Isabella
This should be the happiest day of my life. Instead, I feel like I’m being led to a lifetime prison sentence.
I think back to when I first met Alessandro.
How my stomach had dropped at the sight of him.
Not from dread as I'd expected, but from something else entirely.
He wasn't the old, cruel monster I'd imagined. He was magnetic and intelligent, and while I wouldn’t have said he was open emotionally, he offered enough to make me think we might have a marriage built on respect and passion, if not love.
Then came that night on the terrace. The stars above us. His hands on my skin. His body moving inside mine. I'd given him everything, believing foolishly that it meant something.
We’d barely finished when he’d withdrawn emotionally. From the moment we’d left the rooftop, he’s done his best to avoid me and ice me out. At the rehearsal, he looked through me rather than at me, each word clipped, each gesture dismissive.
What changed? Was it something I did? Was he disgusted by my inexperience? Or was it simply that once he'd had me, the chase was over? Or maybe even worse, he disrespected my father, my family. Had that been his goal?
It doesn't matter now. The reasons are irrelevant when the result is the same. Alessandro Dante has decided I'm not worth his time or attention, and I refuse to waste another moment wondering why. If he wants this to just be a business arrangement, so be it. I still won’t allow him to turn me into my mother, but I’ll stay out of his way if that’s what he wants.
I walk alongside my father as hundreds of New York's elite and powerful watch me walk toward my future as a Dante.
"Smile," my father hisses, his grip tightening painfully on my arm. "Look like you want to be here."
I manage something that probably resembles a grimace more than a smile. I lift my gaze toward my betrothed.
Alessandro stands at the altar, his tall frame dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that accentuates the breadth of his shoulders. His dark hair is slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. Even from here, I can see the intensity of his gaze as it locks onto mine.
My heart stutters painfully in my chest. How cruel that he should look so beautiful on the day he's condemning me to a lifetime of cold indifference.
The memory of our night on the rooftop comes back to taunt me. To tell me what a fool I was. To remind me not to believe in fairy tales.
The closer I get, the more I can see the hardness in his expression. His jaw is set, eyes unreadable. He looks like a man going to his prison sentence as well.
My father places my hand in Alessandro's, and I'm struck by how warm his fingers are. As if warmth can be inside such a cold man. I search his face for any hint of the man who held me under the stars but find only cool indifference.
"You look beautiful," he says, the words meant for my father and the priest, not a truth he’s saying to his bride.
I want to scream, to demand answers about what changed, to ask why he's throwing away the connection we shared. Instead, I straighten my spine and meet his gaze with equal coolness.
"Let's get this over with," I whisper back.
His brow arches slightly, but then he turns his attention to the priest.
The priest's voice fades in and out as he speaks of holy union and sacred vows. I don’t pay attention. They’re just for show. There is no love or honor in this marriage.
Alessandro's thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, sending unwanted sparks of electricity up my arm.
Is this another game? Another way to confuse me? Perhaps a warning?
I steal a glance at him, finding his expression softer, the harsh lines around his mouth relaxed, his eyes warmer. The transformation is subtle but there.
I don't trust it for a second.
All of New York's underworld is watching us. The Rossis, the Romanos, even representatives from the fragmented Bratva. Alessandro needs this to look convincing. He's the Don, after all. Appearances matter more than truth.
When we exchange rings, his fingers linger against mine longer than necessary.
The platinum band doesn’t feel like a symbol of love.
It’s a shackle, binding me to a man who only knows how to play games.
Is he like this with his siblings? After all, Luca didn’t return home to stay after their father died.
And his sister and her husband now work for Luca in Chicago.
"With this ring, I thee wed," Alessandro recites.
I repeat my lines but without any emotion behind them. There’s only so much acting I can do.
My brother watches from the front pew, his smile tight. My father looks triumphant. Mother just looks resigned.
"You may now kiss the bride."
I flinch, having forgotten this part of the ceremony. Maybe he won’t kiss me. Or it will be a peck on the cheek.
Alessandro's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle, sending more confusion through me. I brace myself, determined to remain unmoved.
He leans in slowly. Our lips meet, his mouth soft and gentle against mine.
Despite my resolve, my body betrays me. His kiss is just enough to satisfy custom without crossing into impropriety.
But the effect is anything but proper. Heat blooms in my chest, spreading outward until my fingers tingle with it.
My lips part slightly in surprise, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
It lasts only seconds, but when he pulls away, my head spins like we've been kissing for hours.
His gray eyes flicker with heat.
"Breathe, Isabella.”
I exhale shakily, hating how easily he affects me. Hating how he knows it.
"May I present Don and Dona Alessandro Dante. Congratulations!" The priest's announcement breaks the spell. Applause erupts around us.
Alessandro's hand settles at the small of my back as we turn to face our audience. His touch sends new shimmers of warmth through me. What is going on?
I paste on my most convincing smile as we proceed down the aisle, past rows of killers and criminals, political leaders and business titans, all clapping and congratulating us.
Alessandro leans close as we near the doors. "You did well, Wife."
I keep my smile fixed, refusing to look at him. "I'm simply fulfilling my end of our arrangement."
