Blood and Desire

2. Isabella Romano

The cold river water ran down my arms, carrying with it the thin foam that had formed over the rough fabric of my dress. I scrubbed the cloth against the worn stone, feeling every muscle in my body protest after hours in the same position. The afternoon sun shimmered on the water’s surface like a thousand diamonds, but I knew there was nothing precious in the scene — only illusion.

My body was there, kneeling, wet, the simple dress clinging to my skin, but my mind wandered. Sometimes I allowed myself to dream of something I had never had: freedom. A life without debts, without demands, without the shadow of a father buried in broken promises. A life where I could walk through the streets without the weight of poverty marking me like an invisible scar.

I sighed, trying to push away the thoughts that always returned. The smell of cheap soap mixed with river water was almost suffocating, but familiar. I had grown used to little, to harshness, to whatever was left over. I didn’t complain — not out loud. But inside, every day gnawed at me a little more.

My father was at home, probably sleeping after another sleepless night. Lately, he seemed older, deep dark circles under his eyes, always avoiding mine. I knew something was wrong; this talk of giving me as currency was nonsense.

No one uses people as currency. He must have been very drunk.

I plunged the cloth into the water again, letting the current carry it a few inches before pulling it back. The wind blew stronger, prickling my skin. And that’s when I felt it.

At first, I heard nothing. No branch snapping, no footsteps. But my body reacted before my mind: a shiver ran up my spine, a silent instinct screaming that I was no longer alone.

I lifted my gaze slowly, trying to seem casual. And then I saw him.

He stood on the riverbank, a little above me, where the sun cut across his silhouette. Tall, commanding, wearing a dark suit that looked absurd in this simple village. The wind teased strands of his black hair, but nothing about him seemed out of place. It was as if the whole world bent to frame him perfectly.

And the eyes… God, those eyes. Green, deep, intense. Eyes that didn’t just look — they pierced, shredded my soul as if trying to uncover every hidden secret. I had never seen this man before, yet somehow, everything inside me knew who he was.

My heart raced, and for a moment, my hands clenched against the wet fabric as if it could protect me. But it was useless. Danger had a face, a name, and it stood before me.

He took a step closer, and I could see him better. The suit fit his broad, muscular frame almost obscenely, as if elegance itself had bowed to his presence. A silver watch gleamed on his wrist. His shoes didn’t match the dusty road, yet somehow, they weren’t out of place.

“Isabella Romano.” His voice cut through the air, deep, steady, loaded with an authority that admitted no question.

My entire body froze. He knew my name.

“Wh-who… who are you?” My voice trembled more than I wanted. I hated showing weakness, but it was impossible to stay composed in front of this figure.

A cold, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.

“I am the answer to your father’s debts.”

My eyes widened. This couldn’t be real… He didn’t need to introduce himself to command respect. His mere presence was threat enough.

“There must be some mistake.” I tried to step back, feigning calm, but the water already reached my ankles, as if the river itself refused to let me run. “I owe nothing.”

“But your father does.” His voice was final, like a verdict. “And he decided to pay with what he values most.”

A knot formed in my throat. Understanding cut through me like a blade. No… it couldn’t be. This couldn’t be true.

“No.” I shook my head, struggling to catch my breath.

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the intense, woody fragrance exuding from him. An expensive scent, unlike anything I had ever encountered.

“Believe me, Isabella.” His tone wasn’t mocking, but cruelly certain. “Your father has made his choice. Now, you are mine.”

“I am not a debt.” I spat the words firmly, even as my heart pounded. “I am not currency.”

A heavy silence fell. He studied me with a curiosity that made me even more nervous. It was as if he were evaluating not just my words, but every beat of my heart.

And then that cold smile returned, sharper now.

“It will be interesting to tame you.”

I lost my breath. Instinctively, I started gathering the sheets, pretending I needed to leave. My mind screamed to run, to vanish.

“Don’t run.” His voice was calm, yet carried a command that could not be defied.

I swallowed hard. But instead of obeying, I did the exact opposite.

I dropped everything and ran.

The stones cut into my feet, but I didn’t care. The cold air burned my lungs, but it was better than the suffocating presence of him. I knew every alley, every turn of these streets. If anyone could escape here, it was me.

But not Dante Vitalle.

I heard footsteps behind me, firm, measured, as if he weren’t running at all but merely walking toward an inevitable fate. My desperation surged. Every corner I turned, every ragged breath I took, I believed I might escape. Until I felt his hand on my arm.

A sharp tug lifted me off the ground. I screamed, kicked, struck with all my strength—but it was useless. He spun me violently and pressed me against the stone wall of a house.

His eyes, so close to mine, were ice on fire.

“You’re fast.” His voice brushed against my ear, laced with irony. “But not fast enough.”

“Let me go!” I screamed, struggling. “I won’t go with you!”

He tilted his head, a cold smile curving his lips.

“This isn’t a choice, Isabella.”

I pushed with all my strength, but he didn’t budge. It was like fighting iron.

“Please… I’m not part of this…”

“You are the debt.” His hand gripped my arm hard enough to make me whimper. “And debts are always paid.”

My body trembled, but my mouth still found strength to shout:

“I am not an object!”

His smile vanished. In a second, his gaze darkened even further, and he leaned in until his breath scorched my skin.

“If you don’t come with me now… your father dies.”

The words fell like blades. My legs gave out.

“N-no…” My voice cracked, choked. “Don’t… you can’t…”

“I can.” He didn’t flinch. “And I will, if you force me to.”

A tear slid down my cheek. The image of my father appeared before me, fragile, tired, sitting at the table with eyes full of regret. I couldn’t let him die because of me.

“Please…” I whispered. “Don’t hurt him.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not pity, but something close to interest. Then it vanished.

“Then you’re coming with me.” His voice left no room for doubt.

I closed my eyes tightly, as if that could protect me. I took a deep breath and let my resistance shatter inside me.

“Fine.” My voice broke. “I’ll go.”

He released my arm, but before I could step back, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.

With every step beside him, the village seemed farther, stranger. People watched in silence, some horrified, others resigned. No one dared approach. No one dared save me.

I was no longer Isabella Romano, the tailor’s daughter. I was the debt. The payment.

And Dante Vitalle had just claimed me.