watched the De Luca estate grow smaller in the rearview mirror of his black SUV, his sharp jaw clenched in thought. He leaned back against the leather seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other drummed against the armrest in a steady rhythm.
Isabella De Luca.
The girl had more fire than he'd expected. Most women in her position would cower, either too terrified or resigned to their fate. Not Isabella. She'd stared him down as if she could match his darkness with her own will alone. It intrigued him, though he would never admit that to anyone.
"Do you think she'll make trouble?" Matteo, his second-in-command and oldest confidant, asked from the passenger seat.
Dante's lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes remained cold. "She'll try. But trouble can be... entertaining."
Matteo shook his head, his expression grim. "This marriage is a risk, Dante. Binding yourself to the De Lucas might stabilize the family for now, but if she decides to fight back or turn on us, it could blow up in our faces. She's no meek debutante."
"That's exactly why I chose her," Dante said, his voice low but firm. "This isn't just about stabilizing the De Lucas. It's about sending a message to the others. If I can turn their daughter—their strongest piece—into mine, no one will dare challenge us."
Matteo gave a skeptical nod but said nothing more, knowing better than to question Dante when his mind was set.
Dante's fingers tightened around the wheel. It wasn't just about power or strategy. Isabella's spirit had intrigued him from the moment he'd read her file. She was smart, resourceful, and fiercely loyal to her family. She'd fought tooth and nail to keep the De Lucas afloat, even when her father had all but surrendered.
But now she was his, whether she liked it or not.
Back at the estate, Isabella paced her bedroom like a caged animal. The lavish surroundings—the silk curtains, the ornate chandelier, the sprawling king-sized bed—felt like a mockery of her situation. Everything about her life screamed privilege, but now it felt like a golden prison she couldn't escape.
Her mind raced, replaying every word Dante had said to her in the garden. You became mine. In my world, you play by my rules. The way he'd looked at her, like she was a challenge he couldn't wait to conquer, sent chills down her spine.
She hated him. Hated the way he spoke, the way he carried himself like a king. But more than anything, she hated the flicker of heat she'd felt when he was close to her.
She slammed her fists onto the vanity, her reflection staring back at her with wild, angry eyes. "You're not his," she hissed under her breath. "You're no one's."
A knock at the door broke her thoughts. She straightened, smoothing her blouse as the door creaked open. It was her younger brother, Marco, his freckled face pale with worry.
"Isabella," he said, his voice small. "Are you okay?"
Her expression softened. Marco was only fifteen, too young to be caught in this mess. She pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly. "I'm fine," she lied. "Don't worry about me."
He pulled back, his wide eyes searching hers. "I heard what Dad said. About the marriage. Are you really going to marry Dante Marino?"
The weight of the question pressed down on her. She wanted to tell him no, to promise him that she'd find a way out. But the truth was, there was no way out. Not without putting Marco, her father, and the remnants of their family at risk.
"I'll do what I have to," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "For the family."
Marco's jaw tightened, his boyish face hardening with anger. "It's not fair. Dad should be the one fixing this, not you."
Isabella smiled bitterly. "Fair doesn't exist in our world, Marco. But don't worry. I'll handle Dante."
The words tasted like ash in her mouth, but she forced herself to believe them.
Hours later, when the house was silent and the night stretched on, Isabella sat on the edge of her bed, her mind racing. She knew she couldn't run. Dante would find her, and the consequences would be devastating. But that didn't mean she had to submit.
If Dante thought he could own her, he was in for a rude awakening.
You play by my rules, he had said.
But Isabella had a game of her own, and she was determined to beat him at it