BOND BY POWER: THE DON'S WIFE

“Stay close,” my father murmured. “Keep your head high.” I nodded, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of my black dress. It was an off-the-shoulder number—elegant but simple. I wasn’t here to be noticed. I was here to observe. The gala dripped in excess—gold chandeliers, crystal glasses, silk gowns swirling around the room. Beneath the polished elegance, I could feel the weight of hidden knives, whispered betrayals, and power plays happening behind every champagne toast. This wasn’t a party. It was a battlefield. I walked in beside my father, Marco DeLuca, his grip firm on my arm. His presence alone commanded respect, forcing the crowd to part as we entered. I kept my head high, my expression neutral, but I was careful—watching, listening. But then, the crowd shifted. And there he was. Victor Ivanov. He cut through the room like a blade—confident, untouchable, eyes sharp as ice. My stomach tightened, but I didn’t let it show. He was the one man I hoped to avoid tonight, but I should have known better. His gaze locked onto me like a predator spotting prey. His expression is unreadable. I was about to turn away, “Didn’t think the DeLuca princess made public appearances,” he drawled, stopping in front of me. I arched my brow. “Didn’t think the Ivanov devil was allowed this close to decent society.” He chuckled, tilting his head. “Oh, sweetheart, we left ‘decent’ behind the moment we were born.” I clenched my jaw. His presence, his voice—everything about him irritated me. I grew up hearing his name whispered like a curse. Ruthless. Arrogant and Unpredictable. “What do you want, Ivanov?” I asked, keeping my voice even. “To talk.” He stepped closer, his cologne—dark spice and danger—curling around me. “And just look at you, you look stunning last I saw.” Viktor has always been a pain in the ass. Since my father refused to be allies with him, he always had fun trying to rule me up. With his expressionless face, he always got the best of me. I wish I could put a bullet in his head. He can't kill my father because he still has susessors and that will bring trouble for him. He might be the most dangerous out of the families but he wasn't a reckless man. Valkofs blood where hot but they new how to play ther games. My father’s grip on my arm subtly tightened, warning me. Victor noticed and smirked. “Relax, I only bite when asked nicely.” I exhaled through my nose, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Say what you need to say and move on.” His gaze flicked over me, slow and assessing. “You look good, Isabella. Your father must be relieved—you finally found a purpose beyond decoration.” My blood ran cold. The insult was subtle but sharp. I smiled sweetly. “And yet, you still look like a man who’s compensating for something.” A laugh rumbled from his chest. “Fiery. I like that.” I crossed my arms. “Your opinion means nothing to me.” Victor’s smirk deepened. “Are you sure? Because I’m starting to think you hit me with that glare a little too hard, sweetheart.” My fingers curled into fists. “Call me that again and see what happens.” “What? Sweetheart?” I didn’t think . I just acted. My hand struck his face, the slap cracking through the ballroom like a gunshot. Gasps echoed. Every conversation died. Victor’s head snapped to the side. His smirk vanished. His men reacted immediately, hands flying to their weapons. Marco’s enforcers mirrored them, the air turning lethal in seconds. My pulse pounded. One wrong move, and we’d have a war on our hands. Victor exhaled slowly, rolling his jaw. Then, he turned his head back to me, something dark flickering behind his eyes. And then—he smiled. “Interesting,” he murmured. My father stepped forward, his voice dangerously low. “Your men should stand down, Ivanov.” Victor didn’t even glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on me. “Maybe they should. But I wonder… does your daughter understand what she’s just done?” I held my ground. “Oh, I understand just fine.” His smile widened. “Then tell me, Isabella, was it worth it?” Before I could answer, another voice sliced through the tension. “Enough.” The crowd parted. Ivan Valkov. Viktoria's right hand man and cousin. He was very into me His dark eyes swept across the room, unimpressed. “We all know what happens if this escalates.” His voice was quiet, yet it carried. “Chaos, And every vulture outside these walls waiting for us to tear each other apart.” Silence. Victor’s men stayed tense, waiting. Marco’s enforcers remained still, their fingers hovering near their triggers. Then Victor stared. The room moves slowly, almost like a trance.. He adjusted his cuff, smoothing the sleeve of his suit like he wasn’t seconds away from murder. “He’s right,” Victor mused. