Chapter Sixteen - Emil
I watch her in the smallest guest room—bare walls, heavy drapes, a single bed covered in velvet so dark it swallows the light.
She paces, wild-eyed, one hand wrapped tight around her own wrist as if she’s keeping herself from shattering.
There’s no way out. My men locked every door on their way out.
Even her phone is gone, confiscated with the rest of her armor.
For a while, I watch in silence from the threshold.
She doesn’t see me, or maybe she refuses to.
Her hair’s coming loose, mascara smudged at the corners, and her lips are still swollen from our kiss.
There’s a rawness in her movements now—gone is the polished mask of the gallery girl, the clever liar who danced between empires.
What’s left is hunger, fear, and a pride that’s bleeding out slow.
When I step inside, the floorboards protest under my weight. The sound makes her freeze mid-step, head whipping up. She’s all cornered animal now, chest rising too fast, eyes blown wide with terror. The look twists something sharp and dark inside me.
She backs up until her spine hits the wall, chin tucked, arms folding in tight. She won’t look at me. She can’t.
I close the door, slow and deliberate, and let the silence gather around us. I don’t bother with threats; she’s smart enough to know she’s alone. Her uncle’s voice might as well be a gravestone. No guards. No money. No name worth a damn now. Just me.
I move closer, stopping just out of reach.
I crouch, letting myself drop to one knee, so her line of sight has nowhere to run but straight through me.
She turns her face to the wall. I don’t allow it.
My hand finds her jaw, thumb pressing at the hinge, forcing her gaze up.
She resists, trembling, but I don’t let go.
“Why did you do it?” My voice is soft, almost gentle, but the menace runs under every word. “Why risk everything to come after me, Bella?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting tears she doesn’t want to show. When she speaks, her voice is raw, barely more than a whisper. “I needed the truth. I needed to know what happened to Enzo.”
For a second, I let that hang in the air, searching her face for the calculation, the lie, the trick. All I see is grief. All I hear is a plea that comes from somewhere so deep it sounds like begging. My chest tightens, just for a heartbeat, and then it’s gone.
I let out a low, humorless chuckle, close enough for her to feel the warmth of my breath.
“You thought I killed him?” I murmur, voice dropping lower, leaning in until our faces nearly touch. “So what if I did, Bella? What could you possibly do about it now?”
She flinches, but her pride kicks at the chains, even now. “You think this is about revenge? I just wanted to know—” Her words crack. “I just needed the truth.”
I laugh again, quieter, shaking my head. “No, you wanted something to blame. You wanted a monster to point at when your world fell apart. You wanted a reason to keep hating me.”
I reach up, tracing her jaw with a knuckle, savoring the way she recoils and then stands her ground, trembling but refusing to crumble.
The room shrinks around us, the air sharp with panic and defiance. She jerks her head away, breaking my grip, then shoves at my shoulder—weak, desperate. It’s nothing, but I let her do it. I want to see the fight leave her. I want her to understand what happens when you push a man like me too far.
She swings again, a sloppy, open-handed slap. I catch her wrist midair, fingers closing tight enough to make her gasp. Her pulse hammers under my thumb. I pull her close, until there’s no room to breathe.
“You had your chance to play with fire,” I say, voice colder than she’s ever heard. “Now you’ll burn for it.”
I keep hold of her wrist a moment longer, just to feel the tremor run up her arm. It’s not cruelty. At least, not only cruelty. It’s necessity. I need her to understand that every option she ever thought she had is gone.
She’s silent, eyes shining, breathing in ragged little stabs. She tries to wrench free. I don’t let her. I want her to feel it. The shift, the moment when every game ends and the real terms are laid bare.
“Sit.” I point to the edge of the bed. My voice leaves no room for negotiation.
She hesitates, so I tighten my grip and nudge her forward, guiding her down. She perches on the edge, hands fisted in her lap, head bent as if praying for mercy. I stand over her, arms folded, letting the silence draw tight around us.
“This is how it ends, Isabella.” My voice is even. I make it sound like a simple transaction—cold, inevitable. “You’re under my roof now. You have no family, no money, nothing to bargain with but yourself. So here’s what happens next. You and I are going to be married.”
Her head snaps up. The blood drains from her face. “What?”
I don’t let her retreat. I kneel again, slow and deliberate, my face inches from hers. “You heard me. A marriage. Not for love, not for forgiveness. For power. For control.” I let the words settle. She’s shaking her head, lips parted, searching my eyes for a sign of mercy. She won’t find any.
“You think this is a game between you and me?” I continue, voice low, every syllable weighed.
“It’s never been just about us. Your family made you their pawn the day they sent you after me.
Vittorio was willing to trade your life for another seat at the table, another year at the top.
You know it. And you’re still here, so now the board belongs to me. ”
She tries to stand, but I catch her shoulders, pressing her gently, almost kindly, back down. “Don’t,” I warn. “You’ll want to hear this.”
