The Devil in His Eyes

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Announcement

Isabella's POV

The glow of my bedside lamp pooled across the pages of the book in my lap, carving a small sanctuary in a world that never felt like mine. Reading was the only place I could breathe—the only time I wasn’t Giovanni Romano’s daughter, the pawn in his bloody empire.

The story I held was a dark romance, the kind I devoured despite knowing how it ended. The male lead sacrificed everything for love, and the thought of it thrilled and terrified me at the same time. I liked knowing the ending before it hit me—it was the only way I could brace myself for the inevitable.

I turned another page, letting the words swallow me whole, when a knock broke the illusion. Soft. Hesitant. Only one person in this house knocked like that.

“Come in, Mama,” I said, setting the book aside, my pulse quickening despite my attempt at calm.

She slipped inside, her silk robe gliding across the floor like a whisper. Her dark hair was pinned back, though a loose strand framed her face, softening her worried expression. Her eyes—warm, always warm—would have comforted me if they weren’t darting nervously toward the hallway.

“Your father…” Her lips pressed together, hesitant. “He’s asking for you in his study.”

The air shifted, heavy and charged. Father never asks for me unless it’s serious. And serious in this house always means something I won’t like.

I rose from the bed, smoothing down my nightgown, forcing my heart to slow. “Do you know why?”

Her hands fluttered at her sides, then stilled. The flicker of fear in her eyes betrayed her attempts at composure—the same look she gave when Father dismissed her at dinner or silenced her with a glare.

“I don’t,” she whispered. “But, Isabella…” She stepped closer, cupping my face gently. “Remember what I told you. In this family, strength is survival. Don’t let him see fear.”

My throat tightened. I’ve been preparing for this day my whole life, in theory. Not in practice.

I forced a small smile, covering her hands with mine. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll be fine.”

Her eyes told me otherwise. She smoothed my hair, kissed my forehead, and let me go—though I could feel how much she wanted to hold on.

I straightened my spine as I left my room, walking down the long corridor toward Father’s study. The closer I got, the colder the air seemed to grow. Everything about this house feels heavier at night.

The double doors loomed before me like the gates to a prison. I hesitated a fraction of a second before pushing them open.

The study smelled of smoke and power. Dark mahogany shelves lined the walls, paper scattered across the black desk. A decanter of amber liquid gleamed beside a half-empty glass. Father sat behind it, broad shoulders rigid, eyes sharp as blades.

“Close the door,” he said without looking up.

I obeyed. The soft click echoed through the tense silence. Finally, he lifted his gaze, pinning me in place. His stare always carried weight, but tonight it was heavier, like chains already wrapped around my wrists.

“Sit.”

I sank into the chair across from him, spine straight, chin lifted. Don’t let him see fear. Don’t let him see fear. Mama’s voice echoed in my mind.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “You’ve grown into a fine woman, Isabella,” he said flatly, as if assessing an investment. “And now, it’s time you served this family.”

The knot in my stomach tightened. Here it comes.

“You’ll be married.”

My breath caught. He had spoken of this before, vaguely, in the distant future tense of men who see women as currency. But hearing it now—final, absolute—was like a knife sliding between my ribs.

“To who?” My voice stayed steady, though my heart hammered.

He leaned back, glass clinking sharply on the desk. “Adrian Moretti.”

The name hit me like thunder. Don of the Moretti family. Feared, whispered about, the kind of man whose enemies didn’t survive long enough to speak again.

Why him? I thought, my mind blank, my mouth dry.

“Because he holds something this family needs,” Father said, jaw tight, eyes narrowing. “Power. Protection. An alliance that will silence our enemies before they grow bold.”

The words pressed down on me, crushing. And beneath the steel, I caught something else—desperation. Father needed this marriage. And I am the price.

I shook my head, forcing the words past my throat. “I don’t want this. You can’t—”

His palm slammed on the desk, making me flinch. “You don’t get to want, Isabella. You don’t get to choose. That’s the curse of being born in this world. You’re a Romano. And a Romano obeys.”

I swallowed, fighting the burn in my eyes. “So I’m nothing but a bargaining chip?”

“You’re my daughter,” he said coldly. “Which means you’ll play your role, no matter how much you dislike it. You’ll marry Adrian Moretti, and you’ll do it with grace. Because if you fail—if you embarrass this family—blood will spill.”

The implication settled like ice down my spine. He wasn’t just threatening Adrian’s enemies. He was threatening me. My mother. Anyone in his path.

I rose, legs stiff, body trembling with a rage I dared not show. If I stayed another second, I would scream.

“Remember, Isabella,” his voice followed me as I reached the door, sharp as a whip, “you carry this family’s honor. Do not forget who you are.”

I slammed the door behind me, the words clinging to my throat like shackles. The hallway stretched endlessly before me. Shallow, sharp breaths. One foot in front of the other.

Mama appeared in the corner, quiet and waiting. Her face tightened as she saw me.

“What did he say?” she whispered.

I shook my head, pressing past her, but her hand caught my arm. I froze, unable to look at her. I would break if I did.

“Mama,” I whispered, raw, “he’s… he’s marrying me off. To Adrian Moretti.”

Her breath caught. Fingers tightened briefly, then loosened as though afraid of breaking me completely.

“Oh, Isabella.” She drew me into her arms. Warm, fragile, filled with the love Father never gave. I pressed my forehead against her shoulder, stiff, desperate for comfort.

I wanted to scream that I hated him. That I would run, disappear, burn this house to the ground before letting Adrian Moretti put a ring on my finger.

But I didn’t. The truth weighed heavier than defiance. Father had decided my fate. No scream could undo it.

After a long silence, her voice brushed against my hair, quiet but steady. “I warned you this day would come, my love. But I prayed it wouldn’t be so soon.”

I pulled back, searching her face. Not pity. Sorrow. She knew. She had lived it herself.

“Why him?” I asked, though not really expecting an answer.

She hesitated, eyes flicking to the study doors before returning to me. “Because your father needs him. And when men like your father need, it is the women who pay the price.”

Her words sank deep, an ache settling in my chest.

I went to my room without another word, shutting the door behind me. My book lay open on the bed, but it no longer offered escape. Not tonight.

I pressed my palms to the cool glass of my window. The night stretched beyond the estate walls, dark and endless. Somewhere out there, Adrian Moretti lived, breathed, ruled. A man whispered about like a ghost.

And now, he was mine.

No—I was his.

I didn’t know him. I didn’t want him. But already, Adrian Moretti owned me.

Anger flared, hot and helpless. Beneath it, a colder dread coiled. Because for the first time, I understood:

There would be no escaping this.