ISABELLA

Chapter 21

Isabella’s POV

The silk felt foreign on my skin. Too rich. Too heavy. Too… Deluca.

I told myself I hated it—the way the gown shimmered when I moved, the way the slit teased my leg with every step, the way Leo’s gaze pinned me in place as if I’d been caught doing something sinful.

But deep down?

My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it.

When he touched my chin, when his words fell in that low, commanding Italian, I almost forgot who he was. The mafia heir. Dangerous. Untouchable. A man I should never let myself want.

And yet… something in me leaned closer.

“Leo, I don’t—” I started, but my voice betrayed me, softer than I wanted.

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he could read every thought in my head, like he knew I was lying even to myself.

“Don’t what?” he pressed, voice like velvet wrapped in steel.

“I don’t… belong in this.” My hand pressed to my chest, as if the gown itself was the problem, not the heat curling low in my stomach under his stare.

He leaned in, close enough that his breath tickled the shell of my ear.

“You belong anywhere I put you, tesoro.”

(darling)

I shivered. Damn him.

He finally pulled back, his hand ghosting over my waist like he couldn’t resist one more touch. And God help me, a part of me wanted him to hold on. To press harder. To stop pretending this was all about control and admit there was something more here.

I swallowed, forcing myself to straighten, to break whatever trance he was weaving.

“You think you can just decide for me?” I asked, sharper than I felt.

Leo’s smirk returned, slow and knowing.

“I don’t think, bella. I decide.”

I rolled my eyes.

Leo’s POV

I caught it.

That tiny flicker of defiance—the roll of her eyes.

My jaw tightened as I stepped closer, every inch of me radiating control I was barely holding on to.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, bella?”

Her lips parted, ready with some smart remark, but I didn’t give her the chance.

I leaned in, lowering my voice until it was nothing but steel and promise.

“Don’t ever do that again. I can clear this place right now—lock the doors, send everyone out—and f**k you against this mirror until you scream my name. And nobody would stop me.”

Her breath hitched, just barely. She tried to mask it, to glare, but her hands clenched the fabric of the gown like she needed something to hold on to.

“You wouldn’t—” she whispered.

My smirk was slow, dangerous.

“Don’t test me, Isabella. You belong to me the moment I decided it. And rolling your eyes at me?” My hand brushed her jaw, tilting her face up. “That’s a mistake you’ll never make again.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between us—thick, suffocating, intoxicating. Her pulse fluttered beneath my fingers, betraying her, and I knew she felt it too. The pull neither of us wanted to admit.

I released her suddenly, stepping back just enough to let her breathe, though my gaze never left hers.

“Careful, tesoro,” I murmured. “I like your fire. But fire burns.”

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The dress was boxed and paid for before Isabella could even argue. I didn’t give her the chance—just guided her out with a hand at the small of her back, firm enough to remind her who was in control.

When we pulled up to the Deluca estate, she looked at me with a frown.

“I thought you were just dropping me back home.”

I smirked, unbuttoning the cuff of my sleeve as I leaned against the steering wheel.

“You’re not going home tonight. You’ll get ready here. We have a dinner to attend, and I don’t have time for you to run off and play dress-up on your own terms.”

Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Call your cousin,” I said flatly, eyes darkening with that edge of command that always made her bristle. “Tell him not to wait up for you. Or better yet—tell him you might not come home at all.”

Her lips parted in protest, but I reached across, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. The gesture was deceptively gentle, the kind that made her shiver even as she wanted to pull away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, bella. I don’t like repeating myself.”

With a reluctant sigh, Isabella unlocked her phone and dialed Nico. The call went on speaker.

“Isa? Where are you?” Nico’s voice carried that usual protective tone, the one I already didn’t like.

“I—I’m at the Deluca mansion,” she admitted quickly, shooting me a glare. “Leo wants me to stay and get ready here for… a dinner. I might not be back tonight.”

There was silence on the other end before Nico spoke again, his voice low and wary.

“The hell do you mean you might not be back tonight?”

“She means exactly what she said,” I cut in, my voice sharp and deliberate. “She’s safe with me. You don’t need to worry about your cousin.”

The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then Nico exhaled sharply.

“Isa, just… be careful. Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

“I will,” Isabella said softly, ending the call before Nico could argue further.

The moment the line went dead, she rounded on me.

“You don’t get to dictate where I sleep, Leo. You don’t own me.”

I leaned closer, my voice a whisper laced with possession and steel.

“That’s where you’re wrong, tesoro. Tonight, you’re mine. And I don’t share what’s mine.”

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The moment they entered, servants moved with practiced precision. Some carried trays of wine, others bowed slightly as Leo walked past, their eyes lowering. The respect—or rather, the fear—was palpable.

“This way,” Leo said, his hand brushing the small of her back again, guiding her through endless corridors until they reached a double door room.

The doors opened, and Isabella’s breath caught. It wasn’t just a guest room. It was luxurious—velvet curtains, a king-sized bed dressed in silk sheets, a vanity with golden trimmings, and a balcony that overlooked the sprawling vineyards behind the estate. A dress stand was already waiting in the corner, her chosen gown from the boutique displayed like it belonged in a museum.

She spun on her heels. “Leo, this is… too much. I told you, I could have gotten ready at home.”

His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “And I told you—you’re not going home tonight. This isn’t up for debate.”

The defiance in her eyes was fiery, but beneath it, she felt the weight of his stare—so possessive it was suffocating, yet thrilling.

“Basta,” Leo muttered in Italian, motioning toward the vanity. “Enough arguing. Get ready.”