Chapter 1 — The Summons
Bella
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the Moretti Estate. Bella’s car rumbled up the winding driveway, its tires crunching against the gravel. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale, as the mansion loomed closer—a shadow from her past refusing to fade. Nearly a decade had passed since she’d last set foot here, yet the sight of the crumbling ivy-covered facade still sent a familiar chill running down her spine.
The house, once grand, now stood as a brittle echo of lost splendor. Cracks spiderwebbed through the marble columns, ivy clung like desperate fingers to the stone walls, and the once-pristine gardens lay choked under tangled weeds. The air outside was heavy and damp, tinged with the faint metallic scent of decay. Bella’s stomach twisted as she parked in the circular drive, staring at the double doors ahead. She hesitated, her hand lingering on the keys, before finally shutting off the engine.
The call had come that morning, her father’s assistant delivering the clipped message with all the warmth of a sharpened blade: “Your presence is required. It’s a family matter.” Family matter. Alessandro’s voice might as well have whispered through the phone. Bella had hesitated, her instinct to protect herself warring with the guilt that had always lingered at the edges of her resentment. Her mother. Her siblings. Their faces had flashed through her mind, and the decision had been made.
Smoothing her blouse, Bella stepped out of the car. The cool air bit at her skin as her heels clicked against the weathered stone steps, each sound a measured beat in the stillness. Before she could knock, the door groaned open, revealing Marco, her father’s long-time bodyguard. His face was as stoic as she remembered, though his eyes flickered with something—an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Pity? Guilt?
“Miss Isabella,” he said, stepping aside. His voice, low and even, betrayed no hint of familiarity.
Bella hesitated, then crossed the threshold. The house’s interior was just as she remembered: cold, imposing, and steeped in silence. The grand foyer stretched upward, its vaulted ceiling adorned with a chandelier that glittered faintly despite the dust clinging to its crystals. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors as Marco led her down a hallway lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Their painted eyes bore down on her, their judgment palpable. She straightened her posture, refusing to let them—or the house itself—unsettle her.
The study door was ajar. Through the gap, Bella caught a glimpse of Alessandro Moretti. He sat behind his imposing oak desk, his silver-streaked hair neatly combed, his tailored suit immaculate. He looked every inch the calculating patriarch, though the subtle tap of his fingers against the desk’s polished surface betrayed a restless undercurrent. When he looked up and saw her, his expression shifted, a practiced smile curving his lips.
“Bella,” he said, standing. His arms opened as though expecting an embrace.
She didn’t move. “You called me. I’m here. What’s the emergency?”
The smile faltered but quickly recovered, his expression one of feigned warmth. “Always straight to business. You get that from your mother.” He gestured to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “Sit. Please.”
“I’d rather stand,” Bella said, her voice cool but firm.
Alessandro’s jaw tightened, though he masked it with a sigh. “As you wish.” Moving around the desk, he leaned casually against its edge, his posture deceptively relaxed. “I won’t waste your time, then. The family is in trouble, Bella. Serious trouble.”
Bella crossed her arms. “Your family, you mean. Mom, Nico, and Sofia are fine.”
His composed facade cracked, a flicker of irritation darkening his gaze before he smoothed it away. “They won’t be for long. Do you have any idea how many enemies I’ve fended off over the years? How many deals I’ve made to keep them safe?”
Her stomach churned, but Bella refused to let him see her unease. “And whose fault is that? You walked away from us. You left Mom to raise three kids on her own while you played kingpin in your crumbling empire.”
Alessandro’s face darkened, his fingers curling against the desk. “I did what I had to do. Everything I’ve ever done has been for this family.”
“Save it,” Bella said, her voice sharpening. “Just tell me why I’m here.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and fraught. Alessandro’s gaze held hers, his expression unreadable. Then, with a measured exhale, he picked up a folder from the desk and extended it to her. “Open it.”
Bella’s pulse quickened as she accepted the folder. The leather felt cold and smooth in her hands. Flipping it open, she found photographs—men in suits, others in tactical gear—faces she didn’t recognize. Documents followed, peppered with names and numbers that meant nothing to her. A faint tremor ran through her fingers as she turned the pages, though her expression remained steady.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice low.
“Threats,” Alessandro said simply. “To me. To you. To your siblings. Our debts have caught up with us, Bella, and there are people who would rather see us wiped off the map than let us repay them.”
Her throat tightened as she scanned the photographs again. The men’s faces were hard, unyielding, their eyes glinting with malice even in the grainy images. “And what does this have to do with me? You’ve never involved me in your business before.”
“This isn’t just business,” Alessandro said, his tone softening as he stepped closer. “This is survival. And you, my dear, are the key to ensuring it.”
Bella’s heart began to race. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a way to protect all of us—your mother, your siblings, yourself,” he said, his voice almost coaxing now. “But it requires a sacrifice.”
Her hand tightened on the folder, the edges pressing into her palm. “What kind of sacrifice?”
He hesitated. “You need to marry Dante Russo.”
The name hit her like a blow. Everyone in the city knew it. Dante Russo—the cold, calculating head of the most powerful mafia syndicate in the region. A man whispered about in both fear and awe. Bella’s chest tightened, her grip on the folder slipping. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious,” Alessandro said, his voice steady. “Dante is a man of his word. If you marry him, he’ll protect you and the rest of the family. He has the resources, the power—”
“No,” Bella interrupted, her voice rising. “I’m not some pawn you can trade to save your own skin.”
“This isn’t about me!” Alessandro snapped, his composure fraying. “This is about all of us. Do you think those men in the photos will stop at me? They’ll come for Nico, for Sofia. Do you want that blood on your hands?”
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. A tremor ran through her arms, but she held her ground. “This is your mess, not mine. You don’t get to drag me into it.”
Alessandro’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I know I haven’t been the father you deserved, Bella. But I’m asking you—begging you—to do this. For your mother. For your siblings.”
Her mother’s tired smile flashed in her mind. Nico’s relentless optimism. Sofia’s shy laughter. They had always been her world, her reason to keep going. Alessandro’s words pressed into her, heavy and suffocating.
She let out a shaky breath. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Alessandro said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
Bella’s gaze dropped to the folder in her hands. Its weight felt unbearable. Every path she considered led to the same conclusion: her family needed her.
“I’ll do it,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t think for a second that I’m doing this for you.”
Relief swept across Alessandro’s face. “Of course. I understand.”
Bella turned and walked out of the study, her legs trembling with each step. The portraits loomed above her as she made her way back through the cold, hollow halls. As she stepped outside, the chill air bit into her skin, and her hands trembled at her sides. She paused for a moment, looking back at the estate—its ivy-covered walls, its cracked columns—all of it a testament to the decay her father had brought upon their family.
The choice had been made, but the cost was yet to be paid.
