Isabella
She sat rigid in the back seat, staring out the window as the city blurred past, her reflection faint in the glass. Her dark hair was a mess, her skin was pale, and her eyes looked sharper now than they had a few hours ago.
She needed that cold that filled her body because the second she let herself feel, she’d break down.
She couldn’t do that now—not with Luca’s men watching her, and definitely not in front of Luca.
Her father is dead. Her chest tightened at the thought, and she bit back tears.
No—not now. She’d break down later, when she was alone. Right now, she needed to think.
The night air felt different here—quieter, controlled, as though even the chaos of the city knew better than to cross Luca’s threshold. She straightened her shoulders and looked toward the house. “Welcome home,” one of the men said.
Her lips pressed together to keep from barking out her laugh.
This wasn’t her home—not yet. And if she had her way, not ever.
But she didn’t argue with the man who was welcoming her—not out here with everyone watching her to mess up or cause a scene.
Not where everything and everyone belonged to him.
Instead, she walked up the front steps, each step deliberate and measured.
It was almost like she wasn’t walking into a lion’s den.
Like she wasn’t already trapped inside of it.
The front doors opened before she reached them.
Inside was exactly what she expected—and worse.
His home was minimalist, expensive, and cold.
Everything had been placed with purpose.
There was nothing personal to say who the home belonged to.
Nothing felt comfortable or even lived in.
It felt controlled, just as she was—first by her father, and now by Luca.
Her eyes moved slowly across the space, cataloging exits, cameras, and sightlines. Her survival instincts were kicking in. “You’re looking for a way out already?” he asked, his voice coming from behind her, low, and close—too close.
Isabella didn’t turn right away. “Would you blame me?” she asked calmly.
“No,” he breathed. “I don’t blame you one bit. If I were in your shoes, I’d be doing the same.”
She turned then to find Luca standing just inside the doorway, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up his arms, like he’d stripped down just enough to be comfortable—but not enough to be anything less than dangerous.
His eyes were already on her—watching. He always seemed to be watching her. “You won’t find any weaknesses here,” he said. “My home is secure.”
“Everyone has weaknesses,” she countered.
“Not me,” he insisted.
“That’s what powerful men like to believe,” she replied.
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Careful,” he said. “You’re in my house now.”
“I noticed,” she drawled. “But not by choice.” Silence stretched between them.
He shook his head at her, and for a second, she found herself holding her breath for him to make the next move. “Walk,” he ordered.
She didn’t move. He tilted his head slightly.
Luca didn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he seemed interested in her, as though he was studying her.
“Or stand there all night,” he added. “Your choice.” Isabella exhaled slowly, then moved.
Not because he told her to, but because she chose to.
At least, that was what she was telling herself.
He fell into step beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without him touching her. They moved through the house in silence, past a sleek living area, a glass-walled dining space, and into a hallway that felt more private. More dangerous, if that were possible.
“This is your room,” he breathed, stopping in front of a door and opening it without ceremony.
Isabella stepped inside and paused. The room wasn’t what she expected.
It looked expensive and cold, like the rest of his home, but somehow, this room felt softer.
It had neutral tones and clean lines. Large windows overlooking the city covered one of the walls.
It didn’t feel like him at all. In fact, it felt as though it had been prepared just for her.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You had this ready for me,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement.
Luca leaned against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his massive chest as he watched her take it in. “I plan ahead,” he said, in way of explanation. Of course he did.
Isabella turned back to him. “You planned for me?” she questioned.
“Yes,” he admitted. The bluntness of it hit harder than it should have.
“Since when?” she asked.
“Since the moment your name was put on my table as a peace offering from your father,” he admitted. The words settled heavily between them. She believed him, and that was the problem.
“How long have you been watching me?” she asked.
“Long enough,” he said with a shrug as though it was no big deal. Her stomach twisted.
“Define long enough,” she said, not sure that she wanted him to answer her.
“No,” he simply said. Of course, he wasn’t going to give her an answer. Her father told her that he offered her to Luca Camorra as a peace offering, but what if Luca had asked for her instead? She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that.
Frustration flared sharp and fast in her gut. “You don’t get to just—” she started.
Luca held up his hand to stop her from finishing what she was about to say, and she flinched, half expecting him to hit her. “I do.”
Her eyes flashed when she realized that he wasn’t about to smack her around, like so many of her father’s men had—how her own father had. “I’m not one of your men.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer to her. “You’re not.
