The Price of My Freedom

Isabella's POV

By eight the next morning, I had made exactly one decision.

I was not going to marry Damian De Luca without getting answers.

Unfortunately, my father seemed determined to make that impossible.

"You're actually considering his proposal?" I demanded, standing in his office with the marriage agreement clutched in my hand.

Rafael Monteverde looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate shirt was wrinkled.

"I don't have another option, Isabella."

"Then find one!"

"I've spent months trying to save this company. I've sold properties, approached investors, and negotiated with banks. Nobody is willing to help us."

"And you think marrying me to a mafia boss will fix everything?"

His face tightened.

"Watch your words."

"Why? Because he's dangerous? Because he might be listening? Papa, this is my life we're talking about!"

He lowered his gaze.

For a moment, I wanted to take back my words. My father had raised me alone after my mother's death. He had worked hard to give me everything I needed, and I had never seen him this defeated.

But understanding his desperation didn't mean I could accept his decision.

"Tell me the truth," I said more quietly. "How did you accumulate that much debt?"

He remained silent.

"Papa."

"The company made several bad investments."

"That doesn't explain everything."

He looked at me sharply. "You don't understand business."

"Then explain it to me!"

He rubbed his forehead.

"Damian purchased the debt because he wanted control over our financial obligations. That's all you need to know."

"No, it isn't."

I placed the agreement on his desk.

"Why did he mention Mom last night?"

My father went completely still.

It was such a small reaction that another person might have missed it.

I didn't.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"He said I have her eyes. Why would Damian De Luca know anything about her?"

Father stood abruptly.

"You should forget what you heard."

"Why?"

"Because your mother has nothing to do with this."

"Then why are you acting like that?"

His jaw tightened.

"Isabella, please. I am asking you not to pursue this."

I stared at him, my heart pounding.

For the first time, I wondered whether my father's secrets were more dangerous than his debts.

Before I could question him further, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and answered immediately.

"Yes, Mr. De Luca."

I folded my arms.

Of course.

The man couldn't even finish a conversation with his daughter without speaking to the man trying to buy her future.

"She's considering the proposal," Father said.

My eyes widened.

I mouthed, What are you doing?

He ignored me.

"Yes. I understand."

He ended the call and looked at me.

"Damian is sending a car for you this afternoon."

"Absolutely not."

"He wants to discuss the agreement."

"Then he can come here."

"He specifically requested that you visit his residence."

I laughed without humor.

"How generous of him."

"Please, Bella. Just hear him out."

I wanted to refuse.

But if Damian knew something about my mother, I needed to discover what it was.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm going because I have questions. Nothing more."

Father nodded, looking relieved.

I hated that expression.

It meant he was already imagining a future in which I belonged to someone else.

---

At three in the afternoon, a black luxury sedan stopped outside our gates.

The driver stepped out and opened the rear door.

"Miss Monteverde."

I hesitated before entering.

The drive took us away from the busy streets and toward a secluded estate surrounded by towering trees and tall iron gates. Security cameras watched our arrival, and men in dark suits stood near the entrance.

This wasn't simply a wealthy man's home.

It was a fortress.

The mansion beyond the gates was enormous, with pale stone walls, sweeping windows, and balconies overlooking carefully maintained gardens.

I stepped out of the car and immediately spotted Damian waiting at the top of the entrance steps.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing a glimpse of a watch that probably cost more than my car.

"You came," he said.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I expected you to be more difficult."

"Give me time."

Something almost resembling amusement crossed his face.

"Come inside, Isabella."

He led me through the mansion into a spacious office decorated in dark wood and muted gold. A wall of windows overlooked the gardens, while several shelves held books and objects I couldn't identify.

Damian gestured toward a chair.

I remained standing.

"I have three questions."

"Then ask them."

"First, why do you want to marry me?"

He studied me for a moment.

"Your family needs protection. My family needs an alliance."

"What alliance?"

"One that has existed between our families for longer than you realize."

My stomach tightened.

"Second question. What did you mean when you said I have my mother's eyes?"

For the first time, his expression changed.

It was brief, but the warmth vanished from the room.

"Who told you that?"

"You did, last night."

He looked toward the windows.

"Your mother knew my father."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"They met years ago. Before either family reached its current position."

"How did they know each other?"

"That's a question you should ask your father."

"I did. He refused to answer."

"Then perhaps he has a reason."

I stepped closer to the desk.

"Stop speaking in riddles! If you know something about my mother, tell me."

His gaze returned to mine.

"Not everything you want to know will make your life better."

"That's my decision to make."

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Damian opened a drawer and removed a small photograph.

He placed it on the desk.

My breath caught.

The photograph showed a younger version of my mother standing beside a man I didn't recognize. They were outside a large building, both smiling.

On the back, someone had written a date.

And beneath it were two words.

Never forget.

I reached for the photograph, but Damian placed his hand over it.

"Not yet."

My eyes flashed with anger.

"You invite me here, tell me my mother knew your father, and then refuse to explain?"

"I need you to understand something first."

He stood, bringing us almost eye to eye.

"This marriage will put you in the middle of a world you know nothing about. People may use you to get to me. Others may approach you because of your family name. If you agree, your life will change."

"You're not exactly making a convincing argument."

"I'm not trying to convince you that marrying me will be easy."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

His expression grew serious.

"Give you a chance to make an informed decision."

I hadn't expected that answer.

For the first time, I saw something beneath his arrogance that I couldn't easily dismiss.

Caution.

Perhaps even concern.

But I refused to mistake either for kindness.

"Fine," I said. "I have one final condition."

"Let's hear it."

"If I marry you, you will never keep me from asking questions about my mother. And you will never use my family to control me."

Damian regarded me silently.

Then he extended his hand.

"Agreed."

I looked at his hand without taking it.

"Just like that?"

"Don't confuse agreement with trust, Isabella. We have a long way to go."

I finally shook his hand.

His grip was firm, and his gaze never left mine.

For one strange moment, the entire room seemed to disappear around us.

Then he released me.

"Your wedding will take place in three days."

My jaw dropped.

"Three days? You cannot be serious!"

"I rarely joke about important matters."

"I haven't even signed the agreement!"

"Then I suggest you make your decision quickly."

I snatched the photograph from the desk before he could stop me.

"I'll decide when I'm ready."

I walked toward the door, refusing to let him see my frustration.

But just before I left, Damian spoke again.

"Isabella."

I turned.

"Whatever you discover about your mother, remember this: not everyone who smiles at you wants you safe."

His words followed me all the way back to the car.

And when I finally examined the photograph again, I noticed something I hadn't seen before.

A gold ring on the hand of the man standing beside my mother.

The same ring appeared in an old photograph of my father.

Suddenly, I wasn't sure which of the two men had been keeping the biggest secret.

And I had a terrible feeling that my upcoming marriage was only the beginning.