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin my suit over something so… trivial.” Trivial. I knew he was lying. This wasn’t over. Slowly, the tension in the room ebbed just enough for people to breathe again. But as Victor stepped even closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear, my stomach dropped. “I’ll let you have this one, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like silk over steel. “But you should know—I never let a debt go unpaid.” A chill slid down my spine. He leaned in, his lips barely brushing my ear. “And I always collect.” "You struck a mad man, Isabella." Ivan Volkov's voice was smooth, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. Victor’s right-hand man stood beside his boss, his sharp eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "And?" I lifted my chin, refusing to show weakness. Ivan sighed, as if speaking to a disobedient child. "And under the Mafia Code, that warrants punishment. A woman who raises her hand against a man faces one of two consequences—" He held up two fingers. "Amputation or an outrageous fine." My stomach twisted. I knew the rules. Women in the mafia were nothing more than playthings or child-bearers. We were not soldiers. We were not equals. If I had been a man, this would’ve ended with a fistfight or a bullet. But as a woman? I was disposable. The room buzzed with tension. The old men in the crowd nodded approvingly, eager to see how this would play out. They wanted a lesson. A display of order, of control. I swallowed the nausea rising in my throat. If I had to lose a hand or my father’s entire fortune over Victor Ivanov, I’d rather kill him myself. Marco DeLuca stepped forward, his presence imposing enough to still the room. “There will be no mutilation.” His voice was cold, absolute. “And if you think I’ll pay you a dime then you must be foolish Volkov, you’re more foolish than I thought.” Murmurs rippled through the ballroom. No one openly defied the Mafia Code—at least, not without consequence. Luca tsked, shaking his head. “Then I suppose we have a problem.” A muscle ticked in my father’s jaw. “If you touch my daughter, I will burn your syndicate to the ground.” The air turned razor-sharp. The Volkov enforcers stiffened. My father’s men mirrored them, hands twitching near their weapons. It would take one wrong word, one wrong movement, for this to explode into a bloodbath. Then—Ivan Valkov spoke. "Enough." Silence fell like an executioner’s blade. The head of the Valkov cartel stood calm, unreadable, but his words carried a weight that even Victor respected. Ivan took a measured step forward, his eyes flicking between my father and Victor. “The DeLuca Cartel and the Volkov Syndicate have always been at odds. It weakens you both. You know this.” Papa’s expression was carved like a stone. “Get to the point, Valkov.” Ivan clasped his hands behind his back. “The fine is steep. The punishment is just one way . But there is another way.” I didn’t like the way he said that. He turned to Victor. “Marriage.” The word dropped like a bomb. A ripple of shock and waves passed through the crowd. I felt my stomach sick. "What?" I breathed. Ivan continued, unfazed. "The DeLuca Cartel and the Volkov Syndicate were destined to be one. A union between Isabella and Victor would resolve this conflict while strengthening both families.” Papa's jaw clenched but he didn't say a word. Ivan didn’t flinch. “I’m suggesting you do what’s necessary to prevent a war.” a sly smile on his face My pulse pounded in my ears. I turned to Victor, expecting disgust, resistance, anything. But instead— He smirked. That arrogant bastard. His piercing blue eyes raked over me, assessing. “A marriage of convenience, huh?” His tone was casual, but there was something predatory beneath it. He was considering it. I forced myself to breathe. I don't want to marry him.” Victor’s lips curled. My nails dug into my palms. Ivan ’s expression remained impassive. I wonder what his gain is for doing this. Marco exhaled sharply. “And if I refuse?” Ivan ’s gaze darkened. “Then this night will end in blood.” He pointed the gun at me. A chill ran through me. This was not a request. I turned back to Victor, my pulse hammering. He watched me with amusement, like he was waiting for me to squirm. I refused. “You must think this is funny.” My voice was low, venomous. His smirk widened. “No, sweetheart. Its either this or a bullet will be placed in someone's head.” Before I could open my mouth to protest, the crowd erupted into cheers. They wanted this. The power, the spectacle, the entertainment of watching me, the untouchable princess, be chained to the devil himself. Panic clawed at my throat. Victor turned to face them, and before I could move, he grabbed me. His hand curled around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasped, but before I could push him away—he kissed me. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic. It was a claim. The force of it stole my breath, sent electricity shooting through my veins. I felt his smirk against my lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard. Anger exploded inside me. I shoved him back hard, my breath ragged, my heart pounding like a war drum. He licked his bottom lip, eyes dark with amusement. “Not bad,” he murmured. I slapped him again. This time, he laughed. And just like that, I knew— I was trapped