CHAPTER 5

Isabella’s POV

Damn it! I was ten minutes late.

Not because I wanted to be, but because my body wouldn’t move. My hands shook too hard to button my dress, my legs felt like lead.

Ten minutes—that was all. But the moment I stepped into the restaurant, I knew it was already too long.

My father’s jaw was tight, his smile forced. Across from him sat Leonardo Ricci, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his dark eyes locked on me as though I had just insulted him personally.

“Time is money,” he said, his voice smooth but merciless. “And I hate to waste either.”

The words landed like a slap. My father waved a hand lightly, as though he thought Leonard was joking, but I knew better. Leonard Ricci never joked.

“Isabella,” my father said with forced warmth. “Come, sit. We were just talking about the wedding plans.”

My stomach twisted at the word wedding. I moved to the table and slid into the chair beside Leonard, careful not to brush against him. Still, his presence pressed against me like a wall I couldn’t climb.

I kept my voice even. “Sorry for the delay. Traffic.”

His lips curved, but there was no amusement in his expression. “Traffic.” He said the word like it was filth on his tongue. “You think excuses change the fact you kept me waiting?”

My father cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “It was only a few minutes—”

He leaned back in his chair, voice calm but loaded. “Do you know what those few minutes means to me? It means she thought her time mattered more than mine. And that mistake is never cheap.”

I froze, my pulse thudding in my ears. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t moved an inch, but the weight of his words wrapped around my throat like invisible chains.

My father chuckled awkwardly, eager to smooth things over. “Leonardo, she didn’t mean anything by it. She’s young—”

“Young doesn’t excuse careless,” Leonard interrupted, his tone final. His eyes flicked back to me, unblinking. “Learn that now, Isabella. I don’t wait for anyone. Not in business. Not in marriage.”

I swallowed hard, lowering my gaze to the untouched plate in front of me. The food was arranged like art, but my appetite was gone. All I could taste was the bitterness of his warning.

My father launched into talk about guest lists, venues, alliances—the things men like him thought were important. I nodded when expected, but my thoughts were tangled, restless. Every time I felt Leonard’s eyes on me, the knot in my chest pulled tighter.

My father's voice was now just background noise as he proceeded to discuss locations and guest lists, either unaware or uninterested. The air was too heavy and thick to breathe.

Leonardo hadn’t looked away from me once. It was as if he was studying me, dissecting me. Every time I felt Ricci’s eyes on me, the knot in my chest pulled tighter.

But what could I do? The thought of running crossed my mind again, as it had a thousand times before. I could leave, vanish into the night, and never look back. But that would be a death sentence for my father. For my family. Leonardo would make sure of that.

I could feel my chest tightening, panic bubbling under the surface, but I pushed it down. I had to. I had to keep playing the part they wanted. The dutiful daughter, the obedient fiancée. The puppet.

As the dinner dragged on, I barely touched my food. My father’s enthusiasm for wedding plans was almost replusive. How could he be so excited about this, about handing me over to a man like Leonardo? Could he not see it? Or did he just not care?

“Everything will be perfect,” my father said, clinking his glass with Leonardo’s. “A union to remember.”

Leonardo’s smile was sharp as glass. “It certainly will be.”

The words felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I was losing control. Any hope I’d had of finding a way out was slipping through my fingers, and Leonard knew it. He had me cornered, and he was enjoying every second of it.

Then, just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, my father’s phone rang. He cast a quick glance at the screen, a small frown forming. "Pardon me," he murmured, getting up to answer the phone and moving away from the table.

I became motionless. Leonardo and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, and the din had subsided to a low murmur around us.

And his stare.

I set down my fork, gathering what little courage I had. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Why are your men following me?”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted, colder now. He leaned back, swirling the last of his whiskey. “So you noticed.”

“How could I not?” My heart pounded, but I didn’t stop. “They’re everywhere. Outside my house. At the café. Even when I walk alone. What are you trying to prove?”

Ricci’s smile was slow, deliberate, like a hunter humoring prey. “That you belong to me, Isabella. And I love protecting what’s mine.”

“No,” I snapped before I could stop myself. My hands trembled, but I pushed on. “It doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like a cage.”

He tilted his head, studying me like I was something fragile he could crush at any moment. “A cage?” He leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting. “Tell me, Isabella….was I wrong to think you needed watching?”

I froze, caught off guard. “What are you implying?”

His gaze darkened, amusement flickering like a knife. “That maybe I wanted to see if you were… loyal. If some old lover was still circling.” His lips curved into a mocking half-smile. “Though I imagine he understands he’s the past now. Or maybe”—his tone sharpened….“I’m simply making sure you don’t try to run.”

Heat rushed to my face, my chest tightening. “There’s no one,” I whispered.

He leaned in then, the scent of smoke and whiskey clinging to his words. “Understand this…..I don’t and I won’t share what’s mine. If I catch even the faintest shadow of another man near you…” His voice dipped lower, almost a whisper. “It won’t be him who pays. It’ll be you and your family.”

The ice in his voice made my blood run cold.

The blood drained from my face, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. For the first time, I wasn’t sure whether I hated him more for the threat or for the fact that part of me already believed he could make good on it.

My father returned then, conversation resumed, but I barely heard a word. Leonard leaned back, calm and collected as though nothing had happened. But his warning clung to me, heavy and inescapable.