Scarlet Promise

Chapter 9: La Rosa

It had been three days since the arrangement had been set in stone, and the families had reached their agreement. However, Isabella and Viktor had already begun to lay the foundation for an arrangement of their own. This was why they had chosen to meet at La Rosa, a quiet café in Milan’s historic district, away from the prying eyes of their respective worlds.

La Rosa was the kind of place that reflected the contrast between their lives. Nestled on a cobblestone street, it was small and intimate, yet filled with old-world charm. The muted hum of conversation blended with the soft clink of porcelain cups and the faint aroma of espresso that lingered in the air. The velvet-draped interior seemed to slow time, offering those within a rare, private moment of respite.

Isabella arrived , her heels clicking with deliberate precision against the stone floor. Every movement was measured, as if each step had been calculated. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, locking on Viktor, who was already seated in the back corner, as expected. The weight of the tension in the room was palpable, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Viktor was waiting for her, seated with an air of quiet command. He was dressed in his signature dark suit, tailored perfectly to his frame, his presence alone filling the room. The glass of wine in front of him remained untouched, the ruby liquid swirling slightly as he studied Isabella’s entrance with a slight shift of his gaze.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not flinch. She did not let the world—or him—make her move faster than necessary. Every inch of her, from her sleek black dress to the ice in her eyes, commanded respect.

She reached the table and slid into the seat across from him without a word, her eyes locking with his. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air thick with an intensity that felt almost suffocating.

“Isabella,” Viktor’s voice broke the silence, smooth and measured, rising from his seat with a calculated grace. The warmth in his voice was absent, replaced by a tone that was all business, no pleasantries.

“Viktor,” Isabella replied, her voice as cold as his, her movements deliberate as she sat across from him. She wasted no time. There would be no dancing around the issue. “I’ll get straight to the point. If this marriage is going to happen, there are rules.”

Viktor’s lips quirked slightly, just enough to show a glimpse of amusement—amusement, not surprise. He had expected nothing less from her. “Go on,” he said, settling back into his seat, his hands clasped in front of him.

Isabella leaned forward, her posture unwavering, her eyes cutting through him with surgical precision. “I retain full control over the Volkov empire. You won’t interfere with my decisions, and you’ll have no authority over my men.”

His eyes flickered with an almost imperceptible shift, the slightest sign that the words hadn’t gone unnoticed. But he responded quickly, without hesitation. “Agreed,” Viktor said, his voice calm and authoritative. The ease with which he agreed caught her off guard, though she hid it well. She expected resistance, a challenge—but it never came.

She pressed on, narrowing her eyes slightly as she regarded him. “And you’ll ensure your uncle Enrico is kept on a leash. If he steps out of line again, I’ll deal with him myself.”

For the briefest of moments, Viktor’s expression darkened. His jaw tightened just enough to be noticeable, and a flicker of something dangerous flashed in his eyes. But it was gone before she could fully interpret it. His lips curled into a thin, controlled smile. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice colder now. But the tension in his tone suggested there was more to that agreement than he was letting on.

Isabella wasn’t finished. She leaned in further, her hands resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping lightly. “And let me make this clear,” she continued, her voice a low, biting whisper that could cut through steel. “This isn’t a marriage of love. This is a transaction. Don’t expect anything more.”

Viktor’s gaze didn’t waver. He remained silent for a long beat, as if weighing her words, studying her carefully. The small smile he finally offered was mocking in its simplicity. “Isabella,” he said, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of something that couldn’t quite be ignored. “I wouldn’t dare.”

He raised his glass of wine slowly, the deep red liquid catching the light from the chandelier above. The soft clink of their glasses as they touched was almost too loud, breaking the tension for a moment. But neither of them was fooled. The game had only just begun, and both knew that every move they made from this moment forward would be played with the utmost caution.

Their fingers brushed briefly as the glass was set back down, a flash of heat between them. Neither of them spoke again. The terms had been set. The marriage, however transactional, had been sealed with something far more dangerous than love—respect, rivalry, and the hunger for control.

Isabella leaned back in her seat, her eyes never leaving his, as if daring him to reveal his true thoughts. Viktor, in turn, regarded her with a calculated, unreadable expression, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps in their intricate dance.

The waiter returned to clear the empty glasses, but the silence between them remained. The café, once warm and inviting, now felt like a battlefield, the soft hum of its patrons a distant noise compared to the war that had just begun at the table.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass as he studied Isabella. Her poised confidence was unshakable, but Viktor wasn’t one to be outmaneuvered.

“Now, my darling,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “if you’re finished with your terms, I have rules of my own.”

Isabella arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “I’m listening.”

He placed his glass down with precision, leaning forward slightly. “In public, we are equals. You will stand by my side as my wife, my partner, and the queen of both your empire and mine. But understand this—in private, we are equals too. I won’t tolerate games or power struggles behind closed doors.”

Her lips twitched in a faint smirk, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I’ll let you reign over the empire you’ve built,” he continued, his tone measured yet firm. “And if you so desire it, even the empire I own could be yours to command. But there’s one line you will not cross: my family. Especially my sister, Pricilla.”

Isabella’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features.

“Don’t pull a stunt like you did before,” Viktor said, his voice hardening. “I don’t care if you’re my wife or not—if you endanger my family again, this marriage will be over the same day it begins.”

The threat hung in the air like a blade, its edge gleaming. Isabella’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her silence speaking volumes.

“And one more thing,” Viktor added, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “You will not disgrace the DeLuca name. You are a woman, and I understand you have needs, but once you’re married to me, you belong to me. Both in name—and in body. That, Isabella, is non-negotiable.”

Her eyes flared with anger at his words, but Viktor didn’t back down.

“Are you finished?” she asked, her voice cold and laced with sarcasm.

“For now,” he replied, smirking. “Unless you have any objections.”

Isabella stood abruptly, smoothing her dress with calculated grace. “Oh, I have objections, Viktor. Many, in fact. But I suppose we’ll address them… in time.”

Viktor rose as well, stepping closer to her. “I look forward to it, darling.”

She didn’t flinch, her gaze locked on his. “And I suggest you remember one thing, husband-to-be—I may belong to you in name, but I am not a possession. If you think otherwise, you’ll learn quickly.”

Viktor’s smirk grew, a mix of admiration and amusement in his eyes. “Oh, princess, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As she turned to leave, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Both knew that this was only the beginning. Their union wasn’t just a marriage—it was a battlefield. And neither intended to lose.