Alessandro
I don’t want to be on this plane any more than she does. I have a business to run. A family to protect.
Yes, I’ve married Marco’s daughter and have a truce with him, but I don’t trust that it will keep him from trying to take advantage while I’m on this so-called honeymoon. But now that I’ve decided to woo Isabella to be my pawn, this honeymoon is a good opportunity to do that.
Plus, Luca and Cristian are staying in New York to help protect my territories while I’m gone. Luca scares the shit out of people more than I do, so I’m not too worried.
Across from me, Isabella has finally surrendered to exhaustion, her body curled awkwardly in the leather seat. God, she looks so young and innocent. A pang of guilt settles in my gut. She should be living her own life, not being used by me and her father in a violent game of power.
Instead, she’s married to me.
Fucking hell, I'm married. I glance down at the platinum band on my finger. It should feel like a chain binding me to a situation I never wanted. Strangely, while I’ve dreaded today, at this moment, being married isn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be.
Perhaps because the marriage is done. Isabella is my wife, for better or worse.
I take another sip of whiskey, letting the burn slide down my throat as I watch her sleep cramped into the seat when she could be lying down.
Her stubbornness would be admirable if it weren't so frustrating.
She'd rather suffer uncomfortable sleep than accept the comfort of the bed, all to prove a point.
I suppose that’s my doing, a response to my cold shoulder toward her after we fucked on the rooftop. I pushed her away, and she responded in kind.
The memory of her on that rooftop comes back in a whoosh.
Her bright eyes taking in the city lights.
Her boldness as she insisted I touch her.
The feel of her body yielding to mine. If I play my cards right, I’ll have her again.
And make no mistake, when it comes to cards, I always win.
Not only will I beat her at this game, but I’ll beat her father too.
Her father has been circling our territory for years.
In some ways, this marriage is idiocy knowing he’d double-crossed me by making a deal with the Bratva after he’d made a similar deal with me.
But the old adage is to keep your enemies close.
And while Isabella likely doesn’t know details of her father’s business, she’s observant and smart.
She’ll have information I’ll need when I finally take her father down.
And if she tries to pull a double-cross like her father, well…
I lean forward, carefully gathering Isabella into my arms. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake as I carry her to the bedroom at the rear of the plane. After I lay her on the bed, I don’t immediately return to the main cabin.
I stand at the foot of the bed, watching her sleep.
Her dark lashes rest against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.
Even without trying, she captivates me. I don’t like this power she seems to have over me.
For a moment, I have the urge to join her. To make her succumb to me. To show her I’m the one with all the power here.
But I promised I wouldn’t, at least not on the plane.
No, I can’t force her to give in to me. I have to woo her, make her fall for me.
It's a cold calculation, turning my marriage into espionage. And yet, isn't that exactly what I fear she might be doing to me? Normally, I wouldn’t think such a thing was possible. But that night on the rooftop proved that she has power over me. She could bring me to my knees if I’m not careful.
Every instinct I have tells me to keep my walls up, to never reveal weakness, to view everyone as a potential threat until proven otherwise. It's how I've survived. It's how the Dantes have thrived.
The memory of Isabella's body against mine, the way she looked at me that night on the rooftop pulls at something in my chest. It’s terrifying and yet, I wonder what would it be like to let someone in? My brothers have done it, and they’re as lethal as ever. More so, maybe.
I shake my head. There's too much at stake.
I return to the cabin. I find a seat and after reviewing a few business files, I recline my seat and close my eyes. Tomorrow starts day one in seducing Isabella to become loyal to me and only me.
Nine hours later, the plane descends toward Naples, breaking through cloud cover to reveal the blue waters of the Mediterranean.
Isabella has been silent since waking an hour ago, finding herself in the bed with no memory of how she got there.
Her quiet "thank you" when I explained was the extent of our conversation.
As we touch down, I roll my shoulders, prepared to put my plan into place and give Isabella a honeymoon any bride would dream off. Yes, this is a strategic plan to use her against her father, but I can’t deny that the task doesn’t feel onerous. I enjoy Isabella’s company.
"The car's waiting," I tell her as we disembark onto the tarmac. "We'll take the ferry from Naples to Capri."
