4. Isabella
4
Isabella
M y reflection stares back at me. A stranger in an ivory lace wedding dress, with ridiculously enormous diamonds adorning her neck.
"You look stunning," Diana says, appearing behind me. She arrived just an hour ago, breathless from her flight.
We've been best friends ever since we crashed my father's boat at sixteen. We've gone through everything together and I'm happy to have her in my life.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with concern.
Before I can answer, another voice chimes in. "You look like a princess, Isa."
I turn to see Olivia standing in the doorway, her dark curls bouncing as she walks toward me. Unlike Diana, Olivia doesn’t wear her emotions on her face. She’s the lawyer of the family. Practical, sharp, always in control.
Still, she hugs me tightly, her grip firm. "I still can’t believe this is happening. It’s all so—fast."
I sigh, pulling her even closer. "I know, Liv. But it’s what needs to be done."
Diana watches us, a knowing glint in her eyes. "At least he’s gorgeous," she says lightly, trying to ease the tension.
"And dangerous," I remind her, though the memory of Nico shielding me from bullets flashes through my mind. "This is business, nothing more."
Diana tilts her head, expression unreadable. "That’s not how marriage is supposed to work."
I smooth my dress, forcing a smile. "Not everything is the way it is in the romance books you read."
Diana snorts. "You sure about that? Because your brooding, lethal husband-to-be sounds straight out of one."
Before I can reply, a knock at the door jolts us, and my parents walk in. My father in his tuxedo and my mother in an elegant navy gown. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Isabella," my father’s voice catches, his gaze soft as he takes me in. "You look just like your mother on our wedding day." My mother swats at his arm playfully. "Oh, please. She looks far better. I was a mess of nerves. Unlike her, who somehow still looks composed despite this madness."
I let out a soft laugh. "Oh, trust me, I’m a mess, too."
My mother cups my face, her touch warm and steady. "I know this isn’t how you imagined your wedding, darling. But love is strange. It doesn’t always come as we expect it to."
"I don’t love him, Mamma."
She studies me for a long moment, then smiles softly. "Then make him love you. Or at the very least, make him respect you."
My throat tightens. "And what if I can’t?"
She strokes my cheek. "Then you remember who you are. A Bellanti. My daughter. You don’t break."
Olivia nods in agreement. "And if he hurts you, tell me. I'll make him regret it."
I squeeze her hand. "I’ll be okay, Liv."
My father clears his throat, holding out his arm. "Ready?"
I slip my hand into his, and together, we walk down the aisle.
The cathedral falls silent as the doors open. Hundreds of faces turn, the most powerful criminals in the country, dressed in their finest, watching the alliance take physical form.
At the altar stands Nico, impossibly handsome in a black tuxedo that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. His expression reveals nothing as I approach, though something flickers in his eyes when our gazes lock.
My father places my hand in Nico's. It's a symbolic transfer of ownership that makes my spine stiffen. Nico's fingers are warm and strong, and the calluses on his trigger finger are rough against my skin.
The rest of the ceremony is a blurry haze of mumbled vows.
An orthodox priest rattles things off in both English and Italian, and then the words tumble out, words that will seal my fate and join me forever to the dark, brooding, gorgeous but grim man standing before me.
“You may kiss the bride.”
My mouth tightens, lips pursing as Nico lows his head to mine. I see the glint of steel in his eyes, and I shiver as he suddenly cups my face firmly.
He drags his thumb over my bottom lip, all the while stabbing that lethal gaze of his into my eyes.
And it does something to me.
I flinch. Briefly. But it’s just enough for my defenses to fall for half a second.
It’s all he needs.
Instantly, his mouth crushes mine in the most fierce and punishing kiss of my entire life as he kisses the absolute fuck out of me.
This isn’t a polite “you may kiss the bride” kiss.
This is a “holy shit” type of kiss.
My mind goes blank, and I swear I see stars.
Then it’s over.
We’re man and wife.
Forever.
