Chapter Two
The private jet cut through the sky, leaving behind the smog-filled skyline of Los Angeles. Isla sat rigid in her seat, wrists still aching from the bruising grip of her father’s men. They had forced her onto this plane without a second thought, dragging her into the hands of the enemy as if she were nothing more than a bargaining chip.
Matteo DeLuca sat across from her, dark eyes assessing her with a sharp, quiet intensity. Isla was a fighter, and he could see it in the way she held herself, back straight, chin lifted in defiance, despite the circumstances. She was beautiful, but not in the delicate way he had expected. Her rich brunette hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders, framing a face with olive-toned skin that glowed even under the dim cabin lighting. There was a rawness to her beauty—wild, untamed. The full lips pressed into a stubborn line, the fire that hadn’t dimmed in her gaze, even now.
He should have been irritated by her resistance, but instead, he felt something far more dangerous—a slow, simmering attraction that coiled low in his gut. It was inconvenient, unwanted. He had no use for desire when it came to Isla. This marriage was a move in a game far bigger than either of them, and he would not be swayed by something as trivial as lust.
Yet, he couldn’t ignore it.
As she shifted in her seat, her dress brushing against the leather, he caught the scent of her—something soft, with a hint of defiance, like roses with hidden thorns. Matteo clenched his jaw and turned his focus back to the documents in his lap, pretending she wasn’t there. He would break her resistance soon enough. Attraction or not, he always got what he wanted.
The moment the jet touched down, Matteo rose smoothly, already focused on the next step. He gestured to his men before glancing at Isla one last time.
“You will be placed in a separate car,” he said, his voice cool and impersonal. “I’ll see you at the house.”
She blinked, a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps—flashing in her eyes. But she said nothing. He liked that about her. She knew when to pick her battles.
As he descended the stairs of the jet, another black car waited for him, sleek and silent in the moonlit tarmac. Isla would follow in another, giving him time to settle into the DeLuca villa first. He wanted her to feel it the moment she arrived—that she was stepping into his world, under his rule.
The drive through Rome was a blur of ancient stone and modern decadence, a city that breathed power and history with every street corner. But none of it mattered. His fate lay at the end of this drive, behind the gilded gates of his villa.
When Isla finally arrived, the grandeur of the villa was even more overwhelming at night. Cold, impersonal, filled with marble and wealth that reeked of power—a palace built for a king. And inside, Matteo waited, already settled in the grand room, watching as she was led through the towering hallways lined with oil paintings of long-dead ancestors.
Her pulse quickened, but she did not falter.
He watched her approach, the way her eyes scanned the space, searching for weaknesses, for exits. The way her body remained tense, but not in fear—no, Isla was preparing for war.
Matteo leaned back against his chair, studying her. She was magnificent in her defiance.
“So this is the Marino princess,” he murmured, voice smooth yet edged with steel. “I expected someone more willing to accept reality.”
Isla met his gaze without flinching. “And I expected someone less predictable.”
A flicker of something—amusement? Annoyance?—crossed his features before disappearing behind his cold mask. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with effortless dominance. “Let’s get one thing straight, princess. This marriage is a necessity, not a romance. You mean nothing to me.”
She refused to let the sting of his words show. “Good,” she shot back. “Because I despise you.”
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Despise me all you want. But you belong to me now.”
The weight of his words settled over her like a shackle, and for the first time, Isla realized the war had only just begun.
Matteo turned sharply and gestured for one of his men. “Take her to her room.”
The command grated against her nerves. She wasn’t some helpless pawn to be shuffled around at his whim. “I can walk myself,” she snapped.
Matteo’s gaze met hers, dark amusement playing in his expression. “I don’t doubt that, princess, but make no mistake—you walk where I allow you to walk.”
A fresh wave of fury burned in her chest, but she held her tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. The guard stepped forward, nodding toward the grand staircase. Isla squared her shoulders and strode ahead, determined to show no fear.
The suite was luxurious, but its elegance felt like another form of imprisonment. Tall windows framed the Roman skyline, the city sprawling beneath a silver moon. Isla walked to the balcony, gripping the wrought-iron railing as reality settled like a weight in her stomach.
This was her life now. Trapped in a golden cage with a devil who didn’t even pretend to hide his claws.
A knock at the door made her turn sharply. The guard stood there, impassive. “Dinner will be served in an hour. Don’t be late.”
As if she had a choice.
She didn’t respond as the door clicked shut. Instead, she turned back to the city beyond, inhaling the cool night air. One thing was certain—she would not break. She would not cower.
Matteo DeLuca thought he belonged to power.
But he had no idea what he had just invited into his world.
****
Dinner was set in a lavish dining hall, a long table stretching between them like a battlefield. Matteo sat at the head, his expression unreadable as Isla was led inside.
She didn’t hesitate to take the seat directly across from him, her posture poised, unaffected, even as her insides churned.
Matteo studied her in silence before speaking. “You’re not afraid.”
“I don’t fear men who hide behind their power,” she replied smoothly. "I grew up playing this game."
His eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You’ll learn, Isla. Power isn’t something to hide behind. It’s something to wield.”
She leaned forward slightly. “Then I suppose we’ll see who wields it better.”
For the first time, Matteo’s lips quirked, something resembling intrigue flickering in his gaze. “Careful, princess. I like a challenge.”
She picked up her wine glass, holding his stare as she took a slow sip. “Then you’re going to love me.”
The battle lines were drawn.
And neither of them planned to lose.