Chapter 2 — The Contract
Bella
The scent of polished wood and old leather hung in the air as Bella stepped into her father’s study, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Once a symbol of power, the room now bore the marks of decline. A crack ran through the corner of the marble flooring, and the chandelier overhead, though grand, wore a thin veil of dust. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn tight against the daylight, casting the space in a somber gloom. Bella’s gaze flicked to the mahogany desk, its surface immaculate except for a single gold pen and a crystal glass half-filled with amber liquid. Nearby, a small vase with a drooping white lily seemed to wilt under the room’s oppressive weight. The sight stirred a bitter memory of her mother’s once-proud garden, now as neglected as this house.
Her father, Alessandro Moretti, sat behind the desk, his weathered face betraying little of the desperation that must have brought him to this moment. His dark eyes gleamed with calculated intent as he gestured for her to sit. His movements were deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of the glass as though savoring the control he still wielded.
“Come, Bella,” he said, his voice smooth, almost fatherly, but with an edge that set her on guard. “Let’s not drag this out any longer.”
Her stomach tightened, but her expression remained composed, her face a mask of calm. She perched on the edge of the leather chair across from him, her back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her unease.
“You’ve already made it clear what you want from me,” she said coolly, her emerald eyes meeting his without flinching. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Alessandro smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “You’re here because you understand what’s at stake—for your mother, for your siblings. This arrangement ensures their safety, their future.”
Her jaw tightened, his words digging into her like thorns. “Safety you failed to provide,” she replied, her voice steady but cutting. “And now you expect me to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
His smile faltered for half a second before returning, sharper this time. “You’ve always been the strong one, Bella. I knew I could count on you.”
The soft knock of knuckles against wood broke the charged silence, and the study door creaked open. Bella stiffened as Dante Russo stepped inside with the quiet authority of a man who expected the world to bow before him. He was taller than she’d imagined, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his dark suit tailored to precision. His steel-gray eyes swept over her briefly, assessing, before settling on Alessandro. A faint scar along his jawline caught the light, a subtle reminder of the violence that clung to him like a shadow.
“Dante,” Alessandro greeted, rising to clasp the younger man’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Dante’s voice was as cold and deliberate as his gaze. “Let’s get this over with.”
Bella’s fingers tightened around the armrests of her chair as Dante crossed the room with fluid, purposeful strides. He didn’t sit. Instead, he stationed himself beside Alessandro’s desk, towering over her. The faint scent of cologne and leather accompanied him, sharp and unyielding.
“I assume she’s been informed of the terms,” Dante said, his tone clipped.
“She has,” Alessandro replied smoothly, his smile returning. “But I’ll let you explain it to her yourself.”
Dante’s eyes shifted to Bella. They were cool, calculating, and unnervingly steady, like the blade of a knife poised for a precise strike. “This is a business arrangement,” he said, his voice steady and unyielding. “Your father’s debts and alliances threaten my syndicate. Marrying you consolidates power and neutralizes those threats. In return, your family gets protection and financial stability.”
Her heart pounded, the words striking like the toll of a bell. “And what do I get out of this?” she asked, her voice sharp as glass.
Dante’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze—an almost imperceptible shift that she couldn’t quite read. “You get to keep your family alive.”
The words hit her like a slap, cold and final. Alessandro leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with a faint smirk, his fingers steepled as though this were merely a game of chess to him. Bella felt the weight of both their gazes—one expectant, the other indifferent—pressing down on her like a vice.
She inhaled sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Generous. Let’s not confuse coercion with charity.”
For the first time, Dante’s gaze lingered on her, a flicker of respect—or perhaps curiosity—crossing his features. “Call it whatever you want,” he said, his voice low. “But once the contract is signed, there’s no turning back.”
Alessandro opened a drawer with deliberate slowness, retrieving a folder bound in crisp leather. He slid it across the desk toward her, the motion slow, almost ceremonial. Bella stared at it, her throat tightening. The folder seemed to pulse with its own weight, as if aware of the life it was about to consume.
“This is absurd,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “You’re treating me like property to be bartered.”
Alessandro’s smile faded, his tone hardening. “You’re being given a chance to secure a future for all of us. Don’t squander it with childish defiance.”
Her hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. Memories of her mother’s weary face, her siblings’ laughter, and their small, fragile moments of joy flitted through her mind, anchoring her in place. The weight of their dependence pressed against her ribs, forcing her breath shallow.
“If you’re going to refuse,” Dante said, his voice cutting through her turmoil, “do it now. I don’t waste time on lost causes.”
His bluntness sparked something in her—a flare of rebellion, a spark of pride. She straightened her spine and met his gaze, her green eyes blazing. “I’ll sign. But don’t mistake my compliance for submission.”
For the first time, Dante’s expression shifted, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Noted.”
Alessandro slid a pen across the desk, its silver surface gleaming under the dim light. Bella stared at it, her fingers hovering just above its surface. The cold weight of inevitability settled over her like a storm cloud. Slowly, she picked it up, the chill of the metal biting against her skin. The sound of the pen’s tip scraping against the paper echoed in her ears, louder than it should have been. Each stroke of her signature felt deliberate, a concession carved into her own freedom.
When she finished, she set the pen down with a quiet clink and pushed the folder back toward Alessandro. Her hand trembled slightly as she withdrew it.
“There,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s done.”
Alessandro’s smile returned, smug and satisfied. “You’ve made the right choice, Bella.”
She didn’t respond. Her attention was locked on Dante, who studied her with an unreadable expression. The air between them was taut, charged with unspoken tension.
“We’ll finalize the arrangements tomorrow,” Dante said briskly. “The ceremony will take place at The Velvet Rose.”
Bella blinked. “Tomorrow? That’s—”
“Non-negotiable,” Dante interrupted. “The sooner this is done, the better.”
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded, swallowing the retort that burned at the back of her throat. What was one more indignity added to the pile?
Dante turned to Alessandro, his tone clipped. “We’re finished here.”
Alessandro inclined his head, a silent dismissal. Bella stood, her legs unsteady beneath her. She walked toward the door, her back straight, each step purposeful. She wouldn’t let them see how shaken she was.
As she reached for the handle, Dante’s voice stopped her. “Bella.”
She paused, glancing over her shoulder. His gaze locked onto hers, piercing and unyielding.
“You’ll find this world is unforgiving. Learn quickly, or you won’t survive.”
The warning sent a chill skittering down her spine, but she refused to flinch. Her lips curved into a small, defiant smile. “I’ve survived worse.”
Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and stepped out, the weight of her decision pressing down on her shoulders like an unshakable storm. Behind her, the voices of her father and her future husband faded into the distance, their words drowned out by the steady drumbeat of her own resolve.
Bella Moretti wasn’t a pawn. She was the force waiting to be unleashed.