The hotel suite reserved for changing before the reception is absurdly opulent, all gilded mirrors and cream silk. I've just stepped out of my wedding dress when the door opens without warning.
Nico freezes in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over me, taking in the white lace lingerie, the garter belt, the miles of exposed skin.
"Get out!" I snap, reaching for something to cover myself, finding nothing.
He doesn't move. Doesn't even blink.
His gaze is clinical, detached, yet I feel it like a physical touch tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts.
"Your security detail changes in ten minutes," he says calmly, as if I'm not standing before him in nothing but scraps of lace. "The new team will escort us to the reception."
I cross my arms over my chest. "Why couldn't you wait until I was dressed?"
"Security doesn't wait for convenience, Isabella." His eyes finally meet mine, dark and unreadable. "Especially after yesterday's attack."
“We’re in a five-star hotel, surrounded by the most dangerous people in New York,” I counter, my voice steady. “All of whom are here to celebrate our union. No one would be stupid enough to attempt something here.”
Nico leans against the doorframe, his dark gaze unreadable. “You forget some men were stupid enough to attack during our rehearsal?” His voice is smooth, edged with steel. “I’m doubling security for the reception.”
A sharp laugh escapes me. “Of course you are. The infamous Nico Moretti, always surrounded by an army of men with guns. How else would The Reaper feel safe?”
His expression remains unchanged, but the air shifts. It's colder, heavier. “You think this is about me?”
“Isn’t everything?” I reach for my reception dress, a sleek red gown with a plunging neckline studded with jewels.
“Principessa.” His voice drips with condescension. “I get it. Your whole life, you've been sheltered, playing princess in your little nightclub. But out here, in the real world? You can never be too careful.”
Something inside me snaps.
Princess. Sheltered.
Like I’m some clueless little girl playing dress-up in a world too dark and dangerous for me to survive.
Like I haven’t fought, bled, and clawed my way to build something of my own.
Like I haven’t already learned repeatedly that power doesn’t come without a price.
I spin to face him, eyes flashing, chest rising and falling with barely contained fury.
“Don’t.” My voice is low, warning. “Don’t act like you know what I’ve been through. Like I’m some spoiled, na?ve girl who needs a man to save her.”
I take a step closer, daring him to contradict me, but he just stands there.
“You think because I don’t kill for sport, because I don’t walk around with a gun strapped to my hip, that I don’t know what the real world is like?”
Still no response. I shake my head, a bitter smile curling my lips. “Tell me, Nico, do you enjoy it? The killing? Does it get you hard when someone breathes wrong in your presence and you end their life?”
Then silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
In a flash, his hand wraps around my throat, pressing me back against the wall. Not choking, just holding. Just enough pressure to remind me exactly who he is. Exactly what he’s capable of.
“Be very careful, Isabella.” His voice is quiet, but there’s no softness in it. Just a warning. “There are lines even a Bellanti shouldn’t cross.”
I should be afraid.
The darkness in his eyes grows, the unspoken threat lingering in the air between us. Nico Moretti isn’t a man who makes empty promises. He’s a man who acts. Who kills.
But fear never comes.
Instead, heat spreads through me, a slow, treacherous burn. My pulse races beneath his grip, my body reacting before my mind can catch up.
I should hate the way it feels, the warmth of his skin against mine, the way his strength surrounds me like a cage.
But I don’t.
I tip my chin up, challenging him even as my breath shudders. “Or what?” My voice is quieter now, but still sharp, still defiant. “You’ll hurt your new wife? Make me disappear like all your other problems?”
Something flickers in his expression. His grip tightens just for a second, just enough to make me swallow. Not enough to hurt. Maybe just enough to test me.
But his eyes betray him.
His gaze drops to my lips, and the air between us shifts, charged with something neither of us wants to acknowledge. Hatred or desire or both? I can’t tell them apart.
My stomach tightens. My hands twitch at my sides, itching to grab onto him, to push him away or pull him closer. I don’t know.
I should shove him off. Should be disgusted by my reaction.
But neither of us moves.
