Married to my brothers killer

BELLA'S POV The heavy oak doors groaned shut behind me, sealing me inside the council chamber with seven men who held my entire life in their hands. I kept my chin up, spine straight, hands folded demurely in my lap, the perfect picture of an obedient mafia daughter. But beneath the silk of my black dress, my heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Breathe, Bella. Just breathe. The chamber smelled of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and the kind of power that came from generations of spilled blood. Dark wood panels climbed the walls, and a single chandelier cast long shadows across the faces of the Five Don’s family who sat in judgment. My father, Antonio Romano, sat to my left. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. He hadn't looked at me once since I'd entered. Not once. Six months ago, he would have burned this city to ash for me. Now? Now I was just another piece on his chessboard. "Isabella Romano." The voice came from Don Salvatore Russo, the eldest of the Dons. His white hair gleamed under the chandelier light, but his eyes were sharp as broken glass. "Yes, sir." My voice came out steady. Thank God. "Do you understand why you've been summoned here today?" Because my brother is dead, and someone has to pay. "Yes, sir," I said instead. "Then you understand that your family and the Moretti family stand on the brink of war." He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "A war that will drown this city in blood. Innocent blood. Family blood." My nails dug into my palms. I wanted to scream that Marco's blood was already spilled. That his killer sat in this very room, breathing, living, while my brother rotted in the ground. But I didn't. I couldn't. Not yet. "I understand, sir." "The council has deliberated." Don Russo's gaze swept across the table, landing on each Don in turn. "We have found a solution. One that will satisfy both families and restore peace to our city." My stomach dropped. I knew that tone. That careful, political tone that meant someone was about to get sacrificed for the "greater good." "Isabella Romano will marry Dante Moretti within one week's time." The words hit me like a physical blow. The air left my lungs in a rush. Marry him? Marry the man who killed Marco? "No." The word burst out before I could stop it. Seven pairs of eyes snapped to me. My father's face went white, then red. "What did you just say?" Don Russo's voice could have cut steel. My hands trembled. I clenched them tighter, nails breaking skin. "I... I'm sorry, Don Russo. I just…" "You dare question the council's judgment?" Another don, Catalano, I think, slammed his hand on the table. "Your family started this mess, girl. Your brother…" "My brother was murdered." The words ripped from my throat, raw and jagged. "And you want me to marry his killer? Sleep in his bed? Bear his children?" "Enough!" My father's voice cracked like a whip. I flinched but didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. "Isabella." Don Russo's voice softened, just slightly. "We understand your grief. We all loved Marco. But this marriage will unite the families. It will prevent more death. More loss." More loss. As if I had anything left to lose. "The alternative," he continued, "is war. And in war, everyone loses. Your father. Your cousins. Every soldier in the Romano family. Can you live with that blood on your hands?" The trap closed around me with perfect click. Say no, and I'm responsible for a m******e. Say yes, and I marry my brother's murderer. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking so badly now that I couldn't hide it anymore. Marco, I'm so sorry, I whispered. "When?" The word tasted like ash. "One week from today. The wedding will take place at St. Anthony's Cathedral. Father Dominic will officiate." Don Russo nodded, satisfied. "Any attempt to harm either party before, during, or after the ceremony will result in the immediate and total destruction of both families. Are we clear?" Crystal, but I didn’t say that out loud. "Yes, sir." "Good." He sat back. "Then we're…" "I have one condition." Every head at the table turned. But I wasn't looking at the Dons anymore. I was looking directly across the room, at the man who'd been silent this entire time. Dante Moretti sat in the shadows at the far end of the chamber, perfectly still. His suit was black, expensive, tailored to his broad shoulders like a second skin. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark everything. They called him The Reaper. Looking at him now, I understood why. His face could have been carved from marble; beautiful and cold and utterly devoid of mercy. He hadn't moved once during the entire meeting. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't even blinked when they'd announced our marriage. He just... watched me. Like a predator watches prey. "A condition?" Don Russo raised an eyebrow. "You're in no position to…" "I want to hear it from him." I stood, my legs somehow holding me upright. "I want Dante Moretti to look me in the eye and tell me he agrees to this marriage." A dangerous silence fell over the room. My father inhaled sharply. "Isabella—" "Let her speak." Dante's voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. Low. Rough. The kind of voice that made you think of whiskey and smoke and things that happened in the dark. He rose from his chair, unfolding to his full height. Six-foot-three of controlled violence. He moved with the kind of grace that came from years of training, years of killing. He crossed the room toward me. Every instinct screamed at me to run. To back away. To put distance between myself and the man who'd destroyed everything. But I didn't move. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Dante stopped three feet away. Close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes. Close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne; cedar and something darker, something that made my pulse spike traitorously. "You want to hear it from me?" His gaze raked over my face, searching for something. "Fine." He took one step closer. Two feet between us now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. "I agree to this marriage, Isabella Romano." His voice dropped lower, meant only for me. "I'll stand at that altar. I'll put a ring on your finger. I'll make you my wife in the eyes of God and every family in this city." He leaned in, and I caught the ghost of his breath against my ear. "But make no mistake," he whispered, so quiet the Dons couldn't hear. "I don't want a wife. You're a political necessity. A way to keep the peace. That's all you'll ever be to me." Something hot and furious exploded in my chest. Good. I tilted my head up, meeting his eyes with every ounce of hatred I possessed. "Perfect," I whispered back. "Because I don't want a husband either." I smiled. Sweet. Innocent. The smile I'd perfected over twenty-three years of being underestimated. "I want a target." For just a second; a single, beautiful second, something moved in those cold eyes. Surprise? Respect? Fear? Then it was gone, locked behind that marble mask again. Dante stepped back, his expression unreadable. He turned to the council and inclined his head. "We have an agreement." "Excellent." Don Russo stood, clearly eager to end this meeting. "Then the matter is settled. The wedding will take place one week from today. This council is adjourned." Chairs scraped. Men stood. My father finally looked at me, his expression a mixture of grief and resignation and something that might have been regret. But he said nothing. No one did. I stood there, frozen, as the dons filed out one by one. My father squeezed my shoulder as he passed, a brief touch that felt like goodbye. Then it was just me and Dante. The man I was going to marry. The man I was going to kill. He studied me for a long moment, head tilted slightly, like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. "Seven days, Isabella." His voice was silk over steel. "Make your peace with whatever gods you pray to." "Oh, I will." I met his gaze without flinching. "Will you?" The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something colder. "I stopped praying a long time ago." He turned toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber. But just before he reached it, he paused. Looked back over his shoulder. "A word of advice, ‘wife’." The word dripped with mockery. "If you're going to kill someone, don't announce your intentions first. It ruins the surprise." Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the room where my future had been decided. I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, my entire body shaking with rage and adrenaline and something that felt dangerously close to fear. Then I reached into the hidden pocket of my dress. My fingers closed around cold metal. The knife I'd carried every day for the past two years felt warm against my palm. Familiar. Comforting. I pulled it out, watching the chandelier light catch on the blade. It was small. Elegant. Deadly. Marco had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday. "Every Romano should know how to defend themselves, Bella. Promise me you'll keep this with you. Always." I'd promised. And after he died, I'd learned to use it. Learned to fight. Learned to kill. All for this moment. I pressed the blade against my palm, just hard enough to sting but not break skin. "Seven days, Dante Moretti," I whispered to the empty room. "Seven days to plan your funeral." I slipped the knife back into its hidden sheath and walked toward the door, my heels clicking against marble. These men didn't see me. They saw a pawn. A bargaining chip. A problem to be solved. They had no idea that the girl who they just left behind had decided that: Someone in that room was going to die.