Twice Bound: Love and Revenge

The grim walls of the Rossi estate rose taller than Isabella, casting long, dreary shadows across the driveway. Earlier, the high granite fronts and the marble statues publicly displayed were supposed to be indomitable examples in the showcase of raw power and wealth reflected by lasting consideration of the Rossi name. Now, however, these were mere remnants of an imploding family. The colossal arches cracked and chipped, while the once-flourishing gardens had grown wild with weeds and neglect. The estate was falling apart, mirroring her father's waning days of fortune. Isabella Rossi knew that something was wrong the very moment she crossed the threshold of the house. Her father, Vittorio Rossi, had always had that commanding presence in Isabella's space, but today, his calling her certainly disturbed her. The note had been very simple few short words hastily scrawled in his dramatic, slanted handwriting the urgency stood naked. Come at once. Don't delay. She stepped into the grand hall, the sound of her heels scraping against the cold marble floor. The humid silence enveloped her almost like an atmosphere as she proceeded towards her father's office. Her pace quickened, as though she could plunge the black cloud congested with bad news and her recoil counting the intensifying pressure in her chest. The tension in the house meant something, she thought; something was about to crack. Isabella stood before the door for an instant, with her hand resting on the brass handle for one agonized second. She sucked in a great breath to collect herself and turned the knob, entering. Her father stood behind his massive mahogany desk, a cigar clutched in the fingers of one hand, his back turned towards her digging into the cool sunlight from the large chandeliers that swept across the once-magnificent gardens. The shoulders were taut, and the back was straightened, but there were lines of weariness upon him that she hadn't witnessed before. Vittorio Rossi had always been a man of utter control, He was the patriarch, who had ruled with an iron fist. But to Isabella's eyes today, he looked… diminished. "Father," Isabella greeted quietly, closing the door behind her, "You wanted to see me?" Vittorio did not look at her straight away. His drag between the cigars was long, the smoke curling into the air as he slowly puffed it out. He finally turned to her, his eyes set hard on the ground and cold just like they were, and since when she was a little girl, had once instilled fear in her. "Sit, Isabella," he clipped. She obeyed, as always, but something else remained that troubled her about her father today. His usual dapper self seemed unkempt few greys mismanaged, his suit jacket flung over the backrest of his chair. Desperation glimmered in his eye, a desperation she had never witnessed before. "Isabella," began the low, gravelly voice of her father's. "I have made the decision." Silence enveloped her, heart in hand waiting for him to carry on. Her hands rested on her lap; fingers trembled lightly while tethering her growing dread. "Our family is in trouble," Vittorio broke at last after a ruminating pause. "The business… well, it's failing." Isabella's breath hitched in her throat. The Rossi family affair offered them sustenance, an empire from the ground built by her father. For them to admit failures was hard to conceive. "What do you mean?" she asked, with a voice barely a whisper. "How can a business not be operational?" Vittorio clenched his jaw; his piercing gaze narrowed. "Bad investments. A series of unfortunate decisions. And now…" he faltered, glancing away while his fingers tightened around the cigar, "now we're seconds away from losing everything." The entire world swayed beneath Isabella. The Rossi family had always been rich, powerful, and untouchable. What if it came that they would lose everything that they would have to watch their dear empire collapse? Such a thought was terrifying. "Father, there must be something we can do," she began, her voice shaking. "We can—" "There is something," Vittorio interrupted in a cutting tone, tossing a piece of paper onto the desk in front of her. The now-darkened look of Vittorio was unforgiving to see. "This is the only way." Isabella's pulse flew through her veins as she took the paper, shaking with the effort of unwinding the pages from each other. Her eyes scanned down the piece of paper, and she did not even know it, but each word was rendered so much more difficult to breathe after reading it. A marriage contract. Her name was inscribed at the very top, and then the name sent ice through her veins: Damian Blackwell. Her eyes widened in disbelief at her father's sudden presence. "What is this?" she finally managed to blurt out. "It's a deal," Vittorio's tone was blunt. "Damian Blackwell will rescue our business; in exchange, you will marry him." The stomach of Isabella twisted in knots. These circles would recognize Damian Blackwell: his name whispered in fateful tones at social gatherings, spoken in chilling warmth and blended with some fear. This heartless billionaire had built an empire on the backs of those who had dared cross him. His notable reputation was that of a ruthless and cold-hearted ambitious egg; a man who annihilated anyone foolish enough to get in the way. "I am to marry… him?" Her voice cracked while she just gazed dumbfounded at her father. Vittorio's expression did not change. "That's it. It's done," he stated flatly in cold amusement. "On the condition that you marry him, he has agreed to save the company." "Why?" Isabella felt her stomach go into a knot. "This doesn't make any sense. What do you mean, why me?" Then, Vittorio buried his lips into a thin and stubborn line. "Because I have nothing else to offer, Isabella. Damian wants something from me, and you… you are the price." Her world had tilted; for an instant, she was dizzy. She clutched the document in lilting hands as the magnitude of her father’s disclosure spun inside her head. The thought hit her. A man was buying her—a man notorious for his savagery, for his cutthroat dealings. A man who had never set eyes on her till now—only to have his name and deinone to hers now. "You can’t do this," she whispered in a trembling voice. "Father, please,…” "I can," was the cold reply from Vittorio. "And I have." Tears were brimming in Isabella's eyes, her chest tight with fear and heartache. But all through, she had accepted that this wasn't her life and her father never considered her anything but a pawn in his game of power and control. But this? It was beyond what she could bear. "You will fulfill your place in this family, Isabella," Vittorio warned, his eyes now hardened staring at her. "You knew this day would come. You should go marry Damian Blackwell, and in return, our family will live." Isabella swallowed hard, tears streaking down her cheeks, "What of me? What about what I want?" Vittorio’s expression did not seem to move. "What you want doesn’t matter." His words sliced through her like a knife, and for the first time in her life, Isabella realized how little she meant to him. She was mere bait in his artifice, an instrument for some glorious end. "The wedding will take place in two weeks," said Vittorio, his tone ironclad. "Prepare yourself." And with that, he turned back towards the window and ended the conversation. Actually, for him, the conversation was over. Isabella just sat up for a moment, her heart wrenching, her mind reeling on the impact of her plunge into the cruel reality. She was going to marry a man called Damian Blackwell-a man she feared, a man who was almost a stranger to her. Henceforth, he would dominate every facet of her life. With wobbly legs beneath her, she lurched out of her father's office, recognizing her life was over.