The Price of My Name

The photograph wouldn't leave my mind.

Even after Damian De Luca's black car dropped me outside our mansion, I could still see my mother's smile beside that mysterious man. I could still hear Damian's voice telling me she had known his father.

And I couldn't stop thinking about the gold ring.

The same ring appeared in the photograph Damian had shown me and in the old picture hidden inside my father's desk.

Coincidence was possible.

But something told me it wasn't.

I found my father in his study, staring at a glass of untouched whiskey. Rain tapped against the windows, filling the silence between us.

"Papa, we need to talk."

He looked up. "Isabella, it's late."

"Who is the man in Mama's photograph?"

His fingers tightened around the glass.

I placed the picture I'd secretly taken with my phone on his desk. Damian hadn't allowed me to keep the original, but I'd captured it before leaving his estate.

The moment my father saw the image, the color drained from his face.

"Where did you get this?"

"From Damian. He said Mama knew his father. Then I noticed the ring."

I zoomed in on the photograph, pointing at the man's hand.

"You have the same ring in an old picture. So tell me the truth. What connects our family to the De Lucas?"

My father stood abruptly.

"You shouldn't have gone to that man's house."

"That's your answer? Blame me for asking questions?"

"Damian is dangerous."

"And yet you were perfectly willing to let me marry him!"

The words escaped before I could stop them.

My father's expression crumpled. For one brief moment, I saw something worse than fear in his eyes.

Guilt.

"Your marriage will protect this family," he whispered.

"No. It will protect your secrets."

He turned away.

I stepped closer. "Did you make a deal with Damian's father?"

My father remained silent.

"Papa!"

"Yes!"

His shout startled me.

He pressed both hands against the desk, breathing heavily as though the truth itself had become too heavy to carry.

"Twenty-five years ago, our family was on the edge of ruin. My business partners abandoned me, and I owed money to people who wouldn't hesitate to destroy us. Lorenzo De Luca offered me help."

"Damian's father?"

He nodded.

"What did he want in return?"

"A promise."

"What kind of promise?"

My father looked directly at me.

"That our families would remain united."

I frowned. "Through business?"

"At first."

"And afterward?"

He closed his eyes.

"Your mother opposed the arrangement. She believed the De Lucas were becoming involved in things no respectable family should touch. She wanted us to leave everything behind and start again somewhere else."

My heartbeat quickened.

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was a coward."

The confession hung between us.

My father explained that Lorenzo had invested in his failing company and protected him from powerful enemies. In return, Rafael had signed an agreement binding their families together. It was never meant to be a marriage contract, he insisted.

But when Lorenzo died, the agreement remained.

"And Damian inherited it?" I asked.

"Not exactly. He inherited his father's empire, his enemies, and every unfinished promise."

"Then why does he want me?"

My father looked away again.

"Because you're the last person who can fulfill the agreement."

A chill traveled down my spine.

"You're talking about me as if I'm property."

"No! Isabella, I never wanted this for you."

"But you allowed Damian to decide my future."

"I thought he would demand money. I never imagined he would ask for you."

That answer hurt more than I expected.

My own father had gambled with my freedom and seemed surprised that someone had finally collected the prize.

I picked up my phone and turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To find out what you still aren't telling me."

"Isabella, listen to me. Your mother died because of that agreement."

I froze.

Slowly, I turned around.

"What did you say?"

His face crumpled, and tears gathered in his eyes.

"She discovered something about Lorenzo's organization. Something that could have destroyed powerful people. Before she could tell anyone, there was an accident."

"An accident?"

He didn't answer.

I felt sick.

"Was Mama murdered?"

"I don't know."

"That's not good enough!"

"I spent years trying to find proof. Every witness disappeared. Every record vanished. And then Damian's father died under circumstances nobody would explain."

I stared at him, struggling to breathe normally.

My mother's death had never made sense. I remembered the funeral, the black umbrellas, and my father's insistence that I was too young to understand what had happened.

I had believed him.

I had been wrong.

"Does Damian know?" I whispered.

"I don't know what Damian knows."

My phone vibrated.

A message appeared from an unknown number.

Ask your father who wore the gold ring the night your mother died.

A second message followed.

And don't trust your future husband.

My blood turned cold.

I showed my father the screen.

He stumbled backward, knocking his whiskey glass onto the floor.

For the first time that night, he looked genuinely terrified.

"They found you," he whispered.

"Who?"

Before he could answer, every light in the mansion went out.

Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.

My father grabbed my wrist.

"Get behind me!"

Footsteps thundered through the hallway. A door slammed, followed by a man's sharp command.

Then a gunshot exploded through the darkness.

I screamed.

My father shoved me toward the concealed passage behind his bookcase.

"Run, Isabella! Don't stop until you reach the road!"

"But what about you?"

He pushed a small velvet box into my hand.

"Your mother left this for you. Damian must never see it."

The study door burst open.

A shadow appeared against the emergency lights.

And a familiar voice spoke from the darkness.

"Too late, Rafael."

Damian De Luca stepped into the room, a gun in his hand and fury burning in his eyes.

His gaze dropped to the velvet box.

Then he looked at me.

"Isabella," he said quietly, "tell me you haven't opened it."