"What's going on here?"
Diana stands in the doorway, her expression shifting from shock to calculation as she takes in our position.
Nico steps back smoothly, straightening his cuffs as if nothing happened. "Discussing security arrangements. Mrs. Moretti has concerns."
"I bet she does," Diana says dryly. "The car's waiting whenever you two are done... discussing."
Nico nods curtly and exits, leaving a vacuum of tension behind him.
Diana raises an eyebrow. "That was intense."
"It's nothing," I mutter, reaching for my lipstick. "He's impossible."
"Impossibly hot," she corrects. "And looking at you like he wants to devour you."
I glare at her. "Not helping."
Marrying Nico Moretti, reciting vows, and everything else was bad enough. But being paraded around in front of all our guests at the reception in the ballroom of a five-star hotel is a whole new circle of hell.
Mostly, it’s because it’s all so disingenuous.
People I have never met come up to me with bright smiling faces to congratulate me as if this is actually real.
I feel like there was a part of this wedding where everyone drank the crazy wine, but I didn’t get a glass.
So now here I am, improvising my role, live on stage. And it’s exhausting.
At least some guests are enjoying themselves. I grin when I look over to see Diana with Manish, one of our guards. I know he has the hots for her, and they’re whooping it up on the dance floor to the beats of the live jazz band hired for the event.
Lorenzo joins them, grinning as he fumbles his way through some dance moves.
Meanwhile, there’s me, the blushing bride, meandering through the small crowd trying to keep the plastic smile from falling off my face.
I lock eyes with Matteo across the room, and he makes his way towards me.
“I know congratulations are in order, but I’m willing to bet you’ll stab the next person who says it to you.”
“You have no idea.”
Matteo nods, then lowers his voice. “You know I’d never have agreed to this if I thought he was actually an evil man, right?” he murmurs.
I shrug, turning to scan the crowd, when suddenly my eyes land on Nico.
He’s across the ballroom, chatting with one of his men. No doubt discussing another one of his security measures.
“If he ever hurts you, or wrongs you, if he’s out there fucking other girls and creating a scandal for you, or talking ill of you to anyone. If he’s even unkind to you…” His venomous gray eyes glint dangerously. “I’ll cut his throat, alliance or no alliance. I want you to know that.”
I smile as I sink against my brother and hug him tightly.
“I know that.”
He grunts, stiffly embracing me back. Which is more than I was expecting.
Because Matteo is not one for showing much affection. And he’s definitely not a hugger.
When he pulls back, he gives me a curt nod. “Let Nico know that, too.”
I grin. “I will pass along the message.”
Matteo lifts a brow, plucking his drink back up from the table before turning and wandering back into the crowd.
I exhale, grinning despite myself as I turn to watch the band. They’re absolutely killing it with this tune. And I’m having a blast watching Lorenzo and Manish spaz out on the dance floor.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
Goddammit.
My shoulders slump and the fake smile goes back onto my face as I turn to see who it is who wants to test my patience by giving me their congratulations now.
When I see who it is, I’m puzzled.
She's an older woman, perhaps sixty, with kind eyes and a formal black dress.
"Mrs. Moretti," she greets me warmly. "I'm Maria Drazen. I've been Nico's nanny since he was a boy."
Something in her manner puts me at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Maria."
"Be patient with him," she says quietly, patting my hand. "Nico has endured things that make him seem cold, unapproachable. But there's more to him than most people see."
Before I can ask what she means, Nico appears beside us. To my shock, his severe expression softens as he greets Maria, the ghost of a genuine smile touching his lips.
"Are you bothering my wife with embarrassing childhood stories?" he asks her, his tone lighter than I've ever heard it.
Maria chuckles. "Not yet, but give me time."
I can't help but stare at the transformation. The cold-blooded killer I'd married is actually... smiling. At his housekeeper. It's fucking surreal.
Then all hell breaks loose.
The shattering of glass drowns out whatever I was about to say. Screams erupt around us. Before I can even process what's happening, Nico slams into me, knocking us both behind an overturned table. His body covers mine completely as gunfire explodes throughout the room.
