The days following Giulia's attempted seduction of Dante and Isabella's staunch defense of her husband were anything but quiet. Dante's wrath was swift and unforgiving, as one would expect from a man like him.
Marco's precarious business ventures took a sudden turn for the worse. Contracts dissolved overnight, associates turned cold, and key suppliers mysteriously disappeared. It didn't take long for Marco to realize Dante was behind it all. Dante, however, made no effort to hide his involvement. When Marco came groveling to fix the situation, Dante had sent a clear message: "Your daughter's actions come with a price. If it happens again, there won't be a business left to ruin."
As for Giulia, her humiliation wasn't confined to that night. Word spread quickly through their social circles, carefully orchestrated by Dante's men. At every event she attended, she was met with disdainful whispers and icy stares. People avoided her, and potential suitors distanced themselves from the Romano family. Isabella heard murmurs about how Giulia had been reduced to nothing more than a disgraced name in society, and though she felt a small twinge of pity, she couldn't muster enough to care.
When Isabella had mentioned the situation to Dante, questioning if it was necessary to go so far, he had simply replied with a dark smirk, "You said you trusted me, micia. I'm only making sure no one questions that trust again."
Since that night, Dante's behavior toward Isabella had shifted—not dramatically, but enough to make her head spin. He no longer hid his amusement at her innocence, using every opportunity to make her blush, fluster, or squirm.
One morning, as Isabella was setting the table for breakfast, she accidentally spilled some coffee. Muttering under her breath, she bent down to clean the mess. Dante, who had just walked in, leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed.
"You're lucky I'm not the jealous type" he said casually.
She straightened, confused. "What are you talking about?"
He nodded toward the floor where she was kneeling moments ago. "If anyone else had seen you like that, I'd have to break their legs."
Her cheeks burned as she dropped the rag and glared at him. "You're impossible."
Dante smirked, walking over to her. "And you're adorable when you're mad."
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her jaw before he pulled back, leaving her heart racing.
Another day, Clara had been staying with them for a few days, much to Dante's dismay. The woman was loud, opinionated, and far too protective of Isabella for his liking.
One evening, Isabella and Clara were sitting in the living room, chatting about their day. Matteo was sprawled on the couch, half-listening while scrolling through his phone. Dante entered the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.
"Isabella" he called, his voice smooth and deep, "come here for a moment."
Isabella glanced at Clara, who raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. "I'm talking to my friend, Dante."
Dante tilted his head, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "And I'm talking to my wife. I think that takes precedence."
Clara huffed, but Isabella sighed and got up, walking over to him. As soon as she was within reach, Dante wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
"Dante" she whispered, mortified that Clara and Matteo were watching.
"Yes, micia?" he murmured, leaning down so only she could hear him. "You don't like me stealing you away in front of them?"
Her face burned as he pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering just long enough to make her shiver. When he finally let her go, she scurried back to the couch, avoiding Clara's knowing smirk.
Matteo, however, wasn't one to let the moment slide. "You know, boss" he drawled, "for someone who claims to be cold and heartless, you're not doing a great job convincing us."
Dante shot him a glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Say another word, Matteo, and you'll be on clean-up duty for the next month."
Clara burst out laughing, and even Isabella couldn't help but smile as Dante retreated to his study.
Everything was okay untill Dante came home late that evening, his tie undone, clothes bloodied and sleeves rolled up, the exhaustion of his long week etched into his features. But the sight waiting for him was a balm to his dark mood. Isabella sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips in a pout, her usual spark of defiance replaced with something softer.
"You're late" she said, not looking at him as he set his keys down.
He smirked, stepping closer. "Business, micia. You know how it is."
"I also know you didn't call" she retorted, turning her face away like a stubborn child.
Dante chuckled, crouching down in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees. "So this is how you punish me?" he teased, his voice low. "By sulking?"
Isabella tried to hold her resolve, but when his thumb began tracing small circles against her skin, she faltered. "You've been gone for days" she murmured.
His dark eyes softened, something unspoken passing between them. "Then let me make it up to you."
The next morning, Dante kept his promise. They spent the day strolling through upscale boutiques, Dante insisting she buy whatever caught her eye. Isabella protested at first, but eventually relented, knowing it was his way of making amends.
