearth. My breath came in shallow bursts.

Piece by piece, he was stripping away my defenses. My gown would be next.

And the terrifying part? A traitorous voice deep inside me whispered that I wanted him to.

The silk of my gown gave way beneath Dante's hands, slipping down my arms like water. It pooled at my feet with a whisper, leaving me exposed in the dim firelight.

A shiver ran through me from the way he looked at me. His eyes darkened, hunger and warring in their depths, as if I were both a prize and a sin he couldn't resist.

He touched me then, slowly, deliberately. Fingers trailing over my bare shoulders, down the curve of my waist, brushing my hip before rising to cup my face again. Every touch seared, every stroke leaving me trembling, undone.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, his thumb grazing the corner of my mouth. "Mine."

Before I could protest, he swept me into his arms. I gasped, clutching at him instinctively as he carried me up the sweeping staircase. The world blurred, marble, glass, firelight and then he set me down on a vast bed draped in silk the color of midnight.

I scrambled back, defiance sparking through the haze of heat. "You can't just ..."

Dante's mouth silenced me. His kiss was fire and steel, fierce enough to steal the breath from my lungs. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his body covering mine, every line of muscle and heat pinning me in place.

I tried to turn away, to deny him, but his lips followed, jaw, throat, the swell of my breast. Each kiss made my resistance falter, replaced with a pulse of liquid heat that spread through me in waves.

His hands roamed with devastating certainty, sliding beneath the thin lace that still covered me, fingertips brushing against bare skin. My back arched involuntarily, a moan slipping past my lips before I could bite it back.

"Isabella," he groaned, the sound raw, reverent. His mouth returned to mine, desperate now, consuming.

Somewhere in the haze, his shirt was gone. His chest pressed against mine, hot, hard, skin to skin. My fingers found his shoulders, gripping tight as if I could anchor myself against the storm tearing through me.

When he finally joined our bodies completely, I cried out, the world splintering into fire and sensation. He swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing me like he'd never stop, like he'd devour me whole.

There was no escape. Not from him, not from the way he moved inside me, deep and demanding, every thrust a claim, every kiss a vow. My nails raked down his back, my body betraying me with every frantic beat of my heart.

And in the firelit darkness, as pleasure consumed me, I realized with dawning terror that part of me didn't want to fight him anymore.

The world stilled.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, ragged, uneven, echoing in the vast silence of the villa. The fire in the hearth burned low, shadows licking over the walls, wrapping us in their dark embrace.

Dante didn't move away. He stayed pressed against me, his body heavy and warm, his face buried in the curve of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, his heartbeat hammering in time with mine.

Then he lifted his head, and I saw it, the raw, unguarded hunger in his eyes. Not just desire. Something deeper. Something that terrified me more than his strength, his power, even his name.

He brushed his lips over mine, softer now, almost tender. A caress rather than a conquest. His fingers tangled gently in my hair, smoothing it back as though I were precious.

"You're mine now," he whispered, voice hoarse with satisfaction. "Not just tonight. Always."

The words should have made me recoil. Should have filled me with rage. Instead, they struck something inside me, something fragile, something reckless. My chest tightened, my throat ached, and I hated myself for it.

I turned my face away, but his hand caught my chin, guiding me back to him. His eyes searched mine, dark and unrelenting.

"I'll give you the world, Isabella. Diamonds, blood, kingdoms...none of it means anything without you in my bed, in my arms." His mouth brushed my temple, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll burn the world to keep you."

A tremor ran through me. The vow was terrifying. And yet, God help me, it made my pulse quicken, my body betray me all over again.

When he finally pulled me against his chest, holding me as though I belonged to him, I didn't resist. My head rested over his heart, and I listened to the steady beat beneath my ear.

I should have felt trapped. But instead, for the first time, I felt...safe.

The realization struck like lightning, scorching through me, leaving only smoke and fear in its wake.

Because the truth was worse than the marriage, worse than the cage, worse than Dante's ruthless power.

I was starting to want him.

And wanting him would destroy me.

The bed was too large without him.

I woke tangled in silk sheets, the faint ache in my body a reminder of everything that had happened in the firelit dark. My skin still burned where he'd touched me, my lips swollen from his kisses.

And yet...he was gone.

I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest, scanning the vast, shadowed bedroom. The fire had burned low, leaving only embers. The air was cool, sharp against the heat lingering on my skin.

A strange emptiness spread through me, sharp and unwelcome. I hated it. I hated him for leaving me with it.

The gown from last night lay discarded on the floor like a relic of another life. I wrapped the sheet around myself and stood, unsteady. Every step reminded me of him, of how completely he'd taken me.

I clenched my fists. I wouldn't let that mean anything. Not now. Not ever.

