The following day, Dante called Isabella from his office, his voice as controlled as ever. "We're attending an event tonight" he told her, the quiet authority in his tone making it clear this wasn't a mere suggestion. "You'll need to go shopping for a dress. But not alone. Take Alexander with you. He'll accompany you and keep an eye on things."
Alexander, Dante's quietly imposing bodyguard, had been assigned to Isabella since her arrival in the house. While he was efficient and always vigilant, Isabella had found him to be more irritating than reassuring. His silent demeanor grated on her nerves, and as they roamed the stores together, she found herself growing increasingly frustrated.
She made a mental note to talk to Dante about it later. But for now, she focused on her task. The dress. When it came time to choose, she gravitated toward something elegant yet understated. A floor-length gown of deep midnight blue, with delicate lace detailing along the bodice and straps. The skirt flowed softly, catching the light with every movement. The fabric clung to her in just the right places, emphasizing her silhouette without being too revealing. As she slipped the dress on, she felt a strange sense of confidence—like she was slipping into a new version of herself.
Returning home, she completed the pending work that she had been putting off. With the event drawing closer, she prepared herself, her anticipation building as she added the final touches—polished nails, soft curls framing her face, and just a hint of makeup. When she stepped into the living room, Dante was just arriving from his dealings.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His gaze swept over her with the intensity of a predator, his usual stoic expression faltering as his eyes softened for a split second. Isabella's heart skipped a beat under his unwavering stare. Flustered, she asked, "Do I look… weird?" She hadn't expected him to react this way, and now she felt exposed, like he could see right through her.
Dante didn't answer immediately. He just stood there, silent, taking her in like he was drinking in every inch of her. His voice, when it came, was low and reverberated with something she couldn't quite place. "No," he said. "You look ethereal."
Isabella's breath caught in her throat, the word sending a shiver down her spine. Dante's gaze lingered on her as she blushed, flustered by his rare compliment. He hadn't spoken to her like that before, and for some reason, it made her feel both beautiful and fragile all at once.
The event later that night was a grand affair, a stark contrast to the quiet, intimate moments they'd shared in the house. Isabella ignored her father and sister as they mingled in the crowded space, their presence nothing more than a passing nuisance in her mind. She had no interest in their attempts at manipulation or false pleasantries. She was here for Dante, and Dante alone.
The evening unfolded with a mixture of politeness and subtle power plays. Some tried to flatter her, hoping to curry favor, while others attempted to insult her subtly, testing the waters to see how far they could push. One warning glare from Dante, however, was enough to silence anyone who dared cross the line. Isabella didn't voice it aloud, but part of her felt a dark thrill at the authority he commanded. He was untouchable, and in his presence, so was she.
When Marco approached her later, his voice dripping with false concern, Isabella steeled herself for what was to come. He started to talk about business, suggesting that she take some money from Dante, offering her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Isabella recoiled at the very thought, her instincts screaming at her not to trust him. " No, I won't, I suggest you try elsewhere " she said firmly, surprising even herself with how confident she sounded.
Marco's expression twisted for a moment, frustration creeping into his voice as he attempted to remind her of her name. "Isabella Rom-"
"No" she interrupted him, her voice steady. "Isabella Dante Vitale." She glanced up at him, her eyes fierce. "And you will never forget that." She left him standing there, too shocked to respond, and walked away, blending into the crowd as she continued to mingle with guests.
Dante, meanwhile, had excused himself from the main event, slipping into a more secluded room to take an important call. He lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall as the smoke swirled around him. The meeting was a tense one...one that didn't need to be discussed in front of prying eyes...but as he exhaled, he couldn't shake the thought of Isabella. He hoped she was handling herself well in the crowd.
Before he could finish his cigarette, the door opened, and his attention snapped to the newcomer. It was Isabella's sister, Giulia, her gaze fixed on him with an unsettling determination. Dante didn't even acknowledge her presence, his eyes narrowing as he turned to leave, intent on avoiding any unnecessary interaction.
But Giulia had other plans. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path, a sly grin on her lips. "I know what you want, Dante" she purred, her fingers trailing down his arm, trying to provoke him. "We could have a little fun, can't we? I'm sure Isabella wouldn't mind."
Dante's blood boiled, but he kept his calm, his control never wavering. Without warning, he shoved her back, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't ever think about touching me again." The air around them thickened with tension, and for a moment, it seemed like everything might erupt.
Just then, Isabella entered the room, her eyes immediately falling on the scene. Giulia was on the floor, looking up at Dante with a mixture of shock and anger. Dante stood over her, cold as ever, while Isabella's eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched.