Fuck. This can't be happening. Not again.
"Don't move," he growls in my ear, and the command in his voice sends an inappropriate shiver down my spine. His hand is already on his gun, and I can feel the tension radiating through his body where it presses against mine.
People are screaming. Running. The distinct sound of gunfire fills the air. Nico's men are everywhere, returning fire, but I can barely see anything from my position under him.
I hate this. I hate feeling helpless, useless, like some damsel who needs saving. But Nico's body is a wall of muscle above me, moving with deadly precision as he scans for threats, and some traitorous part of me feels... safe.
God, I hate that even more.
"Stay close," he orders, pulling me up. His arm locks around my waist as he guides us through the chaos, using his body as a shield. His men fall into formation just as they've probably practiced a thousand times.
When we reach a secure corner, he turns to me, dark eyes intense as they rake over my body. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I snap, my voice shaking, and I curse myself for it. Hate that I needed him–a Moretti –to protect me. Without him, that ballroom floor might have been my deathbed. Hate most of all that some part of me is grateful.
"Isabella!"
Matteo pushes through Nico's men, fury and fear warring on his face. "Jesus Christ, are you okay?"
"She's fine," Nico answers before I can, his arm still wound possessively around my waist.
"I can speak for myself," I hiss, but neither of them is listening.
"This is the second attack in two days," Matteo snarls. "Your security is shit, Moretti. She's coming to my safe house until we figure out who's behind this."
Something dark flashes in Nico's eyes. "Like hell she is." His fingers dig into my hip. "She's my wife now. Mine to protect. We're going to my safe house."
The raw possession in his voice does things to me. Terrible, wonderful things that make the heat pool low in my belly.
I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't feel this ache when he claims me so completely. But my body isn't listening to reason.
"Your wife?" Matteo scoffs. "She's been shot at twice in only six hours. Some fucking protection! "
"I swear to God, Bellanti—" Nico takes a menacing step forward.
"Both of you, shut up!" I shove at their chests, wedging myself between them. "In case you've forgotten, there are people trying to kill us. Maybe save the pissing contest for later?"
"She's right." My father's voice cuts through the tension. He looks older suddenly, worried lines etched deep around his mouth. "And whether or not we like it, Isabella is a Moretti now. She goes with her husband."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
A Moretti now.
Christ.
“Isabella!” My mom rushes forward, heels clicking sharply against the marble. “I was in the restroom when I heard the gunshots. I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I couldn’t find you in all that chaos.”
Her usually immaculate appearance is now disheveled. Loose strands have escaped her elegant knot, and her mascara is slightly smudged.
“Goodness!” Her hands tremble as they flutter over my face, my shoulders, checking for injuries. “We need to get you to the hospital, I don’t—”
“I’m okay, Mama,” I say, catching her shaking hands in mine. "I didn't get hit."
She pulls me into a fierce embrace, her familiar perfume wrapping around me like childhood memories. When she pulls back, I see something I’ve rarely witnessed–actual fear in my mother’s eyes.
“This is madness,” she whispers, then turns to Nico, her voice low and dangerous. “You keep her safe. Do you understand me? Whatever is between our families, she is still my daughter.”
Nico straightens, meeting her gaze with unexpected respect. “With my life, Mrs. Bellanti.”
Before she can respond, another figure barrels through the doorway.
Lorenzo pushes his way through the crowd, his bow tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. He’d been just across the ballroom when the shots rang out.
“Jesus, Izzy.” He grabs my shoulders, eyes frantic. “You were right there in the line of fire—”
“I’m okay, Lo,” I say, but my voice wavers.
“One phone call and I’m there, okay?” he promises, glancing at Nico and Matteo, a look of understanding flashing through his eyes. “Though it looks like Matteo beat me to the threatening-the-new-husband part.”
“Lo—” My voice catches.
