The opulent ballroom gleamed under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, each one sparkling as if to outshine the other. The floor was polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the elegance of the attendees who flowed into the event dressed in their finest. Dante Vitale, known to many as Il Diavolo, stepped into the room with an air of command that instantly drew all eyes to him.
Dressed in a tailored black tuxedo with subtle silver accents and a perfectly tied bowtie, he exuded power and control. His piercing gaze swept over the crowd as if daring anyone to approach him uninvited. Beside him stood Matteo, equally sharp in his dark navy suit, though with an expression far less intimidating than his boss's. Matteo nudged Dante as they made their way inside.
"Why do I feel like you're dragging me into something interesting tonight?" Matteo teased, his tone light.
Dante glanced at him, his face impassive. "Don't make this about you. Stay focused."
Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the ballroom, Isabella Romano had just arrived. She looked ethereal in a flowing emerald gown that hugged her slender frame, the fabric shimmering with every step. The off-shoulder design revealed delicate collarbones, while the high slit up her leg hinted at a boldness she didn't often show. Her dark hair was swept into a loose chignon, with a few strands framing her soft features.
Beside her, Clara matched her friend's elegance in a burgundy dress with a fitted bodice and a dramatic flair at the hem. Clara, however, was less focused on the grandeur of the event and more on the potential drama brewing in the background.
"I still can't believe you didn't tell me until the last minute that Marco was coming" Clara whispered to Isabella, her eyes scanning the crowd nervously.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it"Isabella replied, her voice quiet. "Besides, Giulia's here too. You know how she gets."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Yes, the wicked witch of Milan. Why is she here anyway? She's never lifted a finger for charity."
"She's with Dad" Isabella said, her voice tinged with resignation. "I think they're planning something."
Clara was about to respond when her gaze caught sight of a tall, imposing figure at the edge of the room. Her breath hitched as she nudged Isabella. "Oh my God, who is that?"
Isabella followed Clara's line of sight and felt her stomach flip. There he was....the stranger from the restaurant.The man who had caught her when she stumbled, whose piercing eyes had left her both wary and intrigued.
"I don't know" Isabella said softly, though her heart raced. "But he looks…"
"Dangerous"Clara finished for her, a playful glint in her eye. "He's like one of those men from your romance novels."
"Stop it" Isabella hissed, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks.
As if sensing her gaze, Dante turned, his sharp eyes locking onto Isabella. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the distance between them vanishing. Isabella looked away quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.
Meanwhile, Marco and Giulia stood near the bar, observing Isabella with predatory intent. Marco's arm was loosely draped around Giulia's shoulders, while she sipped her champagne with a smug smile. He wasn't happy that she was given the invitation aside from him. It felt to him like a competition.
"She looks out of place, doesn't she?" Giulia sneered. "That dress… she's trying too hard."
"Focus" Marco said, his voice low and cold. "You know what to do."
Giulia pouted. "Are you sure this will work? It's a bit… risky."
"She won't make a scene"Marco assured her. "She never does. And if she does, I'll handle it. Remember your part."
Giulia's eyes gleamed with malice as she nodded. She picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and made her way toward Isabella. Marco remained at the bar, his expression unreadable.
Isabella was mid-conversation with Clara when Giulia approached. Her presence alone was enough to set Clara on edge.
"Well, well, look who decided to show up" Giulia said, her voice saccharine. "I didn't know they were letting just anyone in these days."
Clara bristled. "Why don't you crawl back to whatever rock you came from?"
Giulia ignored her, her focus entirely on Isabella. "That's a lovely dress, sister. It's a shame it doesn't quite… suit you." Before Isabella could respond, Giulia pretended to stumble, her glass of wine tipping forward and spilling all over Isabella's gown.
The room seemed to freeze as Isabella gasped, her emerald dress now stained with deep red. Giulia's faux-apology followed. "Oh no! I'm so clumsy. I'm so sorry, Isabella."
Clara stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "You did that on purpose!"
"Don't be ridiculous" Giulia said, feigning innocence. "It was an accident."
Dante, who had been watching from across the room, moved before anyone else could react. In seconds, he was at Isabella's side, his presence towering and unyielding. He took one look at her ruined dress and then turned his icy gaze on Giulia.
"You" he said, his voice low and deadly, "apologize. Properly."
Giulia flinched, her bravado crumbling under his glare. "I-I already did—"
"Again" Dante commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "And mean it."
Giulia's face turned red with embarrassment as she stammered out another apology. "I'm sorry, Isabella."
Dante's attention shifted to Isabella, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"
Isabella nodded, though she was still shaken. "I… I'm fine."
"You're not" Dante said simply. He turned to Matteo, who had joined them, and spoke in a tone that left no room for debate. "Find her a new dress. Something that suits her."