A faint murmur of voices drifted from downstairs. One of them his low, commanding, smooth as smoke. The sound pulled me like gravity, even as fury tightened in my chest.

I descended the stairs barefoot, clutching the sheet tighter, following his voice into the main hall.

Dante stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, phone pressed to his ear, dressed in a sharp black suit that clung to him like armor. The warmth from last night was gone. In its place was steel.

His gaze flicked toward me as I entered, lingering for only a moment before sliding back to the dark sea outside. No smile. No softness. Nothing but cool calculation.

"Yes," he said into the phone, his tone clipped. "Double the guards. If they want war, they'll drown in their own blood."

I froze. His voice was different now, harder, colder. Not the man who had kissed me like I was oxygen. This was Dante Bellanti, heir to an empire built on violence.

And he didn't even acknowledge me.

Dante ended the call with a flick of his thumb, sliding the phone into his pocket. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. He didn't look at me right away, only adjusted his cufflinks with precise, unhurried movements.

Finally, his gaze lifted. Dark. Unreadable.

"You should put some clothes on," he said smoothly. "You look like a runaway bride."

My grip on the sheet tightened. "Last night you didn't seem to mind."

A faint curve touched his mouth, humorless, sharp. "Last night was last night. This morning, we deal with reality."

I took a step closer, anger heating my skin. "Reality? You think you can just...use me, then pretend I don't exist?"

His eyes flashed, just a flicker, there and gone but his tone stayed cold. "Don't mistake me for a man who plays games, Isabella. What happened last night wasn't about using you. It was about claiming what's already mine."

I bit back a gasp, fury and unwanted heat twisting together. "You can't own me. I'm not one of your cars or your clubs, Dante."

He moved toward me then, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing the distance. When he stopped, only inches separated us. His presence pressed against me, suffocating, magnetic.

"You think I see you as a possession?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "No. You're worse. You're my weakness. And I don't tolerate weakness."

The words hit like a blade, slicing deep. I wanted to spit in his face, wanted to scream that I hated him. Instead, my traitorous body trembled under the weight of his stare.

I lifted my chin anyway, refusing to let him see me break. "Then maybe you should have left me in that church."

For the first time, real heat sparked in his eyes. Not desire, anger.

"Don't tempt me," he growled, his hand snapping up to grip my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "I could still send you back. But I won't. Because whether you like it or not, Isabella, you belong to me now. In my bed. At my table. In my world."

I swallowed hard, the sheet trembling in my fists. "And if I refuse?"

His smile was lethal, pure mafia prince. "Then you'll learn the hard way what refusing me costs."

He released my jaw with a flick of his fingers and turned away, as though the conversation were over. The shift stung more than his grip; last night he'd been heat and fire, now he was ice and distance.

"Come," he said without looking back. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

He didn't even pause. "You're in my house. You'll eat."

I followed, partly because I had no choice, partly because I hated the way my bare feet made no sound on the marble. The villa's kitchen was vast and gleaming, its long table already set. Silver covers hid steaming plates. The smell of fresh bread and dark coffee curled in the air.

Dante gestured to a chair at the head of the table. "Sit."

I hovered. "What am I, your dog?"

His eyes flicked to mine, cold and sharp. "No. You're my wife. Which means you'll sit where I tell you."

Something inside me snapped. I dropped into the chair, lifting my chin as if daring him to push me further.

He removed one of the silver covers with slow precision, revealing a plate of poached eggs, toast, and fruit. He placed it in front of me himself. "Eat."

"I said I'm not..."

"Eat," he repeated, quieter this time, but with a weight that left no room for argument.

I picked up the fork with shaking fingers and stabbed at a piece of fruit, more for defiance than hunger. "You think feeding me makes you some kind of hero?"

His lips curved in a cold half-smile as he poured coffee into my cup. "No. Feeding you makes me your husband. Protecting what's mine."

I slammed the fork down. "You don't get to control me like this."

He leaned over the table then, palms flat against the polished wood, his face level with mine. His cologne and the faint scent of smoke from his jacket wrapped around me.

"Isabella," he said softly, dangerously, "I'm not controlling you. Not yet. This is me being gentle. Don't make me show you the other side."

Our gazes locked, his dark and unblinking, mine burning with defiance I didn't feel. For a heartbeat, the tension was a living thing between us.

Then, deliberately, I popped a piece of fruit into my mouth and chewed, glaring at him.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up, and for the first time that morning, something like warmth cracked through his mask. A faint spark of heat. A warning of what still simmered beneath.

"Good girl," he murmured, so softly I almost didn't hear it.

My stomach flipped. Rage and heat tangled until I couldn't tell which was which.