She nods, holding on to her emotional distance.
“Have you been here? Is this old hat to you?” I poke at her, wanting to see the fire in her eyes over this dull, withdrawn appearance.
“I haven’t been anywhere outside of New York.”
“Well, you’re in for an adventure, then.”
We ride to the port in silence, but as we board the ferry, something in Isabella changes. She moves to the railing, drawn to the view as we pull away from shore. The wind catches her hair, pulling strands free from her pulled back style. She makes no move to fix it.
The Bay of Naples opens before us, Vesuvius looming in the background, the coastline curving in a perfect arc. When Isabella tilts her face toward the sun, I catch a genuine smile playing at the corners of her mouth. It’s the first smile I've seen since that night on the rooftop.
"It's beautiful," she says, almost to herself.
I move beside her, maintaining a careful distance. "Wait until you see the Blue Grotto."
Her eyes meet mine, bright with interest despite her obvious attempt to remain aloof. "I've read about it. The water glows blue from the sunlight passing through underwater caverns."
"Like nothing you've seen before," I confirm, taken in by how stunningly beautiful she is when she lights up. There's something captivating about watching her discover this place.
As we approach the island, Isabella leans forward, drinking in every detail. The rigid posture she's maintained all day softens. Her eyes track the colorful buildings clustered along Marina Grande.
I realize I'm staring and look away. This appreciation is dangerous, precisely the weakness I've vowed to avoid. But as the ferry nears the dock, I can't help but glance at her again, at the spark of genuine wonder in her eyes.
As we step from the ferry, Isabella's eyes continue to take in everything.
"We'll check in at the villa later," I decide impulsively. "Let's explore first."
Surprise flickers across her face. "Now? In my travel clothes?"
"You look perfect."
I guide her through narrow streets where bougainvillea spills over stone walls. Each time her expression opens with delight at some new discovery, I’m entranced by her. I keep having to remind myself of my mission. Win her trust. Make her loyal to me, not her father.
Yet as we pause at a vista overlooking the Faraglioni, massive rock formations jutting from the sea, and I see wonder in her eyes, my mission slips to the background.
"It's like a painting," she says in awe.
"Capri has that effect." I stand close enough to catch her perfume mingling with the salt air. "There's a reason emperors built palaces here."
We wander into the Piazzetta, the island's central square, where I direct her toward a jewelry shop tucked between cafés.
"For your bride?" he asks in Italian, eyeing Isabella appraisingly.
"Only your finest," I reply.
Isabella's guard rises. "Alessandro, this isn't necessary—"
"Humor me." I meet her eyes steadily. "Consider it a peace offering."
Her expression only grows more wary.
The jeweler presents several pieces, but one catches my attention, a delicate gold bracelet with sapphires the exact color of the Mediterranean we'd just crossed. When Isabella's fingers hover over it, I know she appreciates its beauty as well.
"This one," I tell the jeweler, watching Isabella's face.
"It's beautiful, but..." she hesitates.
"No buts." I take the bracelet and clasp it around her wrist. "A reminder of our first day here… Our first day as husband and wife.”
Her eyes study mine, and it’s all I can do not to shift from the discomfort of feeling like she’s looking into my soul.
"Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” For a dangerous moment, I forget everything except how spectacularly beautiful she is. She belongs in this place that’s full of vibrancy and life.
Later in the afternoon, we settle into our villa, taking a short rest before changing for dinner. She’s wearing a sleek black dress that hugs her curves, her hair swept up to expose the elegant line of her neck.
She looks breathtaking.
And completely unreachable.
Despite my peace offering, despite the day exploring Capri together, she maintains a careful distance. Her words are polite but measured, her smiles never reaching her eyes unless it’s a natural marvel from the island. Every attempt at conversation is met with the same cool detachment.
"The reservations are for eight," I say, checking my watch. "The restaurant has the best view on the island."
"I'm sure it's lovely." Her voice is flat, disinterested.
Frustration bubbles inside me. I've tried the gentlemanly approach, showing her the island's beauty, buying her gifts, yet she continues to ice me out.
Then again, what did I expect? That one magical island and an expensive bracelet would make her forget how I treated her?
On any other woman, it would have worked.