Matteo raised an eyebrow but nodded, quickly stepping away to handle the task. Clara, meanwhile, looked at Dante with a mix of awe and suspicion.
"Who are you?" she asked bluntly.
Dante ignored her, his focus remaining on Isabella. "You don't have to endure this" he said quietly. "Not from them."
His words left Isabella speechless. For the first time in years, someone had stood up for her—someone powerful enough to make her tormentors cower. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
As Dante escorted Isabella away from the scene, the room buzzed with whispers. Marco watched from the bar, his jaw clenched. Dante Vitale had just made an enemy out of him—and everyone knew that Il Diavolo didn't act without reason.
The hallway outside the grand ballroom was quieter, the distant hum of chatter and music fading as Dante and Isabella stood a few paces apart. The golden sconces lining the walls cast a soft light on them, but even in this calmer space, the tension between them was palpable.
Isabella turned to face him, her hazel eyes still wide with disbelief. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Why would you do that for a stranger?"
Dante's expression remained unreadable as he studied her. "You think you're a stranger to me, Isabella Romano?" he said, his tone low and deliberate.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name. "How… how do you know my name?"
Dante took a step closer, his presence overwhelming yet oddly reassuring. "It's my job to know everything, especially about those who are… significant."
Isabella's brows furrowed. "Significant? I don't understand. We've never even met before that night at the restaurant."
He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in your well-being. And tonight proved that my instincts were right."
"Instincts?" Isabella asked, her voice sharper now. "You don't even know me. You can't just decide to… to protect me like that."
Dante's gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous edge. "I can. And I did. Do you think I'd stand by and let them humiliate you?"
Her breath caught at the raw intensity in his voice. She shook her head, trying to piece together the puzzle of this man who had inserted himself into her life without warning. "You don't even know the whole story" she said quietly.
"I know enough" he countered. "Your father and sister have no respect for you. They see you as a pawn, someone to use and discard. That ends tonight."
Isabella blinked, startled by his certainty. "And what makes you think you can change anything?"
Dante stepped even closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "Because I'm not like them. I don't play games, Isabella. When I say I'll protect you, I mean it."
The sincerity in his words left her speechless. For a moment, she could only stare at him, torn between wanting to trust him and fearing the consequences of doing so.
"I don't know what to say" she admitted finally.
"You don't have to say anything" Dante replied. "Just let me handle it."
Before Isabella could respond, the sound of raised voices echoed down the hallway. She and Dante turned to see Matteo approaching, holding a garment bag, with Clara hot on his heels, her face flushed with irritation.
"This is ridiculous!" Clara exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Who buys a dress without consulting the person who's supposed to wear it?"
"It's not just any dress" Matteo shot back, his tone defensive. "I have good taste, alright?"
Clara rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. Your 'good taste' probably involves sequins and feathers."
Matteo glared at her. "For your information, it's elegant and understated—something your friend will actually look stunning in."
"I'll be the judge of that" Clara retorted, snatching the garment bag from him. She unzipped it and pulled out a sleek midnight-blue gown with delicate silver embroidery along the neckline and hem. Her eyes widened slightly, though she tried to hide her surprise. "Okay, fine. It's… decent."
"Decent?" Matteo scoffed. "It's perfection, and you know it."
Isabella couldn't help but smile at their bickering, the tension of the evening easing just a fraction. Dante, however, remained unfazed, his gaze fixed on Isabella.
"Put it on" he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're going back in there, and I want everyone to see who they're dealing with."
When Isabella re-entered the ballroom, her arm lightly brushing against Dante's, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and the whispers began. The once-overlooked younger Romano daughter was now the center of attention, her new gown accentuating her elegance while Dante Vitale's presence at her side exuded untouchable power.
Marco's eyes darkened from across the room, his jaw tightening as he realized the implications of Dante's actions. Giulia stood beside him, her earlier smugness replaced by unease. The stain of humiliation still lingered in the air, though it now clung to her instead of Isabella.
Clara and Matteo trailed slightly behind, their argument continuing in hushed tones. "Admit it" Matteo said, leaning closer to Clara. "I saved the night."
"You got lucky" Clara muttered, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile.
Dante guided Isabella toward the center of the room, his hand resting lightly on her lower back—a gesture of both protection and possession. Those who had once ignored her now approached with tentative smiles and polite greetings, eager to align themselves with the woman who had earned Il Diavolo's favor.
Isabella felt a mix of awe and discomfort at the sudden attention. She leaned closer to Dante, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why are they all acting like this?"
"Because" Dante replied, his voice calm but firm, "they know better than to cross me. And now, they know better than to cross you."
The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in years, Isabella felt something she hadn't dared to hope for: safety.
As the night wore on, the ballroom buzzed with renewed energy, but in the corner of the room, Marco fumed silently. He wasn't done. Not by a long shot.