Giulia, not willing to back down, tried to twist the situation to her advantage. "He—he—he attacked me!" she cried out, her voice shaking with feigned distress. "He touched me, tried to—"
But before she could finish, Isabella cut her off, her voice icy, her presence commanding the room. "You've got no right to lie, Giulia. I trust my husband more than I'll ever trust a Romano" she spat, stepping closer. "And if you ever try to pull something like this again, you won't just be on the floor—you'll be six feet underground."
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, Giulia said nothing. The silence was thick, suffocating. Giulia's face reddened with humiliation, and for the first time, she realized that she had underestimated the woman she had always looked down on. The look in Isabella's eyes was enough to send a chill down her spine, and she was left standing there, speechless, as her sister walked away.
Giulia seethed with anger, but she knew there was nothing she could do now. Her plans had been thwarted, but she vowed to make Isabella pay for the humiliation, to find a way to get back at her for daring to stand up to her.
Isabella stormed out of the room, her hand gripping Dante's with more force than she realized. Dante, ever composed, allowed himself to be dragged along, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Her obvious frustration was amusing to him, and the way her lips pursed and her eyes flashed with fire only added to his intrigue.
She muttered under her breath, her words too low for him to catch entirely, but he didn't need to hear them. Her body language spoke volumes. She was angry—but why? That question nagged at him, though he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed seeing his fiery little micia like this.
The car ride back home was a quiet one. Isabella sat rigidly, her arms crossed, staring out the window as if Dante weren't even there. Every attempt he made to engage her was met with either silence or a sharp glare. By the time they reached the house, Dante was fighting the urge to laugh aloud at her stubbornness.
The moment they walked through the door, Isabella made a beeline for the stairs, clearly intent on retreating to her room without a word. Dante's patience, however, had reached its limit. In a swift movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, his grip firm but not painful. The sudden motion caused her to stumble slightly, and before she could protest, he had her pinned against the wall.
His dark eyes bore into hers, intense and unyielding. His hands framed her face, his body mere inches from hers. "Why are you angry with me, micia?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, carrying a dangerous edge.
"I don't know!" Isabella snapped, though her voice wavered with the admission. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, her emotions tangled and overwhelming. "Why did you go into that room with her? You left me alone out there! You—" She stopped, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned her head to avoid his gaze.
Dante tilted his head, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "You're jealous" he stated, his lips curling into a smirk.
"No, I'm not!" Isabella shot back, her cheeks flushing crimson. "I was just—just worried! What if she tried to do something to you? What if—"
Dante cut her off with a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "It was a top-secret call, Isabella" he explained patiently, though his tone was laced with amusement. "If anyone overheard it, it could have caused problems. And as much as I fear for you, micia, I have my own enemies to worry about."
His admission sent a chill down her spine, a reminder of the dangerous world he lived in. But before she could fully process his words, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "But if you're so jealous" he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "why not mark me? Hmm?"
Isabella froze, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "M-mark you?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her wide eyes met his, and she saw the gleam of challenge in his dark gaze.
"Yes" he drawled, his lips ghosting over her jawline, sending shivers down her spine. "Claim me as yours. That way, no one else will dare to come near me. Isn't that what you want, micia?"
Her innocence betrayed her as she pressed herself further against the wall, her hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to steady herself. "I—I don't…" she trailed off, her words lost as his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth, teasing yet never fully committing.
"You don't know?" Dante pressed, his voice filled with dark amusement. "Or you don't want to admit it?" His fingers traced the line of her jaw, tilting her chin upward so she had no choice but to look at him.
Isabella's breath hitched, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. His closeness, his intensity—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. "I… Dante...." she whispered, though her tone lacked conviction.
"Say the word, and I will stop" he said softly, his lips hovering over hers. His gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability hidden beneath his otherwise composed exterior. "But don't lie to yourself, micia. You want me just as much as I want you."
Her face burned with embarrassment, but there was no denying the truth in his words. She was trapped—by his presence, by her feelings, and by the magnetic pull between them. Yet even as her heart raced and her thoughts spiraled, she found herself unable to look away from him.
Dante leaned back slightly, giving her space but not releasing her from his hold. "I'll let you go this time" he said, his voice low and smooth. "But remember, micia, you're mine. Just as much as I am yours."
Isabella swallowed hard, her cheeks still flushed as he stepped back, his smirk firmly in place. Her legs felt like jelly as she hurried past him, retreating to the safety of her room. But even as she closed the door behind her, her mind was filled with the memory of his words, his touch, and the dangerous allure of the man who had claimed her heart.