The meal ended in brittle silence. I pushed the plate away after only a few bites, the food heavy in my stomach. Dante, on the other hand, ate with calm precision, every movement measured, like a man who had all the time in the world.

When he finally set his fork down, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. His jaw tightened.

"We're leaving in twenty minutes," he said.

I blinked. "Leaving? Where?"

His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade. "A meeting."

"With who?"

He leaned back in his chair, regarding me as though weighing how much truth to reveal. "People who want me dead. Which means, by extension, they want you dead too."

My stomach lurched. "Then why the hell would you take me there?"

"Because you're mine," he said simply. "And because if they see you at my side, they'll know I'll burn their world to the ground before I let anyone touch you."

I pushed back from the table, the chair scraping hard against the floor. "You can't drag me into this. I didn't choose this life."

His mouth curved, humorless. "You chose the dress. You stood at the altar. And you said the vows."

"You forced me into those vows!" I spat.

He stood, slow and deliberate, straightening his cuffs as if I hadn't spoken. When he crossed the room, every step radiated authority, inevitability. He stopped in front of me, tilting my chin up with one finger.

"You're already marked, Isabella. Everyone knows you belong to me. If I leave you here, you'll be a target. At my side, at least you'll be protected."

I tried to jerk my face away, but his grip held firm.

"You want freedom?" His voice dropped, low and lethal. "Earn it. Survive my world first."

Then he released me, turning toward the stairs. "Twenty minutes. Wear something black."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me trembling, furious, and God help me, terrified of what waited outside the villa walls.

Back

The villa's gates swung open, and two black SUVs rolled out into the night. Dante and I sat in the back of the first, leather seats cold against my bare arms. The hum of the engine filled the silence between us, thick with everything unspoken.

He'd ordered me into a black dress, tight, elegant, the kind that clung to every curve whether I wanted it to or not. My hair was pinned back, my throat bare. I felt exposed, on display. Exactly as he wanted.

I kept my eyes fixed on the blur of city lights beyond the tinted glass. Anything to avoid looking at him. But the weight of his gaze pressed against me, heavy and unyielding.

"Sit closer," he said finally, voice low but leaving no room for refusal.

I turned to him, bristling. "I'm fine where I am."

His mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "That wasn't a request."

Heat flushed my cheeks. I shifted a fraction closer, just to spite him by making it as reluctant as possible. His arm slid around my shoulders instantly, pulling me firmly against his side. The scent of his cologne, dark, intoxicating wrapped around me.

"Better," he murmured.

I stiffened, every nerve screaming at me to pull away. But his hand moved down, resting on my thigh, fingers splayed over the fabric of the dress. Not groping. Not even moving. Just there. A quiet claim. A warning.

"Dante..." I began, but he silenced me with a single look.

"When we arrive," he said, his thumb brushing the inside of my thigh in slow, maddening circles, "you will stay at my side. You will smile when I tell you to. You will not speak unless I give you permission. Understand?"

Fury clawed at my chest. "I'm not some puppet you can..."

His hand tightened, just enough to make me gasp. His lips brushed my ear, his voice a silken threat. "Understand?"

My heart hammered, heat pooling low in my belly despite my anger. I hated him for it. I hated myself more.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good girl," he said softly, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear before he leaned back again, completely composed, as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, but the imprint of his hand lingered on my thigh, a brand I couldn't escape.

The SUV slowed, tires crunching over gravel. I leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of where we were, but Dante's hand pressed gently but firmly against my thigh, holding me in place.

"Patience," he murmured.

The car stopped in front of an imposing mansion, three stories of pale stone, windows glowing with warm light, but the atmosphere was anything but welcoming. Black-clad men stood at the entrance, weapons visible at their sides. Their eyes tracked the vehicle like wolves scenting prey.

Dante stepped out first. The moment his shoes touched the ground, the guards straightened, their posture shifting in subtle acknowledgment of who he was. Not a guest. Not even an equal. A man to be reckoned with.

Then his hand was at the door, opening it for me. He extended his palm, expectant. I hesitated, glaring up at him, but the weight of so many eyes watching pressed down on me. Slowly, I slid my hand into his.

His grip was warm, strong. Possessive. He drew me out of the car, tucking me neatly against his side as though I were made to fit there. His arm settled around my waist, anchoring me to him.

The guards' gazes lingered on me, curious, assessing, some openly appreciative. I stiffened, heat crawling up my neck.

Dante felt it instantly. His hand tightened at my hip, his mouth dipping close to my ear. "Keep your head high," he whispered. "You're mine. Let them choke on it."

My heart thudded, a confusing mix of defiance and...something else. Pride? Desire? I shoved the thought away.