But Isabella isn’t any other woman. She’s shrewd and she knows her worth, knows I disrespected her and therefore, I have lost her respect.
I move closer, leaning against the balustrade beside her. "You're still angry."
"I'm not angry, Alessandro." She doesn't look at me. "I'm realistic. You made it clear what this marriage is. I'm adapting."
“What this marriage is? I’ve been a gentleman doting on his wife all day.”
Now she turns, skepticism written across her features. "You’re just trying to manipulate me."
She’s not wrong, and yet, I’m surprised she’s seen through me.
Even so, standing here gazing down into her defiant eyes, I can't remember why keeping her at arm's length seemed so crucial.
"Maybe I am," I admit. "Or maybe I'm trying to figure this out as much as you are."
She studies me. The tension between us thickens, electric and dangerous, just like it has since the moment we met. I’m making progress.
"I'm not a chess piece," she states. "Not yours, not my father's."
Regardless of my intentions, one thing is for sure. We have one undeniable chemistry. It’s crackling between us now, even as she tries to build a wall to keep it out.
I step closer, close enough to see her pupils dilate. "No, you're my wife."
My fingers brush her bare shoulder, and she shivers, sending a thrill of victory through me. A part of me wants to take her here and now, prove I’m right about the attraction that courses through us. But I know her well enough now to know pushing too hard, too fast will backfire.
“Let’s go to dinner.”
The restaurant lives up to its reputation in terms of ambiance and quality of the meal. Isabella eats sparingly, sipping her wine as if she wants to keep her wits about her. Her composure is flawless, every inch the poised Mafia princess her father raised her to be.
But I see the telltale signs of my impact. The slight flush when our fingers brush as I pour her wine, the way her breath catches when I lean close to speak over the ambient music.
"There's a place nearby," I tell her as we finish dessert. "Live music. Dancing."
Her eyebrow arches slightly. "You dance?”
I arch a brow. “You know I dance. We’ve done it—”
“I meant like a club.”
I shrug. I’m not really a club guy, but I know that a dance allows me to touch her, to remind her of how good we are together.
I settle the bill without looking at it. "We have a lifetime to learn all sorts of new things about each other.”
She looks down, and inwardly, I curse at saying something that reminds her she’s stuck with me for the rest of her life. Or mine. Maybe she’ll wish death upon me, perhaps even for her father to be the one who pulls the trigger.
The club is intimate, tucked into a renovated stone building with a terrace overlooking the sea. Inside, couples sway to the sultry notes of a jazz quartet. The lighting is low, the atmosphere sultry.
"Reminds me of the night we danced at the gala," I murmur, guiding her toward the floor without giving her time to refuse.
Her body tenses as my hand finds the small of her back, but she allows me to lead her into the dance. "You mean when you showed your true self."
I pull her closer than propriety demands, close enough for her to feel what she does to me. "And what self is that?"
"A man who takes what he wants, then discards it when he’s had his fill."
The words sting, but I know I deserve them.
"Is that what you think?" My lips brush her ear as I speak. "That I've discarded you?"
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, defiance blazing. "Your seduction won't work, Alessandro. I'm not the naive virgin from the rooftop anymore."
I can't help the smile that curves my lips. "No, you're not. You're my wife. And we both know exactly what happens when I touch you."
To prove my point, I slide my hand slightly lower on her back, drawing her hips against mine. Her sharp intake of breath is a victory.
"You can lie to yourself," I murmur against her neck, "but your body can't lie to me."
Something inside me shifts. This isn't just about strategy anymore. This is about claiming what's mine.
Her eyes flash with defiance, but I feel the way her body betrays her. Her body melts against me. Her hips press against mine as we sway to the music.
"You're fighting yourself more than you're fighting me." I relish the shiver that runs through her. "Why deny what we both know is inevitable?"
When she doesn't answer, I draw back just enough to look into her eyes. I see the desire battling with pride.
"Your walls are crumbling, Isabella." My thumb brushes against the exposed part of her back. "I can feel it."
"You're overconfident.” But her tone tells me she knows she’s losing this battle.
I pull her closer, my dick hard against her belly. "This was always going to happen," I tell her. "From the moment I saw you, this was inevitable."