His hand tightens almost imperceptibly at my waist. "Then we understand each other perfectly."
We ride in silence to the reception venue. It’s decorated with crystal and gold, which feels tasteless and tacky, not at all what I’d wanted. But then it’s never been about me. My life has never been about what I want.
Alessandro's hand rests against the small of my back as we greet each guest lined up to pay their respects to the newly formed Dante-Vitale alliance.
I smile until my cheeks ache, a perfect performance from the perfect Mafia bride. Inside, I'm already hollowing out, becoming the empty shell my mother has been for decades.
"You're doing wonderfully," Alessandro murmurs as we move between tables, his breath warm against my ear.
I don't acknowledge the compliment. What's the point? These brief moments of warmth are meaningless when I know the cold will return. I've seen how quickly he can transform from the man who held me under the stars to a cold-hearted stranger who barely acknowledges me.
The orchestra begins playing our wedding waltz. Alessandro leads me to the center of the dance floor, one hand clasping mine, the other settling at my waist.
"Everyone's watching," he says, guiding me into the first steps.
"They always are." My voice is flat. Like all life has gone out of me. I've been married for less than an hour, and I’m already losing myself.
I think back to our first dance at the gala. How his eyes had locked with mine, how the electricity crackled between us. But it wasn’t real.
We move across the floor in perfect synchronization. We're a beautiful illusion. The perfect match.
"You seem unhappy, Wife," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I meet his gaze, allowing him to see, for just a moment, the hurt beneath my mask. "I have a name, and what did you expect?"
His rhythm falters slightly. "I expected—"
"It doesn't matter what you expected," I cut him off. "The contract is signed. We've said our vows. I’ll do my duty for show."
The music swells around us, and Alessandro pulls me closer than propriety demands. For a heartbeat, I allow myself to remember how it felt to be in his arms on that rooftop. How it felt to be wanted, desired.
But that woman was a fool. I won't be her again. I fight against the warmth and the hope.
The reception drags on for what feels like an eternity. By the time we're rushed through a tunnel of sparklers and into the waiting Bentley, I’m exhausted from faking happiness.
Alessandro slides in beside me, his thigh pressed against mine. The car pulls away, leaving behind the pretense of our wedding celebration.
"Well, that's over," I say, scooting away from him.
He loosens his bowtie with one hand. "Indeed. Our families seem pleased."
"My father got what he wanted. I'm sure he's ecstatic." I turn to look out the window without really seeing what’s passing by. “I just want to go home and—”
"We're heading to the airport," Alessandro says. "The jet is ready for Capri."
I whip my head around. "Capri? We're actually going on a honeymoon?" I’d thought he’d just said that the other night to make our union sound like it was real.
His expression remains neutral. "It would look suspicious if we didn't."
"Right. Appearances." I laugh bitterly. "Capri. Lovers' paradise. How ironic."
“We could be lovers.”
My jaw drops. “Ah… no… we can’t.”
He smirks. “It’s a little late, don’t you think? I’ve already fucked you so by definition, we are already lovers.”
For a moment I just stare at him, wondering who he really is. It’s clear I’ve never met the real Alessandro, and I suspect that a lifetime of marriage won’t change that.
At the private airfield, Alessandro's men handle our luggage while we board the luxurious Gulfstream.
I sink into one of the plush seats, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am.
Alessandro pours himself a whiskey and sits opposite me. "It's a nine-hour flight. You should rest."
"I'm fine here."
"Isabella." He gestures toward the rear of the plane. "There's a bed—"
"I said I'm fine."
His jaw tightens. "Don't be stubborn. You're practically falling asleep."
"I don't want to use the bed." I meet his gaze directly. "I wouldn't want you to mistake my need for sleep as an invitation for a repeat performance of the rooftop."
Alessandro's expression darkens. "That's not—"
"Let's be clear about something," I interrupt. "What happened between us was a mistake, as you clearly believe as well. I, for one, won't be repeating it. This is a business arrangement. It’s all you want, so it’s all you’ll get.”
His eyes narrow. “I never said it was a mistake.”
“Your hot and cold behavior indicates otherwise.” I cross my arms and look out the window, watching the earth fall away as the plane lifts into the air.
"My behavior?" He sets down his glass. "You are just as cold."
My gaze whips to his again. "Only after you treated me like I was invisible! What did you expect?"
"I expected—" He stops, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter what I expected."
"No, it doesn't. Because this isn't real." I gesture between us. "This marriage is a peace treaty, nothing more."
Alessandro watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"Get some rest, Isabella," he finally says, his voice softer. "The bed is yours. I won't disturb you."
"I'll sleep right here, thank you." I curl up into the seat.
He sighs, leaning back in his seat. "As you wish, Wife."
“I have a name, asshole,” I murmur under my breath.
“That’s Don Dante to you.”
I want to give him the finger. Instead, I close my eyes, determined to prove I can handle this marriage.
In fact, maybe his desire to keep things distant between us is a good thing.
I’d rather be ignored and left to my own devices than to be continually beaten down like my mother is.
All I have to do is get through this farce of a honeymoon, and then I can be free of having to spend time with my husband.