The Rossi mansion loomed like a fortress, its tall iron gates swallowing me whole as the car rolled through. The ceremony had ended only an hour ago, yet my body still ached beneath the weight of the vows I had spoken. My name had changed. My future had been rewritten. I was no longer Isabella Romano, daughter of a desperate man—I was now Isabella Rossi, wife of a mafia heir.
The title sat like a curse on my tongue.
Adrian walked ahead of me as we entered the grand hallway, his stride powerful, assured. His men moved silently behind us, shadows in tailored suits. No one dared speak. No one dared breathe too loudly in his presence. Even I—his wife—felt like an intruder in his world.
"Your room is this way," he said at last, his voice deep, resonant. It wasn't cruel, but it wasn't kind either. Just…final.
I followed him up the marble staircase, my heels clicking against the steps. He stopped before double doors and pushed them open. Inside, a massive bedroom stretched before me, all rich mahogany and velvet drapes. A chandelier glowed softly above, casting a golden sheen across the king-sized bed.
My stomach knotted.
"This is ours?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Adrian glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "It's yours. I don't spend much time here."
I froze. "But we're married. Shouldn't we—"
His lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though his eyes remained hard. "Do you want to consummate this marriage tonight, Isabella?"
Heat rushed to my face. My heart slammed against my ribs, confused by the question. Did I want to? No. Did I expect it? Yes.
"I… I don't know," I admitted, hating the vulnerability in my voice.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his cologne—leather, smoke, danger. My breath caught as he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray curl from my cheek. The touch was gentle, but his presence burned like fire.
"You are mine," he murmured, his voice low, intimate, dangerous. "But I won't force what isn't freely given. Remember that."
With that, he withdrew, loosening his tie as he crossed the room to a side door. "Rest. You'll need it. Tomorrow you'll begin learning what it means to be a Rossi."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the cavernous room. My knees gave way, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets as though they could anchor me.
Relief washed through me—relief that he hadn't touched me. But threaded with that relief was something more dangerous: curiosity.
Who was Adrian Rossi, really? A monster who'd claimed me as a trophy? Or a man bound by the same chains of duty that shackled me?
I lay down, staring up at the chandelier. Sleep didn't come easily. My mind replayed every glance, every word, every flicker of emotion in his dark eyes. He hadn't looked at me like I was worthless. No—he looked at me like I was something he couldn't decide whether to treasure…or destroy.
And that thought scared me more than anything.
As the night deepened, I whispered a vow into the silence of my new prison:
If Adrian Rossi thinks I'll simply be his obedient bride, he's wrong. I may wear his name, I may bear his ring, but I will not surrender my soul.
Yet even as I spoke the words, part of me wondered if I had already lost the battle—because my heart was still racing from the memory of his touch.