Dinner was a quiet affair, a private table on a rooftop overlooking the city. The candlelight flickered, casting warm hues against Isabella's skin, and Dante couldn't tear his eyes away.
"You're staring" she said, cheeks pink as she sipped her wine.
"You're beautiful" he replied simply, his gaze unyielding.
Her blush deepened, but before she could respond, he added, "I don't tell you enough. I should."
The sincerity in his voice stole her breath, and she smiled, her fingers brushing against his on the table.
The day was perfect until they walked into a boutique late in the evening. Dante had stepped aside to take a call, leaving Isabella to browse. She was admiring a silk dress when a voice called out behind her.
"Isa?"
She froze, the familiarity of the voice sending a shiver down her spine. Turning slowly, her eyes widened in shock as she recognized him. "Alex?"
He smiled, stepping closer. "It's been so long. You've changed so much."
Before she could react, he reached for her hand, pulling her into an embrace. Her instincts screamed to pull back, but she was too stunned to move.
That was when Dante appeared.
In an instant, she was yanked from Alex's grasp, Dante's arm wrapping possessively around her waist. The tension radiating from his body was palpable, his eyes like shards of ice as he glared at the man before them.
"And you are?" Dante's voice was cold, dangerously calm.
Alex blinked, clearly startled. "I… I'm Alex. A friend from the past."
Dante's grip on Isabella tightened, his fingers digging into her hip. "A past that no longer matters" he said, his tone like a blade. "She's my wife now."
Isabella tried to diffuse the situation, her voice trembling slightly. "Alex, this is Dante. My husband."
But Alex didn't take the hint. "I didn't know you'd married" he said, his tone carrying a hint of something unpleasant. "I always thought—"
Dante snapped, his patience fraying. "We're leaving."
Before Alex could say another word, Dante whisked Isabella away. The drive home was tense, Dante's hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn't say a word, but the storm brewing inside him was impossible to ignore.
The moment they stepped into the house, the air was thick with tension. Dante's steps were deliberate, each one echoing with barely contained fury. Isabella barely had time to process before he spun her around, slamming her back against the wall.
"Dante—" she started, but his hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.
"Do you know what you did to me back there?" His voice was low, rough, filled with barely restrained anger and something darker. "Letting that idiot put his hands on you, even for a second?"
"I didn't—"
"You didn't stop him fast enough" he interrupted, his lips brushing against her ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. "Do you have any idea how hard it was not to kill him on the spot?"
Her breath hitched as his lips trailed down, slow and deliberate, pressing against the pulse point at her neck. "Dante, please—"
"Please, what, micia?" he murmured against her skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make her shiver. "You think I'll let this go? That I'll forget the way he looked at you?"
"I didn't ask for it" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I know you didn't" he growled, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. His gaze was molten, a dangerous mix of anger and desire. "But you're mine. And no one—no one—touches what's mine."
Before she could respond, he lowered his head again, his mouth capturing the curve of her neck with bruising intensity. Isabella gasped, her body arching against his, her wrists still pinned above her head. His stubble scraped her delicate skin as he bit down just hard enough to make her whimper, then soothed the mark with his tongue.
"Dante—"
"Quiet" he ordered, his voice commanding. "Let me remind you who you belong to."
His lips continued their assault, moving to her collarbone, then back up to her neck, each kiss more possessive than the last. He wasn't gentle, wasn't soft—this was raw, unrestrained. He wanted her to feel him, to carry his mark, to remember every second of this.
When he finally pulled back, her chest was heaving, her cheeks flushed, and her neck adorned with vivid marks—evidence of his claim. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Now" he said, his voice a dangerous purr, "every time you see yourself in the mirror, you'll remember this. Remember me."
Isabella's lips parted, but no words came. She was too overwhelmed, her mind spinning from the intensity of his touch, the possessiveness in his gaze.
He released her wrists, stepping back slightly, but his hands remained on her waist, grounding her. "You're mine, Isabella" he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. "Never forget that."
She nodded, unable to speak, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the fresh marks on her neck. Dante smirked, satisfied, before leaning in one last time, pressing his lips to her ear.
"Good," he murmured. "Now go, before I loose every ounce of my control micia "