The morning of Isabella Romano's wedding dawned with a quiet kind of anticipation, a mixture of tension and beauty wrapped together in a day that would forever change her life. The large estate was bustling with activity....servants moving to and fro, family members arriving, and the air thick with murmurs about the bride and groom. Yet, in her secluded room, Isabella sat still, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap as Clara helped her prepare.
Her dress was a masterpiece, designed to reflect everything she was—pure, innocent, and breathtakingly delicate. The fabric was a soft ivory, cascading down her frame like liquid silk, shimmering faintly as the light touched it. The bodice hugged her gently, adorned with intricate lacework that mirrored the fragility of her emotions. The skirt was voluminous yet weightless, creating a dreamy silhouette that seemed almost ethereal. Her long, dark hair was swept into a loose updo, with soft curls framing her face, and a delicate lace veil draped over her shoulders, completing the look.
Isabella's face was a picture of simplicity. Her makeup was light, emphasizing her natural beauty...a hint of blush on her cheeks, a soft pink on her lips, and her eyes, framed by long lashes, seemed to hold a nervous glow. She looked every bit the young bride she was, stepping into a world far beyond what she had ever imagined.
Clara let out a low whistle as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You look like a freaking angel, Isa. I mean, Dante's going to drop dead when he sees you."
Isabella flushed, her cheeks turning a deeper pink. "Clara, stop it."
But Clara wasn't stopping. She leaned closer, a mischievous grin on her face. "You know, this whole thing...marrying him, it's like something out of a movie. The dangerous mafia boss and the innocent girl... You're going to have to, you know, consummate this marriage. Have you thought about that?"
Isabella's cheeks burned brighter as she gasped. "Clara!"
Clara shrugged, laughing as she adjusted Isabella's veil. "What? It's true. And don't pretend you're not thinking about it. The man is built like a Greek god. I mean, those shoulders, that jawline—"
"Enough!" Isabella covered her face, her heart racing as she tried to block out Clara's teasing.
But before she could calm herself, there was a knock on the door. Lucia stepped in, looking radiant in her own elegant gown. She beamed at her daughter, her expression unusually warm. "You look beautiful, Isabella. Truly."
"Thank you, Mama" Isabella whispered, a small smile breaking through her nerves.
Lucia placed a hand on Isabella's cheek, her voice gentle. "You don't need to worry about anything, my love. Today is the beginning of a new chapter, and I believe it will be a good one."
Isabella nodded, though the weight of the day pressed heavily on her shoulders.
Meanwhile, Giulia paced the hallway outside, her nails bitten down to jagged edges as she chewed on the next one. She had always snatched the attention away from her, she was the glamorous one, the one people envied. And now, her younger sister was about to marry Dante Vitale—the most powerful man in Italy.
It should have been me, she thought bitterly. Giulia couldn't stand the idea of Isabella stepping into a life of wealth and power, especially with a man like Dante. As she bit down harder on her nail, she plotted desperately, trying to think of a way to sabotage the day.
The church was adorned with white roses and gold accents, sunlight streaming through stained glass windows to create a warm, heavenly glow. The pews were filled with guests...business associates, family members, and those who wanted to witness the union of Dante Vitale and Isabella Romano.
Dante stood at the altar, a striking figure in a tailored black suit that seemed to mold perfectly to his powerful frame. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp features were softened only slightly by the faintest hint of a smile. For the first time, he seemed almost human, though the dangerous edge in his eyes remained.
As the music began to play, all heads turned to watch Isabella enter. She walked slowly down the aisle, her arm looped through Marco's, who looked as though he was forcing himself to smile for the sake of appearances. Isabella's gaze flickered nervously between the crowd and Dante, her heart pounding as she took each step.
When she reached the altar, Dante extended a hand to her, his fingers steady and sure. She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch.
The ceremony proceeded beautifully, with vows exchanged in hushed tones. Dante's voice was low and commanding, his words carrying a weight that sent shivers down Isabella's spine. When it came time to seal their union with a kiss, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against hers....a gesture both possessive and tender.
As the newlyweds prepared to leave the church, Giulia cornered Isabella, her face twisted in a mix of jealousy and malice.
"Well, look at you" Giulia sneered. "Mrs. Dante Vitale. You think this is some kind of fairytale, don't you?"
Isabella frowned, her nerves still raw. "Giulia, I don't want to argue with you today."
"Oh, we're not arguing" Giulia said, her voice dripping with venom. "I just thought you should know something. If you don't... give him what he wants, willingly, he'll take it. Or worse, he'll kill you. You've seen what he's capable of, haven't you? Do you really think you're safe with him?"
Isabella's heart sank, fear creeping into her chest. She knew Dante was dangerous....everyone did, but hearing it spoken so plainly made it all the more real.
Before she could respond, Dante's voice cut through the tension. "Is there a problem here?"
Both women turned to see him standing a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on Giulia. The sheer force of his presence made Giulia shrink back, her confidence faltering.
"No problem" Giulia muttered, retreating quickly.
Dante's gaze shifted to Isabella, softening slightly as he extended his hand. "Let's go, micia."
