Scarlet Promise

Chapter 7: The Proposal

Dante Volkov

Dante sat across from his father in the grand hall, the heavy silence amplifying the weight in the room. His mind wandered far from the murmurs of the men around him or the faint clink of glasses on the table. He had always felt trapped in this life, but tonight, the walls of the mafia world seemed to press in tighter, suffocating him.

Across the room, Isabella sat beside their parents, her posture straight, her face unreadable. Though they clashed endlessly, Dante couldn’t deny the bond they shared. Beneath the resentment and misunderstandings was a fierce love neither of them could fully articulate.

His father’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and resolute. “What’s done is done. We finalize the deal tonight.”

Dante’s stomach churned at the finality in Lorenzo’s tone. His gaze flickered to Pricilla DeLuca, seated quietly with her brother Viktor nearby. The thought of her—barely 19—being bound in a marriage she had no choice in stirred something in him. Pricilla’s innocence and quiet strength reminded Dante of the dreams he’d left behind.

A future with music, freedom, and choice. All things that now seemed impossible.

But before he could voice his thoughts, Viktor DeLuca stood, his voice cutting through the room with measured authority.

“Wait. I have another suggestion—a better one,” Viktor said, his tone calm but firm.

All eyes turned to him. Sergio DeLuca leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Now is not the time for cold feet, Son,” he said, his voice low and warning.

Viktor held his father’s gaze, unshaken. “No, Father. Hear me out.” He glanced at Pricilla briefly, the protective gleam in his eyes unmistakable. Then he turned to Lorenzo Volkov.

“If this is to be a power statement, why not marry your heirs?”

The room stilled, the air thick with tension.

“What?” Lorenzo said, his voice filled with disbelief.

Viktor took a step forward, his presence commanding. “A union between myself and your daughter, Isabella. Your heir and ours.”

Lorenzo’s face hardened. “My daughter Isabella is my heir.”

“And I am the heir to the DeLuca familia,” Viktor countered smoothly. His calm tone carried the weight of certainty, leaving little room for argument.

Cynthia Volkov, always quick to see opportunity, broke the silence. “It would make sense, Lorenzo,” she said, her voice measured. “The strongest alliance in the history of our families. A union of power and valor.”

Dante’s heart sank as the conversation unfolded. He glanced at Isabella, who remained silent, her expression a mask of composure. But as her eyes met his, he saw something he didn’t expect—resolve.

“I will do it, Father,” Isabella said suddenly, her voice steady.

Every head turned to her. She stood, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Lorenzo. “But I have one condition: Dante is free to live his life as he chooses. No more obligations to the familia. Ever!”

Her words hung in the air, a sharp contrast to the murmurs that followed.

Dante stared at her, his chest tightening. Why? Why was she taking his place? Why was she sacrificing herself for him? He already knew the answer but struggled to accept it.

Viktor watched Isabella intently, his admiration for her growing. She was nothing like he had imagined. Fierce, unyielding, and determined to protect her brother, even at great personal cost. There was something about her—the “She Devil,” they called her. An undeniable strength that both intrigued and unsettled him.

The silence stretched until Sergio’s deep voice broke it. “If both heirs agree, then so be it.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, though his expression betrayed his unease. “It’s settled, then.”

Dante’s throat tightened as he looked at Isabella. She glanced at him one last time, a faint smile ghosting her lips. This wasn’t about her. It was about him, about giving him the freedom he longed for.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her, his mind racing. This woman was unlike anyone he’d encountered before. She hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t cowered. Instead, she stood firm, claiming control of a situation that would have broken others.

Her emerald eyes had turned almost silver as they calmly scanned the documents being prepared, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

The deal was struck, and while the room buzzed with talk of alliances and power, Dante and Isabella shared one final glance. In that moment, Dante knew that no matter their differences, Isabella loved him fiercely.

And Viktor, seated across from her, realized that this union wasn’t just about saving Pricilla or freeing Dante. It was the beginning of something far greater—and far more dangerous.

He had just proposed marriage to the most powerful and feared woman in all of Europe.