” He was so close that she almost regretted challenging him.
Something in his tone had shifted. He sounded darker and more dangerous, if that was even possible.
“You’re something else entirely,” he whispered, gently brushing her hair back from her face.
Her pulse kicked. Damn him. Her traitorous body leaned into his touch, even as she was internally begging herself to step back from him. “Stop saying things like that,” she snapped.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like I belong to you,” she breathed.
“You will belong to me, soon enough, Isabella,” he reminded. Her breath caught. There it was again—that certainty that made her hot and angry all at the same time.
“I haven’t agreed to anything. My father was the one who made this agreement with you. I might marry you, but I’ll never be yours, Luca,” she insisted. She watched him as though she expected him to believe her, even when she didn’t believe herself.
“You will,” he said again, as though he was just stating a fact.
Her hands curled into fists. “You keep saying that like I don’t have a choice in any of this.”
“You don’t have a choice, Isabella,” he said.
Anger flared hot in her chest. “Everyone keeps saying that,” she bit out. “My father, you, and even your men. You all treat me like I’m just some pawn to trade.”
His expression didn’t change. “That’s because you are.” The words hit like a slap, and Isabella went still.
“Excuse me?” she spat. She knew that he was right, but the lack of control she had over her own life was beginning to piss her off.
“In this world,” Luca said evenly, “everyone is something to someone. My world is about power and leverage. I see a threat and assess it. To your father, you were an asset that he was willing to give up in order to save his family. He saw me as the threat, and he solved the problem by giving you to me.”
His gaze locked onto hers. “So, in this game, I’m just an asset?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. Her chest rose sharply with her breath.
“And what are you?” she challenged.
“The man who now owns you,” he said simply. Silence slammed into the room, making the air feel heavy and suffocating. Isabella stepped closer to him, not backing down, and not yielding.
His eyes darkened, and she knew that she had possibly stepped over a line that she didn’t know he had drawn. “Careful,” he warned.
“No,” she pressed. “You want control? Fine. Take it. Decide what I am to you.” She chanced another step closer—too close for comfort.
Her voice dropped. “Am I just a deal to end your war?” she asked.
“Or am I something you’re willing to protect?
” The question hung between them—sharp, dangerous, and real.
Luca didn’t answer right away. And that—that was her answer. Her chest tightened as something cold slid into place where hope might have been. “Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s what I thought.” She turned away, breaking the tension before it could break her.
“You said that this is my room, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Good, then get out,” she said. Anger flashed across his handsome features, and she realized that was a mistake. The second the words left her mouth, she knew it. Luca didn’t leave. He didn’t move. Hell, he didn’t even seem to be breathing.
“You don’t give me orders,” he said quietly.
She turned back slowly. “I wasn’t asking,” she whispered. Neither was he. The air shifted again—tight, electric, and feeling ready to snap.
Before either of them could say another word, a knock at the door interrupted them. Luca’s gaze flicked to the door, irritation flashing briefly across his face before it disappeared. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Dante stepped inside. She knew from her research that he was Luca’s second in command. “Boss,” he said, his tone serious. “We’ve got a problem.”
Luca didn’t look away from Isabella. “What kind of problem?” he asked.
Dante hesitated—just for a second. “We found Mr. Romano.” Everything inside Isabella froze. Her heart felt as though it had stopped beating. She wasn’t sure if she could even remember how to breathe as her world spun off its axis.
“What do you mean you found him?” she whispered.
Luca’s entire body went still beside her. “Where?” he asked.
“Down by the docks. He’s alive,” Dante added, “but not for long.” The room felt as though it tilted. Isabella’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself. Her father was alive. But not for long. Her gaze snapped to Luca, wild and desperate.
“Where is he now?” she asked. Dante didn’t answer immediately, seeming to look at Luca for permission to answer her. Of course, Luca didn’t give that permission. He was thinking and calculating—always calculating.
“Luca,” she said, her voice breaking for the first time. “Where is he now?” His eyes locked onto hers, and something shifted. It wasn’t about control or power right now. It was something deeper, darker, and a whole lot more dangerous.
Luca turned and looked at Dante. “Where is he?” he asked.
“We don’t have him yet, but we’re going to get him,” he said.
Somehow, that was worse, because Isabella realized something in that moment.
If Luca Camorra was going after her father, he wasn’t doing it for her.
He was doing it for himself. And whatever he found at the end of that road?
It wasn’t going to save her. It was going to destroy everything—including her entire family.