Isabella hesitated, her sister's words still echoing in her mind, but she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her away.
As they walked toward the car, Isabella couldn't shake the feeling that her life had just taken a turn she wasn't entirely prepared for. Dante's grip on her hand was firm but not painful, a silent reminder of the power he held—not just over others, but now over her as well.
And yet, despite the fear simmering beneath the surface, there was something else. A strange sense of safety, of belonging, that she couldn't quite explain.
She glanced up at Dante, who was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. In that moment, she realized that whatever lay ahead, there was no turning back.
The car ride to the house had been mostly silent, the weight of the day pressing heavily on Isabella's shoulders. She stole glances at Dante from time to time, but his expression was as unreadable as ever—stern, controlled, and distant.
When they arrived, she was momentarily taken aback. The house was stunning, a two-story structure with large windows that allowed the moonlight to cast a serene glow over the property. The design was modern but warm, with a sprawling garden surrounding it. It was beautiful, yet it felt like a cage, her gilded prison.
Dante led her inside, his stride confident and unhurried. "This will be your home now" he said, his deep voice reverberating in the open space. "You're free to move about as you like, but for your safety, you'll stay within the perimeter unless I'm with you. Matteo lives in the conjoined basement—accessible through that door." He pointed to a discreet hallway. "His job is to ensure your protection."
Isabella barely nodded, her chest tightening as she followed him through the house. The interior was as impressive as the exterior—sleek furniture, expensive art, and an air of restrained luxury.
Eventually, they reached his bedroom. It was vast, with a large bed dominating the center, its dark sheets and heavy drapes making the space feel more imposing than welcoming. Dante gestured toward the attached walk-in closet. "Get comfortable. I'll be back in a moment."
Isabella watched him disappear into the closet, her heart hammering in her chest. She stood frozen for a moment, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her sister's words rang in her ears, loud and insistent: If you don't give him what he wants, he'll take it. Or worse, he'll kill you.
When Dante returned, dressed in a fitted black shirt and loose pants, he stopped short at the sight before him. Isabella stood near the bed, her wedding dress discarded and replaced with a silky robe that clung to her frame. Her hands trembled as she held the fabric closed, tears welling in her wide, frightened eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked sharply, his voice low but dangerous.
She flinched, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I—I thought..." Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "Wouldn't you want to... consummate the marriage? Isn't that what you expect?"
Dante's eyes narrowed, a dark storm brewing in their depths. "What did you just say?"
Isabella looked up at him, her tears spilling over. "If I don't comply, wouldn't you... wouldn't you kill me? Isn't that what men like you do?"
For a moment, silence filled the room, so heavy it was suffocating. Then, in a flash, Dante was in front of her, his hand gripping her face—not harshly, but firmly enough to command her attention. His jaw was clenched, and the fury in his eyes burned hotter than she had ever seen.
"Men like me?" he echoed, his voice dangerously calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. "Do you think I'm some kind of monster, Isabella? That I would force myself on you? That I would kill you for not spreading your legs like some obedient little wife?"
She whimpered, her breathing shallow, unable to find the words to answer him.
His grip tightened slightly, but not enough to hurt. "Who put this idea in your head? Your sister? Your father? Tell me."
Her lip quivered, and she whispered, "Giulia said—"
"Giulia." He spat the name like it was poison. "That venomous snake. And you believed her? You believed her over me?"
"I don't know what to believe!" Isabella cried, her tears falling freely now. "I don't know you, Dante! All I know is what people say about you—that you're dangerous, ruthless. And now I'm married to you, and I don't know what you expect from me, or what you'll do if I don't—"
"Enough!" he roared, releasing her face and stepping back. The force of his anger was palpable, filling the room like a tangible presence. "You want to know what I expect from you? I expect you to have some goddamn dignity. To stop letting backstabbers and cowards fill your head with lies. I may be ruthless, Isabella, but I am not a rapist. And I am not a murderer of innocent women."
She flinched at the word 'innocent' her chest heaving with suppressed sobs.
He pointed a finger at her, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. "Never again. Never let anyone make you believe that you're at my mercy like some pawn. You're my wife now, micia. That means you're under my protection. Not my cruelty."
Isabella stared at him, stunned into silence.
Dante turned away abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. His rage was barely contained, and it erupted in a violent motion as he grabbed a vase from a nearby table and hurled it against the wall. The sound of shattering porcelain echoed in the room, and Isabella jumped, her heart racing.
Without another word, he strode toward the door, pausing only briefly. "Get some sleep" he said coldly, not looking back. "You'll need it."
Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
Isabella sank onto the edge of the bed, her body trembling as the reality of what had just happened washed over her. Her tears had stopped, but her mind was racing. She replayed Dante's words over and over, the fury in his voice, the anger in his eyes, and the surprising thread of hurt woven through it all.
She didn't know what to think. Dante was dangerous—there was no denying that. But for the first time, she wondered if there was more to him than the ruthless man everyone claimed he was.
And for the first time, she questioned if she had made a terrible mistake... or if she was exactly where she was meant to be.