Bound by His Revenge

Chapter 11 – Father’s Lies

The morning began with silence—and then a knock.

Not Dante. Not one of the maids who scurried nervously under his shadow. His voice was firm, impersonal: “The Don requests you prepare." You are to visit your father today.

My chest clenched. My father. For days, I had imagined him rotting in chains, imagined Dante’s cruelty breaking him piece by piece. Now, suddenly, I was being led to him as if it were a privilege.

The car ride was long, guarded. Two black SUVs, tinted windows, men with guns. I sat in the back seat, my wrists stiff in my lap, my eyes glued to the passing streets. I hadn’t left the mansion since the night of the wedding. The world outside looked too normal—sunlight on shop windows, children chasing a ball, an old woman sweeping her doorstep.

We stopped before a modest villa on the outskirts of the city. High gates. Guards at the door. Not a prison, but not freedom either.

When the door opened, my father stood waiting inside.

“Isabella.”

His voice cracked on my name. The sight of him nearly unmanned me: his black hair streaked with gray, his proud posture sagging with exhaustion, his eyes burning with both fury and grief. He wore no chains. But the weight of invisible ones hung heavy on his shoulders.

I crossed the room in a rush, throwing myself into his arms. His embrace was fierce, desperate. For one fragile moment, I was a child again, hiding in my father’s coat, believing he could shield me from everything.

But the illusion broke quickly.

His hands trembled when he held my face, scanning me as though searching for wounds. “What has he done to you?" Tell me.”

The words snagged in my throat. “Nothing—” But that wasn’t true. Not, nothing. His kiss still seared my lips like a brand. His eyes still haunted me at night.

Papa saw the hesitation, and his jaw tightened. “Dio Santo. He’s touched you.

I shook my head hard, fighting tears. “Papa, I—I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Think about this,” he snapped, his voice sharp with urgency. “Dante Moretti is the enemy." His father ruined lives, and now he continues the same path. He will use you, Isabella. Every word, every touch, every promise—lies. You mustn’t fall for them.

I pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. “But… why, Papa?" Why this war? Why is he so certain you betrayed him?

His face darkened, mouth twisting with fury. “Because he needs someone to blame." The Morettis always need blood. I never stole from them. I never betrayed them. He invents debts to justify his cruelty.

The conviction in his voice made me falter. My heart ached to believe him

Who was lying? Who was the truth?

My father cupped my face again, gentler now, his thumb brushing away a tear. “You’re all I have left, Isabella, I swear to you, I am innocent." You must not trust him.

My throat tightened. “And if I don’t trust you either?”

Pain flickered in his eyes, but he masked it quickly. “Then you’ve already lost yourself to him.”

“Isabella,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “You don’t understand what kind of man Dante is." The Morettis wear their power like a crown, but it’s forged from blood. You think his cruelty ends with me? No. You are next.

I stiffened. “Next? I’m already—” I couldn’t finish. Already his bride. Already his possession. Already trapped in chains, I couldn’t see but felt it cutting into me every moment.

Papa cupped my face again. “Do you know what he did to his own cousins when he was just a boy?" He burned their boats, their inheritance, to ash, because his father demanded loyalty. He didn’t even flinch as families wept. That is who he is, Isabella. A man raised without mercy.

The words struck me like stones, sharp and heavy. My breath caught, because part of me believed it. The Dante I knew was all edges, all steel and silence. He ruled his house like a king who feared nothing but betrayal.

And yet—I saw flashes. Moments when his mask slipped, his hand lingered at my wrist, not in violence but something dangerously close to care. That wasn’t mercy, was it? That was… something else.

“Papa,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You don’t know him like I do.” He isn’t—”

“Innocent?” My father’s laugh was bitter, sharp as broken glass. “You think the devil wears horns? No. He wears silk suits. He speaks in low tones. He touches you like a man, not a monster. That is how he deceives. That is how he ruins.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Did he know? Could he see it in me already—that Dante’s kiss still haunted my lips, that his presence filled every shadow with my thoughts?

“I won’t let him ruin you,” Papa pressed, fierce now, his grip bruising on my arms. “You must promise me, Isabella". Do not let him into your heart. Not his lies, not his false kindness, not even his anger. Everything he does is poison. Do you hear me?”

I swallowed hard. His eyes burned into mine, demanding an answer.

“I hear you,” I whispered, though the words trembled on my tongue.

Papa exhaled sharply, relief and fury mixing in his breath. He let me go, pacing the room, his shoulders taut beneath his coat. “You must understand, Isabella—Dante didn’t take you for love". He didn’t even take you for hate. He took you because of me. Because he thinks I betrayed him. But I did not. I never touched what belonged to his family. The gold he claims I stole—it never existed in my hands. He is deluded. Blinded by his own hunger.”

