Chapter 1 — The Announcement
Bella
The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the grand dining room at Villa Moretti, a sound both familiar and oppressive. Bella sat rigid, her shoulders drawn tight like the strings of a violin on the brink of snapping. The air carried the faint scent of lavender and citrus wafting in from the gardens, but it did little to mask the suffocating weight of unspoken words that hung in the air like a storm on the horizon.
Her father, Giovanni, presided at the head of the long mahogany table, a king surveying his dominion. His navy suit mirrored his commanding presence, every deliberate movement a reminder of the authority he wielded. The sharpness of his faint smile was a weapon in itself, calculated and devoid of warmth.
“Isabella,” Giovanni began, his voice low and deliberate, slicing through the hum of conversation like a blade. At once, the murmurs died, leaving the room cloaked in heavy silence.
Bella’s hand froze mid-air, her fork hovering above her plate. Carefully, she set it down, the clatter against the porcelain louder than it should have been. “Yes, Papa?” she replied, her tone measured but taut, her dark brown eyes narrowing in anticipation.
“I have news,” he said, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a man accustomed to control. His dark gaze locked onto hers, the weight of his words pressing down on her even before he spoke again. “An arrangement has been made. For the good of this family.”
The faint flicker of unease she had felt all evening solidified into a cold, hard knot in her chest. Bella’s fingers gripped the edge of the table, her scarred wrist hidden beneath the cuff of her blazer. “What kind of arrangement?”
Giovanni’s smile deepened, though it carried all the warmth of frost. “A marriage,” he announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. “Between you and Adrian De Luca.”
The words hit her like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. A low ringing filled her ears as her gaze darted around the table, seeking any sign that this was some cruel joke. But the somber silence and averted eyes of her family confirmed it.
Adrian De Luca. The name carried weight, whispered in shadows where fear and power coiled together. A man of ruthless reputation, his influence stretched far and deep, touching every corner of the city. Bella’s chest tightened, anger and disbelief surging through her veins like wildfire.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice sharp as shattered glass. “You’re giving me away like some... commodity?”
Giovanni’s expression didn’t waver. “I am always serious, Isabella. This union is the only way to protect what we’ve built. You will do your part.”
“Our future?” Bella’s voice rose, her professional poise cracking under the weight of her fury. “How does sacrificing me ensure our future, Papa? I’m not some pawn in your games.”
Her mother, seated quietly to Giovanni’s right, flinched but remained silent. Elena, her younger sister, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her soft green eyes darting nervously between Bella and their father. The rest of the family sat frozen, their gazes fixed on their plates as if the tension at the table didn’t concern them.
Giovanni’s hand came down on the table with a sharp crack, silencing the faint murmur of discontent. “Enough,” he said, his tone steel and final. “You will do what is necessary for this family. That is your duty.”
Bella’s chest heaved, her breath coming in short bursts as she struggled to contain the torrent of words threatening to spill from her lips. Her gaze flicked to Elena, who stared down at her hands, and then to her mother, whose stillness cut deeper than any reprimand.
“Have you even spoken to Adrian about this?” Bella demanded, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
Giovanni leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his gaze bore into hers. “Adrian is a man of honor. He understands the value of family and loyalty. He has agreed to this arrangement.”
Of course, he had. A man like Adrian De Luca wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to tighten his grip on the city by aligning with the Morettis. But what about her? Her life, her dreams, her independence?
Before she could voice her protest, the heavy oak doors of the dining room creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.
Adrian De Luca.
He was taller than she had imagined, his broad shoulders filling the doorway with an effortless command. His tailored three-piece suit was obsidian black, the crisp white shirt beneath it sharp and unyielding. Jet-black hair, sleek and neat, framed chiseled features that seemed carved from marble. His piercing gray eyes swept the room, their cool detachment sending a chill through Bella’s spine.
When his gaze landed on her, she felt her breath hitch involuntarily. There was no warmth there, no flicker of humanity. Just calculation, sharp and cold—a predator sizing up its prey.
“Adrian,” Giovanni said, rising from his seat with an air of rehearsed magnanimity. “Welcome. Please, join us.”
Adrian inclined his head, his movements deliberate and precise. As he stepped into the room, the faint echo of his polished shoes against the marble floor filled the silence. The air seemed to shift, the weight of his presence pressing down on everyone like a dark cloud.
Bella’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms. She refused to look away as Adrian approached, her defiance burning bright despite the cold dread gnawing at her insides.
“Isabella,” Giovanni said, his tone shifting into something resembling pride. “This is Adrian De Luca. Your fiancé.”
The word hung in the air like a curse.
Adrian’s gaze flicked to Bella, lingering a moment too long. His eyes dropped briefly to her wrist, where the edge of her scar bracelet peeked out from beneath her sleeve. For a fleeting second, something shifted in his expression—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Miss Moretti,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, each word measured. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Bella lifted her chin, her jaw tightening. “I wish I could say the same.”
The faintest twitch of amusement ghosted across Adrian’s lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. If anything, it was a shadow of something buried beneath layers of control. He took the seat opposite her with the same precision that defined his every move.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Giovanni resumed his place at the head of the table. Tension coiled thickly in the air, heavy and unrelenting. Bella’s chest burned with unspoken fury, but she swallowed it down, knowing this battle was far from over.
Adrian studied her for a moment, his gray eyes unreadable. “You’re upset,” he observed, his tone as indifferent as discussing the weather.
Bella’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Upset doesn’t begin to cover it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I understand this isn’t what you wanted.”
“You don’t understand anything about what I want,” she shot back, her voice sharp and venomous.
Adrian’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that hinted at steel beneath the ice. “Perhaps not. But we all have our roles to play, Miss Moretti. Yours is no different.”
Her laugh was bitter, cutting like a blade. “Spoken like a man who’s never had to sacrifice anything.”
His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, Bella thought she saw a crack in his stoic composure. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the impenetrable mask that seemed to define him.
Giovanni cleared his throat, his gaze snapping between the two of them. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “Isabella, you will show Adrian the respect he deserves. This arrangement is final.”
Bella pushed back her chair, the legs scraping against the marble floor with a grating screech. She stood, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her fury in check.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said tightly, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Without waiting for permission, she turned on her heel and strode out of the dining room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She didn’t look back, even as the weight of Adrian’s gaze followed her until the heavy doors closed behind her.
In the solitude of the hallway, Bella pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her heartbeat beneath her palm. The betrayal stung like a fresh wound, her father’s announcement pressing down on her like a leaden shroud.
Her fingers brushed the charm on her scar bracelet, a talisman of resilience in a world threatening to crush her.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