Inside, the mansion was even more intimidating. Crystal chandeliers threw light across polished marble floors. The air hummed with low conversation, sharp laughter, the clink of glasses. Men in tailored suits turned as Dante entered, their gazes cutting toward him and then to me.

"Bellanti," one of them greeted, his accent thick, his smile sharp. "And this must be..." His eyes swept over me in a way that made my stomach knot. "Your bride."

Dante's arm tightened around me until I could barely breathe. "My wife," he corrected smoothly, his tone like a blade hidden in silk. "Isabella Bellanti."

The man's smile faltered. He inclined his head. "A beautiful choice."

Dante's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. His thumb stroked once over my hip, a subtle reminder, a silent promise.

I forced my chin up, meeting the man's gaze with what little courage I had. For a moment, something like respect flickered in his eyes before he turned away.

"Stay close," Dante murmured against my temple, his lips brushing the barest kiss there. To everyone watching, it looked like tenderness. To me, it was chains.

The dining hall was long and glittering, but the air inside was heavy, charged. Crystal decanters glistened under chandeliers, but the men around the massive table weren't here to drink. They were predators, circling, watching, waiting.

Dante guided me to a seat at his right, his hand never leaving my lower back. Even sitting, he radiated power, broad shoulders relaxed, but eyes sharp as knives.

Across the table sat a man I didn't know, older than Dante, his dark hair streaked with gray. His suit looked expensive, but it was his gaze that unsettled me. Cold. Hungry. And fixed entirely on me.

I shifted uncomfortably under his stare. Dante noticed immediately. His hand slid from my back to my thigh, his grip firm, grounding. Warning.

The older man's lips curved. "So this is the woman who tamed the infamous Dante Bellanti," he said smoothly, his Italian accent wrapping around the words. "Your reputation travels far, signora. Tell me, do you enjoy being the wife of such a dangerous man?"

Heat crept up my neck. Every instinct screamed at me to stay silent, but his expectant smirk made my blood boil. "Enjoy isn't the word I'd use," I said before I could stop myself.

A ripple of laughter circled the table. My stomach plummeted.

Dante didn't laugh. His hand on my thigh tightened until I almost winced. He leaned close, lips brushing my ear. "Careful," he murmured, low and lethal.

The rival leaned back in his chair, unbothered, still watching me. His gaze dropped briefly, lingering on the neckline of my dress. I swallowed hard, wishing the marble floor would open up and swallow me whole.

In the blink of an eye, Dante's demeanor changed. He leaned forward, his voice calm but cutting through the room like a blade. "If your eyes linger on my wife again, you won't leave this house with them."

The table went silent. My pulse thundered in my ears.

The man chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Of course. My apologies." But his smirk lingered, and I knew this wasn't over.

Dante sat back, outwardly composed. But his hand never left me, each slow stroke of his thumb against my thigh carrying a silent message: Mine. Mine. Mine.

I didn't know whether to be furious or...something far more dangerous.

The meeting dragged on, voices rising and falling in sharp Italian, numbers and names traded like weapons. But I barely heard a word. All I felt was the heavy weight of Dante's hand, the simmering fury in his body beside me.

When the men finally rose from the table, Dante didn't linger. He stood, tugging me to my feet with a grip that brooked no refusal. His jaw was set, eyes like ice as he led me down a side corridor, away from the glitter and laughter, away from the curious stares.

The moment the door closed behind us, he pressed me back against it, caging me with his body.

"What the hell was that?" His voice was a low growl, barely restrained.

I lifted my chin. "What? That I dared speak for myself? That I dared exist while another man looked at me?"

His palm slammed against the door beside my head. "Don't play games with me, Isabella." His breath was hot against my cheek. "You think I didn't notice the way he looked at you?"

I glared back, refusing to shrink. "Noticed? You nearly tore him apart for glancing at me. You can't control every man's eyes."

His hand moved from the door to my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "No. But I can control you."

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they lit something wild and reckless inside me.

"Control me?" I whispered, my pulse racing. "Is that what you think this is?"

His lips brushed mine, not quite a kiss, more a threat. "No. This is me reminding you who you belong to."

Heat flared between us, thick and undeniable. My body betrayed me, leaning into his even as my pride screamed in protest. His thumb stroked across my lower lip, lingering before his mouth finally claimed mine in a bruising kiss.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was hunger and fury and possession, all tangled together. I hated it. I craved it.

When he finally pulled back, my breath was ragged, my lips swollen. His eyes burned into mine.

"You're mine, Isabella. And I'll kill anyone who forgets it. Including you."

He didn't wait for my answer. He turned, straightened his cuffs, and opened the door as though nothing had happened.

I pressed a trembling hand to my lips, my heart thundering. I should have been terrified. Instead, all I could think was how much I wanted him to kiss me again.