Gold. The word lingered. I had heard it whispered in Dante’s halls, seen the tension crackle in his voice when debts were spoken. The gold was not just money. It was a legacy. Blood-tied. And Papa was telling me it was all a lie.

“What if he finds proof?” I asked, my voice small.

His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. “Then it will be forged." Dante Moretti creates the truth he wants, and no one dares challenge him. That is his power.

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But a seed of doubt pricked me. Because Dante hadn’t hidden his fury. He hadn’t needed to invent lies when his eyes burned with something too raw to be false.

Papa saw the hesitation flicker across my face. His voice dropped again, heavy and pleading. “My daughter, my sweet girl." You are all I have left. They want to break me, and they will use you to do it. But you must be stronger. You must resist. No matter what he tells you, no matter what he shows you—promise me you’ll never give him your loyalty. Promise me.”

His words wrapped around my throat like a noose.

Tears blurred my sight. His hand was warm, shaking, desperate. My heart screamed to obey, to protect him, to prove I was still his daughter before I was anyone’s bride.

And yet—Dante’s face filled my mind again. The warning in his eyes when others looked at me. The way he claimed me was not just as punishment, but as if he could not help himself. That hunger was not a lie.

“Promise me,” Papa begged, his forehead dropping against mine, his voice breaking like a prayer. “Promise me, Isabella.”

My lips parted, but the words tangled on my tongue.

And before I could answer, the door creaked open.

A shadow fell across the room.

Dante stood there.

The door creaked wider, the hinges groaning in the heavy silence. My breath froze in my chest.

Dark suit, darker eyes, his presence poured into the room like smoke. His gaze swept over me first—always me—and then landed on my father. The weight of it was lethal.

Papa’s hand dropped from mine as if burned. His spine stiffened, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “The devil himself,” he spat.

Dante’s lips curved, slow and merciless. “Bold words for a man living under my mercy.”

My pulse kicked, wild, but Dante’s calm was a blade. He didn’t stride forward, didn’t raise his voice. He simply was—a force that made the air crackle and the walls feel smaller.

“You call this mercy?” Papa snapped. “You rip my daughter from her life, chain her to you like a trophy, and dare to speak of mercy?”

“Chain her?” Dante’s eyes cut to me, sharp as steel. He didn’t miss the way my hands trembled, the wet sheen in my lashes. He turned back to Papa with cold finality. “I could have killed her instead.” That would have been justice.

“No!” The word burst from my throat before I could stop it. Both men turned to me—the fire of my father’s desperation, the frost of Dante’s control—and I felt caught between two blades.

Dante’s brows lifted, just slightly. “No?”

I swallowed, heat scalding my cheeks. “You talk as if I’m not standing here". As if I’m not flesh, not—” My voice cracked. “I am not a pawn in your war.”

Papa surged forward, furry, shaking his frame. “Enough, Dante." If you have vengeance, take it on me. Leave her out of this!”

“Out of this?” Dante finally stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until his shadow fell over both of us. He stood so close I could feel the heat of him, smell the faint trace of smoke and leather clinging to his skin. “Your sins are carved into her skin, Every breath she takes is stained by your theft. "Did you think she could walk free while you bled me dry?”

Papa’s face paled, but he didn’t step back. Lies. All of it. I never touched your family’s gold.

Dante’s eyes narrowed, the mask slipping for just a breath—rage flickered there, raw and uncontainable. Then he inhaled, steadily, and the cold returned. “Tell yourself that". But remember this, Alessandro:" I take debts in flesh when the gold is gone.”.

Papa’s jaw clenched. His hand brushed mine in a fleeting, desperate gesture before he whispered, “Isabella." Remember what I told you? He will twist everything. Don’t let him.

Dante’s head tilted slightly, catching the whisper. His smile was deadly. “Whispering poison, are we? Careful, Romano. Snakes that hiss too loudly lose their fangs.”

Papa bristled, but Dante turned his back on him without fear, without hesitation. His attention returned to me, and it was like standing under the weight of a storm.

“Come.” His voice was low, an order, but there was something else threaded through it. Not just command—claim.

My throat tightened. My body wanted to move, to obey, but my heart twisted. I looked back at my father, torn.

Papa’s eyes begged me to resist. Dante’s eyes dared me to defy it.

“I—” My voice broke, trapped between them.

Dante stepped closer, his hand brushing my wrist. Not a shove, not chains—just the barest graze of skin. But it burned like fire. His eyes caught mine.

Papa’s voice cracked. “Isabella, don’t—”

But my body betrayed me. My feet moved. My hand slid into Dante’s grip, trembling but yielding.