He pulls me into a quick, fierce hug. “Don’t worry about the club. I’ve got it covered.” He keeps his arm around my shoulders, his voice dropping. “You call us. Anytime. Day or night.”
“I will,” I promise.
Olivia hugs me so tight I can barely breathe, whispering, "Be careful, be smart," in my ear. Angelo tries to crack jokes, but his eyes are serious for once. When Matteo pulls me into his arms, he doesn't let go for a long moment.
"Remember what I said earlier," he murmurs. "If he hurts you—"
"I know." I squeeze his hand, turning to my father last. "Papa..."
He cups my face in his weathered hands. "My brave girl." His voice breaks a little. "Stay safe."
Nico's hand finds the small of my back, urging me toward the waiting car.
The leather seat is cool against my skin as I slide in, still wearing my fucking reception dress.
Isabella Moretti
My new name echoes in my head as Nico settles beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. The car pulls away from the curb, and I watch my old life disappear in the rearview mirror.
I've always known power comes with a price. Know that nothing in this world comes free.
But as Nico's fingers find mine in the darkness, his calloused thumb stroking over my knuckles, I wonder what exactly I've gotten myself into.
I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to calm my racing heart. Trying not to think about how everything I've ever known is disappearing behind us.
"Isabella."
His voice is low, meant only for me despite his men in the front seat. I don't turn, but I feel him shift closer, feel the heat of him all along my side.
"Look at me."
I shouldn't. I really fucking shouldn't. But I turn my head anyway, and find his face inches from mine. In the passing shadows, his eyes are almost black.
"You'll be safe with me," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "I protect what's mine."
Jesus Christ.
His words shouldn't affect me like this. Not after everything that's happened. Not with his men right there, not with bullets probably still lodged in the walls of my wedding reception.
His thumb traces slow circles on my skin, and it's like every nerve ending in my body zeroes in on that single point of contact.
I try to steady my breathing. Try to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly, the way my skin feels too tight, too sensitive.
This is so fucked up. I'm so fucked up.
My pulse is still racing from nearly being killed, my reception dress is totally ruined, and instead of being terrified of the dangerous man beside me, I'm fighting the urge to climb into his lap.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I turn back to the window, but I don't pull my hand away.
We arrive at the safe house. It's small, functional, and completely secure. The living area is compact, barely enough space for the two of us. A worn leather couch sits against the wall and a tiny kitchenette was visible in the corner.
The bedroom is door slightly ajar, revealing a simple bed and a single closet. It’s nothing like the lavish lifestyle I was raised in, but it serves its purpose.
Nico glances around before dropping his keys on the counter. "I’ll take the couch. You take the bed."
I cross my arms. "Are you sure?"
He nods. "It’s closer to the door, in case something happens."
That shouldn’t make me feel safer, but somehow, it does. I retreat to the bedroom, pausing as I realize something. I have nothing to sleep in.
I poke my head back into the living room. "I didn’t exactly pack for this. Can I borrow a shirt?"
Nico looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch, already unlacing his boots. "Pick whatever you want. Closet’s in the bedroom."
I nod and turn, but as I step inside, something catches my attention. Nico’s still wearing the long sleeve shirt from the wedding, and by the looks of it, he plans to sleep in it.
A slow smirk curls my lips. "You know it’s hot as hell in here, right?"
He stiffens slightly. "I’m fine."
My eyes narrow. "Wait a minute… Are you hiding something like embarrassing tattoos under there?" I tease, leaning against the doorframe. "Is the big, bad reaper hiding something underneath that shirt?"
His jaw tightens. "Drop it, Isabella."
I should let it go. But the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze darkens… it only makes me more curious.
"Oh my God, you totally are," I grin, stepping closer. "What is it? A skull? A dragon? Oh! Do you have my name tattooed somewhere already?"
His eyes flash, something unreadable passing through them. "I said, drop it."
The amusement in me dims slightly. I don’t know why, but his reaction stings more than it should.
Without another word, I grab a shirt from the closet and retreat to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
For the first time tonight, I feel truly alone.