BOUND BY SHADOWS

The marble headstone gleamed white against the gray October sky, almost offensive in its pristine elegance. Alessandro Romano. Beloved Son and Brother. Gone Too Soon. Isabella traced her fingers over the engraved letters, now familiar from two years of weekly visits. The stone was cold beneath her touch, matching the emptiness that had taken root in her chest the day they buried her brother. "I'm sorry, Ale," she whispered, her breath forming small clouds in the autumn air. "I tried. I really tried to find out who did this to you." The wind rustled through the cemetery's oak trees, carrying the scent of dying leaves and distant rain. Isabella pulled her thin coat tighter. She'd sold most of her nice clothes months ago when her father's gambling debts started swallowing everything they owned. Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Seven times in rapid succession. Papa. Her stomach clenched. He only called this persistently when something was terribly wrong. And in her world, wrong usually meant dangerous. "I have to go," she told the headstone, pressing her palm flat against the cold marble. "But I'll be back Sunday. I promise." She was halfway to her rusted Honda when her phone rang again. This time, she answered. "Papa, I'm at the cemetery. Can't this wait—" "Come home. Now." Her father's voice was ragged, desperate. "Don't stop anywhere. Don't talk to anyone. Just come home." The line went dead. Isabella's hands trembled as she unlocked her car. In the two years since Alessandro's death, her father had spiraled—drinking, gambling, making increasingly desperate deals with increasingly dangerous men. She'd watched him transform from the stern but loving man who'd raised them into a hollow shell who could barely meet her eyes. The drive to their small row house in South Brooklyn took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of her mind racing through worst-case scenarios, each one darker than the last. He's gambled away the house. He's borrowed from loan sharks. He's gotten himself mixed up with the Cosa Nostra. She parked in the driveway, noting her father's car was there but the lights inside were off. Strange. It was only four in the afternoon. "Papa?" she called, pushing through the front door. "What's going on?" He sat at the kitchen table in the dark, still wearing his uniform from his security job at the docks. A bottle of whiskey stood open beside him, three-quarters empty. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, his face looked older than his fifty-six years, carved with deep lines of regret. "Sit down, Isabella." "I'd rather stand." "Sit. Down." The command in his voice reminded her of the father he used to be, before Alessandro died, before everything fell apart. She sat. Luca Romano took a long drink straight from the bottle, then finally met her eyes. What she saw there made her blood run cold. "I made a mistake," he said quietly. "A big one." "How much?" She was so tired of this conversation. "How much do you owe this time?" "Two million dollars." The number hung in the air between them like a guillotine blade. Isabella laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "Two million? Papa, we don't have two thousand. How could you possibly—" "I know." He slumped forward, his head in his hands. "I know, piccola. I tried to win it back. I thought I could fix it myself. But these men..." He looked up, and she saw fear in his eyes. Real fear. "These men don't wait for payment plans." "Then we'll go to the police. We'll—" "The police?" He barked out a bitter laugh. "Half the precinct is on the Salvatore payroll." Isabella's heart stopped. "Salvatore? Papa, tell me you didn't borrow from the Salvatore family." The Salvatores were one of the five families that ran New York's underworld. Ruthless, powerful, and absolutely unforgiving. Her father might as well have signed his own death warrant. "I had no choice! The Vitales were going to kill me. Marco Salvatore offered to clear the debt if—" He broke off, unable to continue. "If what?" Ice spread through her veins. "Papa, if what?" Luca Romano, the man who'd taught her to ride a bike and walked her to school every day until she turned twelve, couldn't meet her eyes. "If you marry his son." The words didn't make sense at first. Her brain simply refused to process them. "Marry..." "Dante Salvatore. He needs a wife. For appearances, for alliances, I don't know the details. Marco said if you agree, the debt is forgiven. You'd be protected. Taken care of." Isabella stood so abruptly her chair crashed backward. "You sold me? Like some kind of medieval bride?" "I'm saving your life!" Her father surged to his feet. "The Vitales know where you work, where you live. Do you think they won't come for you to hurt me? At least as a Salvatore, you'd be untouchable." "I'd rather die than marry into that family!" "Then you'll get your wish!" His shout echoed through the empty house. "Because if you refuse, we're both dead. They've given us until Sunday to decide." Sunday. Two days away. Isabella backed toward the door, shaking her head. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. "Isabella, please." Her father's voice cracked. "I know I've failed you. I know I failed Alessandro. But this is the only way. I've already tried everything else." "Did Alessandro know?" The question came out as barely a whisper. "Before he died, did he know what you were?" Her father flinched as if she'd struck him. "Your brother died trying to protect this family." "My brother died because of this world!" Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "And now you want to throw me into it?" She turned toward the door. "There's more," her father said quietly. Isabella paused, her hand on the doorknob. "The man who ordered Alessandro's death. It was Dante Salvatore." The words hit her like physical blows. The room spun. She gripped the doorframe to keep from falling. "What?" "Two years ago, there was a conflict between families. Alessandro was there. Dante gave the order." Luca's voice was hollow. "I didn't know. I swear to God, Isabella, I didn't know until after I'd agreed to the arrangement. But now we're bound. Marco Salvatore doesn't take no for an answer." Isabella couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Her brother's killer. Her father wanted her to marry her brother's killer. "There will be an engagement party," her father continued. "Friday night. At the Salvatore estate. You're expected to attend." "And if I don't?" "Then we both die. And it won't be quick." Isabella walked out without another word. She made it to her car, locked the doors, and then finally let herself break. Sobs tore from her throat as she gripped the steering wheel, her whole body shaking. Alessandro's face flashed through her mind. His smile. His terrible jokes. The way he'd always saved her the last cannoli because he knew it was her favorite. Gone. And the man responsible wanted to marry her. Her phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. Friday. 8 PM. Wear something black. A car will pick you up. And below it, a second message that made her blood freeze: Looking forward to meeting you, Isabella. —D.S. She stared at the message until the screen went dark, her reflection ghostly in the black glass. Two days. She had two days to figure out what to do. Two days before she entered hell with a smile on her face. But as she drove away from her childhood home, a cold resolve settled over her grief. If she had to marry Dante Salvatore, so be it. She'd smile. She'd play the perfect bride. She'd get close to him. And then, when he least expected it, she'd make him pay for what he'd done to Alessandro. Sometimes revenge required patience. And Isabella Romano had nothing but time.