She’s staring at me, face pale but fierce. “You can’t—”
I cut her off. “I can, and I will. By marrying you, I get everything your uncle tried to keep from me. I take the Brunos’ public face, their last unspoiled name.
Every old-world gangster, every banker in Milan and Naples, every trade broker in Zurich…
when they see you at my side, they’ll know the Italians lost. That the Bratva owns them now. ”
She bites down hard, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle fluttering. “You want to humiliate him. You want to humiliate me.”
“Not humiliation. Correction.” My tone is cold, businesslike, but underneath it, something meaner slips out.
“I want Vittorio to see that all his power—every threat, every bargain, every ounce of pride—meant nothing in the end. I want him to look at you and see the cost. That’s what this is.
Not love. Not some twisted fairy tale. Power.
Control. A reminder that the Brunos answer to me now. ”
Her breath catches, fury and panic sparking together in her eyes. She lashes out again, weaker now, her hand landing on my chest. I let her push me, don’t bother defending myself. Let her try. It changes nothing.
“You think you can force this?” she spits, her voice breaking. “What do you want from me—obedience, surrender?”
I lean in, my hands braced on either side of her hips. “I want the world to see you as mine. I want your uncle’s allies to see he couldn’t protect you. I want the old men in Italy to watch the wedding footage and know there are no more Brunos outside my reach.”
She chokes on the word wedding, her fists shaking. “No. I won’t let you.”
“Yes. You will.” My voice hardens, and she finally hears it. Not just threat, but certainty. “You’ll stand beside me. You’ll take my name. You’ll play the part. You’ll do it because there’s nowhere else to go, and because the alternative is worse. I promise you that.”
She’s crying now, silent tears tracking down her cheeks, but her pride doesn’t break. Not yet. “You could just kill me,” she says, her voice so soft I almost miss it.
I laugh low, humorless. “That’s too simple.
Death ends things. I want you to live with this.
I want every night, every morning, every dinner in public and every headline to remind your family who won.
” I reach out, thumb tracing her jaw, rough but not unkind.
“This isn’t about hurting you. It’s about making a point. ”
She glares at me, voice ragged. “And if I say no?”
I study her for a long, measured beat. “You won’t, because you know the game.
You know what happens to traitors, to orphans, to women who stand alone in our world.
You want survival. This is how you get it.
” I let my hand drop. “Besides, you want answers about Enzo. I’m the only one left who can give them to you.
Play this right, and you’ll get what you came for. ”
She turns away, shoulders shaking, breath hitching in her throat. I watch her—her defiance, her grief, the terror she tries to swallow down. For a moment, a softer instinct wants to reach for her, to offer some comfort. But I crush it.
I stand, adjusting my cuff links, letting authority settle over me like a cloak. “The wedding will happen soon. You’ll have new clothes, new guards. You won’t leave this house until I say so. Make your peace with it, Bella.”
She doesn’t answer, so I lean down, mouth to her ear, voice cold and final. “You lost, Isabella. Now you belong to me.”
I leave her there shaking, defeated, but not broken. Not yet. That’s the point. The Brunos need to see her on my arm, proud and shining, even as the world ends behind her eyes. That’s the message. That’s what victory looks like in our world. I want every last soul to witness it.
I retreat to my office after midnight, the house silent except for the distant creak of floorboards and the slow tick of the old brass clock.
The air smells of gun oil and cold marble, a reminder that this place is the last fortress left standing between the Brunos and the world they want to believe still belongs to them.
I pour two fingers of vodka and let the glass sweat against my palm. The ice crackles, bright in the hush. My mind cycles through the night’s events, through Isabella’s wide, furious eyes and the way her voice caught when she realized just how thoroughly she’d lost. That kind of defeat lingers.
The door opens without a knock. Dimitri slides in, loose-limbed but all focus. He closes the door and leans back against it, arms folded, face unreadable.
“Vittorio kept his mouth shut at the party,” he says. “Wouldn’t risk a scene in front of the Pedros, but he was shaking. Didn’t even look at you as you left, but that won’t last. He won’t let this go, Emil.”
I smirk and raise my glass, unbothered. “He’ll try. He always does, but he’ll fail.”
Dimitri comes closer, voice dropping. “It’s different this time. Especially considering…” He hesitates, eyes flicking up to mine. “Considering your past with the Brunos.”
I hold his gaze, letting the silence spool out. The only sound is the click of the glass as I set it down, the echo of old wars I never quite finished. My past with the Brunos: Enzo, the endless rivalry, the night everything changed and the price I’m still paying.
Dimitri shifts, but doesn’t push. He knows better.
After a long moment, the room falls quiet again, the shadows lengthening across the desk. I glance down at my hands, at the pale scars that cut across my knuckles, and mutter to myself, too soft for anyone but me to hear.
“Enzo… that bastard. He died but left me this mess.”
The words hang in the air, sharp as broken glass. Outside, the city keeps breathing. Inside, I let myself feel the weight of what’s coming, just for a moment, before I pour another drink and get back to work.