From forced bride to mafia Queen

Isabella’s pov The night my father sold me,I was wearing a white dress. Funny,isn’t it? White was supposed to represent innocence,purity,and new beginnings. But that night,my white dress became a burial gown. Not for my body. For my freedom. “Sign the papers,Isabella.” My father’s voice trembled I stared at him from across the enormous mahogany desk in his study.his hands were shaking,and sweat covered his forehead despite the freezing air-conditioning. “Sign what papers,Daddy?” He wouldn’t look at me. That was when I knew something terrible had happened. My father had always been many things-strict,proud,stubborn,and sometimes cruel-but he had never been afraid of me. Tonight,he looked as though he was waiting for someone to execute him. Please,”he whispered.”just sign them.” I picked up the document. The first page was a legal agreement. The second contained my personal information.then I reached the third page MARRIAGE AGREEMENT. My heart stopped. I read the name printed beneath mine DAMIAN ANTONIO MORETTI Even I knew that name. Everyone did. Damian moretti wasn’t an ordinary businessman.he was a man whose enemies disappeared without explanation.A man whose wealth stretched across continents and whose influence reached places ordinary people couldn’t imagine. They called him the devil of Milan. And my father wanted me to marry him? I dropped the papers. “What is this? My father closed his eyes. “Isabella-“ “WHAT IS THIS?” My voice shattered through the room. He flinched. I had never shouted at him like that before,but I couldn’t understand what I was looking at. “You want me to marry a stranger?A mafia boss?Have you lost your mind?” “Lower your voice!” “No!” I backed away from the desk. “No, you don’t get to tell me to lower my voice! You don’t get to arrange my marriage without even asking me!” My father stood. “I had no choice.” “Then find another choice!” He looked at me,and for one brief moment,I saw something that frightened me more than anger. Desperation. Your father is going to prison,”he whispered. I froze. “What?” “I owe Damian moretti thirty million dollars.” The room tilted. Thirty million Dollars. I almost laughed because the alternative was screaming until my throat bled. “What does that have to do with me?” “He agreed to forgive the debt if you marry him.” Silence. A terrible,suffocating silence. Then I whispered,”you sold me.” My father reached for me. I slapped his hand away. “You sold your own daughter!” “Isabella,please listen to me.” “How could you? Tears blurred my vision. “I trusted you.” He lowered his head. And that was when the front door opened. Footsteps echoed through the mansion. Slow. Measured. Unhurried. My father went pale. “Oh God,” he whispered. I turned toward the doorway. A tall man entered the study, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was combed back, and a silver watch gleamed beneath his cuff. Two men followed him. Neither spoke. The stranger removed his black leather gloves one finger at a time. Then his eyes met mine. Dark eyes. Cold eyes. The kind of eyes that made you feel as though every secret you had ever kept was already known to him. “Mr. Williams,” he said calmly. My father immediately straightened. “Mr. Moretti.” Damian ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, he looked at me. “So,” he murmured. “This is the daughter.” I lifted my chin. “I’m standing right here. You can speak to me directly.” One of the men behind him shifted. Damian raised a hand, stopping him without even looking in his direction. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the sort of smile that warned you to be careful. “Interesting.” He walked toward me. I refused to step back, although every instinct in my body screamed at me to run. He stopped inches away. “Do you know who I am?” “Unfortunately.” One of his eyebrows rose. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.” “And you’re either very arrogant or very stupid if you think I’ll marry you.” My father’s face drained of colour. “Isabella!” Damian laughed softly. Actually laughed. For some reason, that frightened me more than if he had shouted. He reached into his jacket and removed a folded document. “Your father has signed the agreement. The wedding takes place on Saturday.” I stared at him. “Then marry someone else.” “I don’t want someone else.” His answer came so quickly that I had no idea what to say. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I want you.” My stomach twisted. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough.” “Then you know I hate you.” “Hatred is an emotion, Isabella. Emotions change.” “Not mine.” His expression hardened. For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. Then he straightened his jacket. “Your opinion of me is irrelevant to the agreement.” He turned toward the door. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re insane!” He stopped. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps.” Then he said something that would haunt me long after that night. “But you’ll learn something about me, little bride.” His gaze travelled over my face, studying the anger and fear I desperately wanted to hide. “When I make a promise, I keep it.” He walked away. His men followed. And just like that, the Devil left my father’s study. I stood there, shaking. My father tried to touch my shoulder. I stepped away from him. “Don’t touch me.” “Isabella—” “Don’t.” I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. “You are dead to me.” Then I ran upstairs. I locked my bedroom door, threw myself onto the bed, and cried until my chest hurt. I cried for the life I had imagined. For the freedom I had taken for granted. For the man I was being forced to marry. And for the terrible possibility that nobody was coming to save me. At 11:47 p.m., my phone vibrated. An unknown number. I almost ignored it. Then another message arrived. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Stop crying. I sat up. My fingers trembled as I typed. ME: Who is this? The reply came immediately. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Your future husband. My blood ran cold. ME: How did you get my number? DAMIAN: Your father gave it to me. Of course he did. I threw my phone onto the bed. It vibrated again. DAMIAN: Pack your belongings. My driver will arrive at eight tomorrow morning. I grabbed the phone. ME: I’m not going anywhere with you. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then his response arrived. DAMIAN: We will discuss that tomorrow. Another message followed. DAMIAN: Goodnight, Isabella. I stared at the screen. Then came the final message. DAMIAN: And one more thing, little bride. My breath caught. DAMIAN: You may hate me today. But nobody in this world will be allowed to hurt you without answering to me. I should have felt reassured. Instead, I felt terrified. Because I understood something then. Damian Moretti didn’t see me as a woman who could choose her own future. He saw me as something he had acquired. Something that belonged to him. And on Saturday, I was going to become his wife.