The next evening came too quickly.
Isabella stood before the giant mirror in her room, fingers twisting the satin ribbon of her dress. It was pale blue, modest but elegant, chosen carefully by the housemaid under her father's orders. Her hair had been curled softly, pinned back with delicate pearls that glinted in the light. She looked every bit the dutiful daughter, but inside her chest, her heart was a beating drum.
Antonio entered without knocking, as always. He studied her carefully, his sharp eyes sweeping her from head to toe. Finally, he gave a small nod.
"You look presentable," he said. "Remember, tonight is not about you. It is about respect, obedience, and honor. Do not embarrass me."
"Yes, Papa," she whispered.
He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand through reluctantly. Together, they descended the marble staircase and walked out to the waiting car. The sleek black vehicle gleamed under the fading sunset, its tinted windows promising shadows and secrets.
The drive into the city was silent. Isabella kept her eyes on the glittering skyline in the distance, wondering what fate awaited her. She wanted to ask, what business was this, why must she come,but Antonio's expression was carved in stone. Questions were not welcome.
When the car finally came to a stop, Isabella's stomach clenched. They had arrived at a grand hotel, its golden lights spilling onto the red-carpeted entrance. Uniformed doormen bowed as they approached. Inside, chandeliers sparkled above a crowd of elegantly dressed men and women. The air hummed with power, money, and something darker.
Isabella followed Antonio closely, trying to make herself small in the sea of strangers. Heads turned as they passed, some nodding respectfully, others whispering behind champagne glasses. She felt eyes crawling over her, assessing, weighing, as though she were a prize to be inspected.
Her father guided her to a private dining hall at the back of the hotel. The doors opened, revealing a long table draped in white linen, crystal glasses glinting in the soft candlelight. At the head of the table sat a man Isabella had never seen before, an older gentleman with silver at his temples, his posture composed and commanding.
Beside him, lounging with the ease of a king, was him.
The man from the photograph.
Her breath caught. He looked even more dangerous in person. Broad shoulders filled his dark tailored suit, the fabric straining against lean muscle. His hair was ink-black, slicked back, and his face was a study in sharp lines and cold beauty. But it was his piercing gray eyes that froze her. They locked on her instantly, unblinking, assessing her the way a predator studies prey.
"Ah, Antonio," the older man greeted warmly, rising from his seat. "And this must be your daughter."
Antonio's hand tightened around Isabella's arm. "Isabella, this is Don Salvatore Moretti. And his son, Damian."
The name hit her like a stone. Damian Moretti. She had heard whispers of the Morettis, the family that ruled the underworld with iron fists. Ruthless. Untouchable. Dangerous.
She curtsied stiffly, her voice trembling as she murmured, "It's an honor."
Damian didn't move. He didn't rise. He didn't even smile. He simply leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, and let his gaze rake over her like a slow blade.
Antonio cleared his throat. "Shall we sit?"
They took their places, Isabella beside her father, directly across from Damian. She kept her eyes on her plate, afraid that if she met his gaze again, her fear would be too obvious.
The dinner began with polite conversation between Antonio and Don Salvatore about their business, alliances, and trade. Isabella tried to follow, but the words blurred together, heavy with meanings she couldn't grasp. She felt Damian's eyes on her, a constant weight. Her fingers held with her napkin beneath the table.
Halfway through the meal, Antonio's voice cut through her fog.
"As you know, Don Salvatore, our families have always respected one another. But in these uncertain times, alliances must be strengthened." He paused, his eyes flicking briefly to Isabella. "That is why I am pleased to announce that my daughter, Isabella Romano, will be betrothed to your son, Damian Moretti."
The room fell silent.
The blood drained from Isabella's face. She whipped her head toward her father. "Papa….what?"
"Silence," Antonio hissed under his breath, his jaw clenched.
Across the table, Damian finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, he set his glass of wine down and leaned forward. His gaze pinned her like a butterfly.
"Isabella Romano," he said, his voice a low, velvety baritone that carried a dangerous edge. "My future bride."
The words sliced through her like a blade.
Her chest tightened, her mind screaming. Bride? She had no choice, no say? She wanted to protest, to run, but her body felt rooted to the chair.
She glanced desperately at Sophia, who sat near the end of the table beside her father. Sophia's eyes were wide, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
Don Salvatore raised his glass with a satisfied smile. "To the future of our families."
Glasses clinked around the table. Isabella sat frozen, her hands trembling in her lap. Damian's eyes never left her, cold and unyielding, as though daring her to defy this fate.
When dessert was served, she couldn't eat a bite. Her throat was tight, her stomach twisted. All she could think of was the man across from her the stranger who now claimed her life.
At last, the dinner concluded. Guests began to drift out, offering congratulations. Antonio exchanged handshakes with Don Salvatore, sealing the agreement.
As Isabella rose to leave, a hand caught her wrist. She startled, turning to find Damian beside her, closer than she expected. His grip was firm but not cruel, his touch burning through the satin of her sleeve.
"You look frightened," he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
She swallowed hard, her lips trembling. "Because I am."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth cold, unreadable. "Good. Fear will keep you obedient."
He released her hand and walked away without another word, leaving her breathless, shaking, and more trapped than ever.